Those words hit me like ice water, dousing the fire that had been burning in my chest. How dare she forget? That bracelet was the only thing I'd managed to grab in all that darkness and blood!
I crushed down the violence that surged up, leaned forward, locked my eyes on hers, and said exactly what I'd come to say—the obsession that had eaten at me for three years. "Noelle Bellucci, marry me."
She jerked like she'd been stung, her beautiful eyes wide with disbelief.
"Do you know what you're saying?"
"I know exactly what I'm saying."
"No way." She refused flat out, her expression complicated.
"Why?"
"Kholod Morozov, you have the nerve to ask me why? You should know better than anyone."
"I don't understand. Spell it out."
"Between us..." She took a deep breath. "Marriage is impossible."
"We're both single. Why is it impossible?"
"How can you say something so shameless?"
"Marry me, and the Morozov family will handle Bellucci's debts."
The air seemed to freeze for a few seconds.
"You think you can buy me?" Noelle shot to her feet, her chair scraping harshly, flames in her eyes ready to burn me alive.
"It's what you deserve."
She laughed bitterly. "So to you, I'm no different from a diamond in a jewelry store?"
"I'm just solving a problem."
"Solving a problem?" She pointed at me, furious. "You're solving YOUR problem! You never once considered me!"
Something exploded in my chest. "Noelle, don't test my patience!"
"Patience? Let me tell you something, Kholod Morozov—even if every man on earth dropped dead, I still wouldn't marry you!"
I laughed. Pure rage.
Perfect. She'd not only forgotten, she'd rejected me in the most brutal way possible. The urge to destroy everything screamed through my veins. I wanted to wrap my hands around her delicate neck, force her to tell me what gave her the right to forget, what gave her the right to refuse—but looking at her pale, stubborn face, I did nothing.
I stood up, looking down at her, and left the bracelet on the table.
"You'll remember. You have to remember."
Back in the car, I only said one thing to Dmitri.
"Dig."
The investigation results landed on my desk fast. Turns out she was convinced her father's death was my fault—absolutely ridiculous. Old Bellucci gambled himself into debt, got cornered by loan sharks, and jumped off a building. Now, somehow, that blood was on my hands?
I never planned to explain. Morozovs don't justify themselves to anyone.
If she was dead set on calling me a killer, then fine. I'd be exactly what she wanted. I'd make her spend her whole life paying for this debt she'd stuck me with.
