After a few minutes, when I could find my voice, I said, “It was your fault. The accident.”
He nodded. “Every fucking scar. Every vein. Belongs to me. I bled out the day you did. My death stopped when yours did. You are the life in my veins, Rosalia. I don’t exist anymore unless you do.”
“You stepped out of the woods,” I said, piecing it all together. “You took the driver by surprise. Then he hit the tree.”
He nodded. Then he had to remind me to breathe.
I hadn’t realized that I wasn’t until he’d said it. Sweat coated my skin. Every bone in my body felt anchored in hell.
“You thought I was going to leave you?” I said, finding it hard to catch my breath.
“You almost fucking did,” he said, his voice ice cold.
“No. Not the crash.” I shook my head. “I meant after you told me that?”
“I almost killed you.”
Even though I understood his point, it was invalid. He was trying to stop the car, not kill me. His other secret, though, was going to do me fucking in. Physically, I would still stand, but emotionally, he was going to eject me out of that windshield again.
“Who is your wife, Aniello. Tell me the fucking truth!”
His eyes searched mine for a second before he took a step back. I grabbed a hold of him right before he pulled too far away.
Just from that reaction alone, I knew, whatever his answer, we were both going over the edge. But surprising me again, he moved out of my hold and turned his back on me.
He wasn’t going to leave me in hell without giving me a damn good reason for it.
“Tell me, Aniello!” I said, pushing. “Is that why I ran? Because Paul told me the truth? The truth you hid from me? It had nothing to do with Club D or Big Bismo. It had to do withthis. That’s why I ran this time! Everyone tells me the truth but you!” It was hard to keep the tremor out of my voice. My entire body was shaking.
“I don’t know why you ran the first time,” he said.
“It’s the same reason why I ran this time! Tell me what the fuck happened! Fill in everything I can’t remember. Stop letting it haunt me! You’re the only one who can. Tell me who she is. Who’s your wife—”
He turned on me so fast again that the words died in my throat, but my arms had been reaching out, and my hands slammed against his chest when he slammed into me.
“You!” His face was so close to mine that his breath washed over my lips. Then his voice came down, and it was hoarse, like he was feeding his words to the fire inside of him, and they were turning to ash in his throat.
His head bowed down, resting against mine, and his arms caged me in, one on each side of me, while my hands fisted his shirt. “You are my wife. Rosalia Assanti. And I have no fucking clue why you ran from me. Then your death became my death.”
28
Rosalia
Somewhere between the words leaving his mouth and—I wasn’t sure when—he caught me as my knees gave out.
After he told me that I was his wife, my mind went completely blank, but I was having a physical reaction, like when I tried to remember too hard. All the energy that had left my body rushed to my head, and I couldn’t seem to remember how to even walk. It was almost like a flood that totally wiped me out.
Aniello carried me to his car and sat me in the passenger seat. He locked me in before he walked to the other side and slid in.
I looked over at him.
His wife.
I’m his wife. I’m someone’s wife. This man’s wife.
If the situation didn’t feel so fucked up, it would have been a dream come true. But how could I not remember that I was his wife? That I was married? How could I—
“Rosalia,” he said, cutting off the manic thoughts rushing through my mind. “Who am I?”
