“Signora.”
I blink up at Dante, who’s offering me his hand.
“Come with me,” he says. “Signore wouldn’t want you to see this.” After I accept his assistance, Dante helps me to my feet and steadies me when I sway precariously to the side. “Can you walk?”
“What?”
Once the screams die down long enough for me to hear him repeat the question, I shake my head. I’m not sure if I can walk without falling over. In answer, Dante lifts me into his arms. First he held me around the waist to make sure I didn’t topple over and now I’m being carried away by him. I’ve never been touched so much by someone other than Maximus, and the comparison—although minor—shows that I still yearn for my husband.
“Dante,” Maximus says, his voice like the crack of a bullwhip.
The enforcer stops and turns while my husband’s long legs cross the space between us, his strides full of energy and purpose. As soon as he’s close enough for me to make out his facial features and the droplets of blood on his clothing, I shrink in Dante’s arms.
Maximus is going to fucking kill someone. Well, besides Pascal, and it’s probably me, based on the way my husband is glaring at me. “What the fuck are you doing?” he asks.
The enforcer must not sense, or isn’t worried about, the livid expression on Maximus’s face. “She’s unwell,” Dante answers simply.
My husband’s entire demeanor softens for a moment at hearing this bit of information. And then like a shooting star, it disappears. “Wait here.”
He heads back to the group. “Look at me,” Maximus says, now towering over Pascal. “Just know that your death will serve as a warning to anyone else who thinks they can steal from me and live.”
I shut my eyes and turn into Dante’s chest to shield myself. The gunshot is a very loud heralding of the Frenchman’s death, but I find it gives me a feeling of closure. He’ll never hurt me again.
If only that was the one person I had to worry about.
“Give her to me.”
Dante transfers me to my husband, and I watch the exchange warily. Maximus all but crushes me to his chest with his gaze throwing daggers at his enforcer. Now that I know how comfortable Maximus is with a knife, it’s a wonder Dante doesn’t fall dead to the ground.
Maximus quickly speaks with someone named Vaughn, and I only absorb a portion of the exchange. I’m safer than I was, but now that I know what Maximus’s plans for me are, I can’t relax. I’m too busy stressing about what’s going to become of me. I have no assets or money, but if I did, I’d escape as soon as an opportunity presented itself. However, it looks as though I’ll have to wait until we return to the United States in order for me to steal enough valuables to pawn for money.
Until then I just have to survive.
Maximus deposits me onto the leather seat of the vehicle, and I automatically reach for the seat belt. My shaking hands make it nearly impossible for me to secure the locking mechanism, and my husband standing there watching certainly doesn’t help matters.
“Fucking shit,” I mutter, still fumbling with the metal clip.
“Stop.”
Maximus’s command causes me to instantly freeze. He reaches for the belt, and I retract my hands to avoid touching him. It was so difficult not to lean against him while he held me, to not take in his strength. The feeling of safety I once felt around him is a distant memory. Anyone who would admit their wife into an asylum for no just cause is beyond evil.
He’s back to being a fallen angel, but he might end up being Lucifer to me.
With my seat belt fastened, Maximus enters the car for a long ride back to the hotel. Even the Paris lights do nothing to lift my spirits, though I’m desperate for an inkling of hope. However, even if I were to find some, I wouldn’t trust my instincts. I actually thought Maximus was starting to see me as something more than a means to an end. He played his role so well I had no idea what his true intentions were for me.
But I’d be crazy to forget now.
The irony of that is my insanity’s what pushed him to marry me in the first place. I guess it’s best if I revert back to that and play the part.
Just like he did.
* * *
The momentwe entered the hotel room and the door shut behind us with a clicking sound, Maximus’s control threatened to crumble. I’m glad Otello was found unconscious, but his being alive didn’t lessen the tension emitting from my husband.
I’ve been watching him with panic building in my chest for over twenty minutes, and the entire time he’s paced back and forth while occasionally running his hands through his hair. I wait for the explosion that’s coming, praying I make it out alive with my limited freedom still intact.
Maximus stops so suddenly it jolts me, and I rear back the second his gaze finds mine. The emotions within his dark eyes are too tumultuous to make sense of, and I’m not sure I should try, or if I even want to.
