At the low rumble, I tense.
Not real.
That’s not real.
I slam my hands over my face, hard enough that an ache springs up in my skull. “Not real.”
None of it is real. I worked that out days ago. The little glimpses of each of them, the conversations. And just like every time before, my heart shreds at that knowledge.
It’s not fucking real.
“Cat.” There are hands gripping mine, and they feel so warm, so present, that it hurts when I rip myself away and scrabble back. “It’s alright. Look at me.”
Not real.
Not real.
The sobs break free, the sobs and the anger as I claw at them, my hands ripping until they’re pinned down.
“Cat.” The voice breaks. “Please – just look at me.”
No.
I will not look.
It only hurts more when I do.
Day 90 – Stefano
Iunderstand why he let me out, now.
Because being in this room is torture far worse than anything he could have done to me in that dungeon.
And Salvatore knew it.
Day 90 – Luciano
Matteo leans over to pour another few fingers of brandy into my empty glass. I take a deep swig and turn to glance out of the window, not bothering to limit myself as it sears a burning line down my throat. “I hope this party is more entertaining than the last one.”
His entertained snort fills the back of the Bentley we’re traveling in. “It can’t be any less. Care to bet if the Asante heir is still alive?”
Stefano Asante. I tip the glass back, draining it as I consider his words.
She cares for him. I could see it, see the terror in her eyes as the guns were pressed to his head. And the disgust, too, as her palm raked across my face.
The marks have faded, but I can still feel them, etched into my psyche as deeply as the Asante brand that mars her skin.
She thinks I have abandoned her.
“Two hundred says that he’s suspiciously absent from this evening’s activities.”
Someone else taken from her.
Matteo howls at that. “Done.”
“And Caterina,” he continues. He eyes Domenico, silent as he sits across from us. The cuts from his latest beating still cover his face. It’s going to leave scars. “That should be interesting. Salvatore doesn’t fuck around with his belongings.”
When will it fuckingend?
