Chapter 24

Isabella

Glass shatters against the floor, and another explosion of sound whooshes by my head. Even though anxiety jolts through my body, I refuse to show it.

I raise my chin and harden my gaze as Antonio storms closer. Fiery hatred blazes in his eyes; it isn't the sort of look I'd expect from my husband. We appear to be equally enthused about this arrangement.

To be fair, he was plenty enthused about owning me before he saw me with Vance at the dinner. Now he believes I've been defiled before our wedding night.

I wish. If Vance had given in and taken my purity like I'd begged him to, this torment would almost be worth it.

He steps into me, and his warm, liquor-laced breath rolls over my chest as he pushes me against the wall. I raise my chin higher. I refuse to cow to him and become some lowly subordinate who bends to his every will and desire.

If his type is a compliant woman, I'm not it. I'm mouthy. Opinionated. Dare I say, bitchy? I have no intention of changing who I am for the betterment of either of our families. Not even if it would better myself.

"Miserable. Fucking. Bitch," he snaps, a drunken slur stretching out every word. "My father warned me about you."

I curl my lip. "I'm glad my reputation precedes me."

His fist slams beside my head, and a hairline crack spreads across the marble wall. "This is what I mean!"

I flash my dark eyes up at him. "Fuck you."

His tan hand rushes toward my scalp, and he winds his fingers through my hair, snatching back my head before bringing me toward his chest. "You are worth much less than you think you are, Isabella. This union makes just as much sense if you end up dead. Maybe even more so. If you're out of the picture, I get the benefits without having to suffer through the disgust of having a whore for a wife."

My eyes narrow on him as I strain against his grasp. "Care to fucking elaborate on how a virgin can be a whore?"

He releases a deep, mocking laugh. "I have doubts that you're still a virgin, Mrs. Vendetti. Especially after I saw the way you look at that fucking guard of yours. I never expected a girl like you to cream over the help."

I one hundred percent creamed over the help. Came for him, even. Came to him. But I didn't consider him "the help." Those words never rolled off my tongue with such disgust.

"You sound jealous of him, husband. Worried you can't live up to the expectations you've fabricated between your three brain cells?"

That does it. I've emasculated him to the very core of his being. He would never be jealous of someone like Vance in any other circumstance, but he is now. Even if he socks his fist into my cheek to tell himself differently, he can't deny the truth.

I stand without flinching as he draws his hand back to hit me, but before he drives his knuckles into my face, he stops. He must have remembered the honeymoon we'll leave for in the morning. It would look really shitty if his new bride had a giant bruise on her beautiful face as she lounged on the beach. His hand strangles my dark hair, and he leans closer.

"Show me you aren't a whore," he snarls in my ear.

Show him how? By being exactly that? No thanks. I'm good.

"I have a headache," I quip, motioning toward the hand shaking my head.

It's pathetic. A month ago, I dreamed about what it would be like to fuck someone. Anyone. A week ago, I begged Vance to make that dream a reality. I literally got on my knees and pleaded for him to take my virginity. That's how desperate I was.

But now? I'd do anything to avoid it.

My heart aches when I think of Vance. My soul bleeds. I don't want to lose my virginity anymore, because I've finally realized it shouldn't be given away so freely. It's meant for one person, and he isn't here.

Gripping my hair, Antonio yanks me toward the bed and heaves me onto the mattress. I land on my back, and he crawls between my legs. His hands work their way beneath my dress despite each furious kick I aim at him.

My hands grip his wrists as they unzip his slacks. A look replaces the mask on his face that was already so foreign to me. He doesn't care if I want this. He wants it, and that's all that matters.

This isn't how this was supposed to be. I wanted to give away this part of me, not have it wrenched from my unwilling grasp. But now this part of me is no longer mine to give away. It belongs to someone else. It belongs to...

Vance.

Tears heat the backs of my eyes, and my sinuses burn. I never cry. I never fucking cry. I scream reminders in my head.

Don't show him your tears! Don't ever show a man those little glass balls of weakness, because fuck them! They don't deserve them!

There's only one person I would shed tears for. And it's not the man between my legs. I will cry for the man who rescued me from myself on several occasions. I will cry for the man who saw through my tough exterior and found the person buried within. But I refuse to shed a single tear for anyone else.

"Look at me, whore," Antonio growls, his hand prodding between my legs as he snatches my panties aside.

Memories of Vance blanket my mind, soothing the panic raging through my bones. I think of him. His strong, hungry hands on my body. The way he looked at me as if he needed me as much as I needed him.

Heat burns against my crotch, and I know what's coming. I look up at the ceiling. I look anywhere but at the man who is about to destroy me.

Antonio draws back his hips, and I clutch the sheet in my hands, closing my eyes so I can hide from the monster. I squeeze the thin fabric, grit my teeth, and prepare for the hell barreling toward me.

Cold vacancy slips between us, and his hands move off my legs. My eyes open. He's ripped away from me, and I scream.

I draw my legs together, pinching them closed, and shield myself from the mayhem erupting around me. Grunts float between my ears. Cloth rips, flesh collides with flesh, and feet squeak against the floor. My spine stiffens and I jerk my head toward the sounds that seem to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

My eyes are fucking deceiving me. Antonio must have knocked me out, and now I'm dreaming. I pinch my arm to be sure, and the sharp sting tells me I'm very much awake. And I'm very much watching Antonio get the living hell beaten out of him.

The man pummeling my husband could kill him much more quickly if he wanted to, but he doesn't. He's toying with him. And he's doing it while his dark eyes fuck me with a hot, jealous glare.

As he squeezes my husband's throat and stops his onslaught, his warm, buttery voice permeates me to my very core. "Did you miss me, little girl?"