I’m not sure if he’s keeping me away because Angelo’s still angry, or there’s another reason. But paranoia gets the best of me.
“Is it because he’s with Genevieve?”
“Uh, look, Mrs. Vitale, it’s not my place to?—”
“You’re right,” I agree. “It’s not your place.”
I head for the stairs, and Nicky’s sigh trails after me. The entire way to Angelo’s office, my heartbeat hammers against my chest. I don’t know what I might find behind that closed door. In Angelo’s mind, I’m sure it would be justice well served to take up with the woman who hates me. But I need to see it for myself.
When I reach his office door, her soft laughter drifts out from behind it, and I don’t hesitate. I fling it open, and both their heads swivel in my direction.
Genevieve once again has her ass parked on my husband’s desk like she was never taught how to use a chair. They’re two feet apart, but it isn’t nearly enough for me.
“I need to talk to my husband,” I bite out. “Alone.”
Genevieve doesn’t move. Instead, she looks at Angelo and waits for his direction. It only irritates me more.
He spares me a disinterested glance, and for one heart-stopping moment, I think he might reject me in front of her. Instead, he opts for a different tactic.
“Wait outside,” he tells her. “I’ll need you after.”
A smile curves across her face. “Of course, Angelo. Anything you need.”
The insinuation is there, and I hate him for playing into this, but I have to believe he’s doing it just to piss me off.
When the door clicks shut behind her, Angelo taps out a message on his phone, not bothering to look at me. “What do you need, Abella?”
I round his desk, closing the distance until I’m beside him. “You’remyhusband.”
“And?” He arches a brow at me.
“We took vows to be faithful, and I am. Can you say the same?”
“You’ve made promises before,” he reminds me. “How did that turn out?”
“Are you fucking her?”
He laughs, and it sparks a fury in me I didn’t even know I was capable of.
“Tell me.” I shove at his chest. “Are. You. Fucking. Her?”
He captures my wrist, and I fight him off, shoving at him again until he rises from his seat and quickly overpowers me. It only takes one of his hands to pin both of mine behind my back.
His body presses against me, darkness pooling in his eyes. Our mouths are mere inches apart. He’s breathing fire, and I’m so angry I can’t control myself. It spills out in hot, ugly, embarrassing tears.
I wish I could just find a way to hate him.
“Enough,” he growls. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” I glare up at him. I’m not even fighting him anymore.
“This.” He swipes my tears away with a rough hand, like they offend him on a personal level.
It doesn’t make sense, until it does.
He gets no pleasure from seeing me cry.
“Are you going to behave?” His voice softens a fraction.
