He doesn’t say anything for a minute. “This place will change you. Twist you into something new, if you let it. Don’t let that happen.”
“I’ll be gone before that happens.” But my voice… it lacks the conviction I had only last night.
And Stefano looks at me, his eyes heavy. “I said the same thing once. My uncle made sure it would never happen.”
I cast him a curious look. “I always thought he was your father.”
He half-shrugs. “Salvatore knows I hate the comparison, so he finds it amusing to let others think that. He doesn’t have any children of his own.”
He looks as if he wants to take the words back the moment they’re out of his mouth. The final, unspoken word hangs heavily in the air between us, and I swallow that fear down.
Yet.
I rapidly change the subject. “Where are your parents?”
It’s… the wrong subject. “We should go.”
Stefano stands abruptly, and I blink at the coolness in his tone as he offers me a hand. When I scramble to my feet on my own, he pulls it back, fingers curling over.
Avoiding his eyes, I clear my throat. My skin feels… oily. Filthy. “I’d kill for a shower, if I’mallowed.”
“You can have one before dinner.” He ignores my snarky tone as he checks his watch. “Cecile should have had your closet filled by now.”
Wonderful.
“And you’re coming to dinner?”
He pauses, hesitation flickering across his face. “I actually need to go to campus. Get some things out of my apartment, if I’m going to be here. So… no. Not tonight.”
Leaving me alone.
With myhusband. And probably Cecile.
I wrap my arms back around myself. In that moment, I miss the men I left behind so fucking much that a burning pain erupts behind my eyes.
I don’t even know if Luc isalive.
We left so much unresolved – I leftthem,left Dom, Gio and Dante in front of a burning house, and now—
The burning spreads into my throat, threatening to cut off my air. I’ve spent all day trying so hardnotto think of them, that now I can’t think of anything else.
And the despair threatens to buckle me.
I don’t know if I can do this.
Swallowing around the agony searing my throat, I force a reply to Stefano, who’s watching me with his brows dipped.
“Of course.” I duck past him, moving to the door. He follows me, dogging my footsteps. “Do whatever you have to.”
He is not my ally. He is my guard in this hellhole of a prison.
“Cat.”
I pick up the pace, walking toward the steps that lead up to the main house. The room of cages in front of me blurs. There’s wet on my cheeks, and I brush it away.
I amstrongerthan this.
The sounds from the room next door drift through, and my feet pick up speed on those steps until I’m almost running, as if I might be able to outrun the grunts, the slapping of flesh.
