She’s right, of course.
My loyalty lies deep with Constantine. If it weren’t for him my father would still be alive. I’m indebted to him. Tied to the Famiglia or not I can’t betray him. But I also know I can’t betray her. It’s a very precarious line I’m walking on.
“I will always keep you safe. Trust me, Imogen,” I say thickly.
Her mouth quirks up in a bittersweet smile. “My pa said the same thing to me as a little girl. And look at him now. Could care less if I live or die. He’s only concerned about the family.”
“Gazzella, I am not your—” My phone going off interrupts us. Agitation flares within me. I have half the mind to destroy the damn thing.
Nodding her head towards the phone she says resignedly, “You should get that. Famiglia business.”
I feel heavily conflicted. As much as I want to stay here and further ease her mind I must hear the concerning news from Pietro in order to keep her safe. “This conversation isn’t done.”
“Okay.” Her tone suggests otherwise.
Pinching her chin I kiss her hard. I try to convey every promise, every feeling I can’t precisely describe for her in the kiss.
She must know. . .she must know how much she means to me.
As our lips part I rest my forehead against hers. I breathe her in. The calming peaceful scent of lilies.
“I understand Rico,” she says softly. My stomach twists in knots from the use of my name instead of shadow.
“Wait for me,” I whisper but it sounds more like a plea.
“Where else can I go?” And the way she says it, a broken truth batters the poor vessel inside my chest.
I drop my head, rubbing my fist over my chest naively hoping it will soothe the ache.
She lays back on the bed and turns on her side.
Away from me.
With a churning feeling in my gut and a tightness in my throat I leave far more pissed and frustrated than I have ever been in my life.
Entering the living area I say to Pietro heatedly, “This better be fucking good. I don’t need you wasting my fucking time.”
Pietro snaps his head back, his mouth gaping open like a fish on a hook. “What crawled up your ass and died?”
I bypass him and head towards the mini bar. I grab the decanter of whiskey and pour three fingers. Staring at him I down it all in one go. It’s a welcome burn compared to the one I received knowing I unintentionally hurt Imogen.
“You,” I respond bluntly.
“Me?” He scoffs.
“Si, you. You’ve interrupted my night.”
His brow wings up. “I’ve interrupted your night,” he echoes curiously. He eyes me then, scrutinizing every detail of my appearance.
Disheveled hair. Informal attire. Marks only a lover can provide peeking from the neckline of my crew top pullover. My lips swollen from her feverishly passionate kisses.
“Holy fuck,” he says astonished, eyes comically wide. “You fucked runaway, didn’t you?”
I grit my teeth. “I didn’t fuck her.”
“What would you call it then? Making love?” He waits for an answer and I only stare at him harshly. A string of curse wordsin our native tongue are muttered under his breath. “Since when are you sentimental?”
“I’m not continuing this conversation.” My voice holds a dark edge.
