I press myself harder against the bookcase, feeling the sharp edges of volumes dig into my back. My bodyremembers his gentleness from just hours ago, making this fury even more terrifying by contrast.
"It wasn't all lies," I whisper, my voice breaking. "Not everything."
"I let you in," he says, his voice dropping dangerously low. "I showed you parts of me no one sees."
The quiet way he says it cuts deeper than his shouting. I can see his hands shaking slightly, whether from rage or something else, I can't tell.
CHAPTER THIRTY
"Your father killed Bianca," Damiano growls, his face twisted with savage pain.
I can't breathe. Can't think. I thought about it but my father would've never done something like that. No, my father was the greatest person I've known.
"You came here to destroy me." He slams his hand against the bookcase beside my head. "So do it."
"What?"
"Kill me." His voice rises to a roar that reverberates through my bones. "That's what you wanted, right? Your fucking revenge?" He yanks a gun from his waistband and thrusts it into my trembling hands. "Do it!"
"No!" I scream, the gun heavy andcold in my grip. "I can't—I don't?—"
"DO IT!" His face is inches from mine, veins standing out on his neck, spittle flying from his lips.
"No!" The gun clatters to the floor as I push it away. "That's not—I need to understand what happened!"
With a guttural howl of rage, Damiano whirls around and drives his fist into the bookcase. Wood splinters, books tumble, and dust fills the air as his knuckles leave a crater in the wood. The sound of destruction echoes through the room like a gunshot.
Blood drips from his knuckles as he turns back to me, eyes glazed with fury.
"Alessio!" he barks, never taking his eyes off me.
The door swings open immediately. Alessio appears, his expression granite-hard as he takes in the scene—the destroyed bookcase, the gun on the floor, my tear-streaked face.
"Take her to the basement holding room," Damiano orders, his voice eerily calm now. "Lock her in."
"Damiano, please," I beg, reaching for him. "I need to explain—there's so much I don't understand?—"
Alessio grabs my arm, his grip firm but not bruising.
"You've explained enough," Damiano says, turning his back on me. He stares out the window, shoulders rigid. "I don't want to hear another fucking word from you."
"At least tell me the truth!" I cry as Alessio pulls me toward the door. "If my father really?—"
"Get her out of my sight," Damiano says, his voice hollow.
Panic surges through me as Alessio's strong hands grip my arms. "Damiano, please," I beg, struggling against Alessio's hold. "Just letme explain!"
My heart hammers against my ribs as Alessio leads me from the office. I dig my heels into the carpet, twisting to look back at Damiano's rigid silhouette against the window.
"You need to calm down," Alessio mutters, his breath warm against my ear.
I stumble alongside him down the hallway, mind racing. Everything's collapsing around me. Byron lied. Damiano lied. My father... could he really have killed an innocent pregnant woman?
"Alessio, please," I whisper as we reach the stairs leading down to the basement. "Something doesn't make sense. Why would my father?—"
"Not my place to discuss," he cuts me off, guiding me down the stairs with firm efficiency. His face betrays nothing, but his grip loosens slightly. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be."
The basement corridor stretches before us, dimly lit and smelling of concrete and something metallic. My stomach churns when I realize what that smell might be. How many people have been brought down here, never to return?
