“Tell me what you see, Scarlett. Tell me if I’m a man or an animal you just want to control.”
He was so livid that he had turned frigid, locking me out. The swelling and blood on his face was a bitter reminder of all he had been through.
“You agreed with him,” I said softly, but my own coldness was creeping through the crevices. I could taste his blood on my tongue, and the entire situation seemed uncalled for, which made me start to turn bitter. How could he not put the blame where it belonged?
“Yeah. I did. She didn’t belong there. What kind of mother sends her daughter in the middle of a field full of fucking dirt bikes?”
It took a moment for the words to resonate.
He ducked when a paperweight soared through the air, meant to make contact with his head. Instead, it collided with the wall, fragments of glass zipping in different directions like broken ice shards.
“You asshole,” I seethed. In a sudden rush, a surge of adrenaline replaced the tiredness that had plagued me. My blood started to hum, and my skin vibrated. “I’d never allow my daughter to be put in harm’s way. I’d die before I let anything happen to her! Perhaps I shouldn’t have let her go. That doesn’t make me a reckless mother. I knew she was safe with her uncle. I knew she’d be safe with her father. But tell me this,Fausti. Is Luca calling the shots now? Even with me? Am I to be shared? Letmeknow, so I know how to play the fucking game from now on!”
Our bodies collided at the same time. He had to snatch my elbows to keep me from toppling over. He was much bigger and much, much stronger. That didn’t stop me from stepping up to him, from challenging his awful words as he challenged mine.
The moments flew by like blurs of bullets, his words and mine, our bodies at battle. He went to kiss me, to silence the weapons, to prove that with just a touch, my body would surrender to his, but I slapped him hard across the face.
“Take it back!” I said, my voice trembling. “I’m a damn good mother.I’vealways wanted her!”
He stilled, as if I’d stuck a knife in his heart and twisted, laughing as he bled out in front of me.
“Yeah,” he said, letting me go. “I never should have said it. You are a good mother. The best I’ve ever seen.” His tone wasn’t any warmer, just straight truth for the sake of truth. For the sake of what was right and what he couldn’t deny.
Narrowing my eyes, I took a step closer, willing myself to see through him. He didn’t move, but a gap the size of space seemed to exist between us.
Oh no you don’t, I thought hard and loud enough for him to feel and hear.You’ve never allowed space between us, and I’ll be damned if I will either.
“What happened in that forest?” I whispered, taking a step forward. “Besides what I see in front of me.”
He stared at me for a minute or two, as though I were a creature who had spoken a language he couldn’t understand. It seemed like he needed time to process the situation he’d found himself in.
I realized, belatedly, that he was still deep inside the woods.
“Nothing that you need to worry about,” he said finally. His voice was deep and full of gravel, as if he was struggling with words.
He turned his back to me then, and a sob that had no sound broke free from my chest.
The Fausti tattoo. A rosary with a lion in its open center, a sacred heart in its mane, covered half his back. The ink ran deep into his skin, the meaning even deeper into his blood.
Jesus, I wanted to call out, but couldn’t find my breath. I collapsed to the floor, hands to my chest, all the adrenaline leaving me in a rush, replaced by a surge of cold blood.
Blood stained my skin, as though we had gone round for round, beating each other without mercy.
In some ways, we had.
He turned to me, making his way closer. He took tentative steps, but nothing about the way he moved told me he was remorseful or regretted the decision.
Why had he done this to us? Better yet. Why had he done this tohimself?
How could he not see? His war was my war. What he saw with his eyes were reflected in mine. What he did with those hands were an extension of my own. All of the emotions he felt twisted and ate me up too.
What did this mean for our life? What did this mean for our children?
“Don’t touch me,” I whispered, turning my face away from his when he took a knee beside me, his hand reaching out to help me up.
“Ti toccherò se voglio,” he said. “Sei mio.”I’ll touch you if I want to. You are mine.
Shaking my head, I reached for my clothes. He tried to snatch them from me, but my fingers refused to let go. He’d have to rip them into smaller shreds to steal them.
