Instant shouting tickles my eardrums as the bodyguards go head-to-head, but I can’t make out what they’re saying through the door. It’s obvious Cristian already suspects me of something. There’s no other explanation for the way I’ve been separated from Elio, had my gun confiscated, and been forcibly confined to my room. Once again, I have fucked up. I should’ve demanded Cristian stay this morning and listen to me. If we’d talked, everything would have gone down differently today.
There isn’t time for a shower, so I wash my face and body with a cloth, careful not to get the bandage wet. After drying myself, I redress in clean clothes and brush my hair back off my face, smoothing it into a high ponytail that fits in the gap at the back of the ball cap. I stuff my wallet and passport in the pocket of my sweats and discard the purse.
“Sloane.” Fists pound on the door. “Time to come out. Don DiPietro is here.”
Drawing a deep breath, I face myself in the mirror, hating what I see. Whatever happens now, I deserve everything that comes my way. My fate lies in Cristian’s hands. If he kills me, then it’s meant to be. If he lets me go, I could give myself up to the cartel, let them torture me or kill me as an apt punishment, but I know Mom wouldn’t want that. She’d want me to survive, so I’ll give it my all if I live through this day. I will fight to survive—even though I have lost the will to live—for my mom. So her sacrifice isn’t in vain.
Steeling my nerves, I walk out of the bathroom, dragging my aching leg behind me as the two bodyguards escort me to the kitchen.
Cristian is waiting by the island unit. His lethally cold gaze snags mine, and I stop breathing. Cristian has always had this magnetic presence that has called to me, comforted me, and protected me. But not now. Now, the molecules around him twist into sharpened daggers ready to strike me down upon his command. Tension is rife in the air as he stalks toward me like a hunter primed to make the winning kill.
The pain in my leg is nothing compared to the pain in my heart as his dark glare shreds me on the spot. His fingers grip my chin painfully, and his nostrils flare as eyes that once looked at me with so much love and compassion pierce me with nothing but vicious contempt. “I’m going to ask questions, and you’re going to answer truthfully.”
I try to nod, but his grip on my chin is too firm and my head barely moves.
“Did the cartel send you here?”
“Yes.”
A muscle clenches in his jaw, and his eyes burn with pure malice as his fingers dig into my skin.
“Why?”
“They wanted information on drug distribution routes, and they wanted me to seduce you and then help them to kill you.”
I’m not surprised when the muzzle of a gun is pressed into my brow. Cristian forces my back to the refrigerator, curling his finger around the trigger of his gun as he glares at me. For a fleeting second, the darkness fades, and I see the pain he’s trying so hard to hide.
“Do it,” I whisper. “I deserve it, but you should know I couldn’t let them hurt you. I?—”
“They tried to take my son!” he roars, pressing the gun harder into my brow.
“That wasn’t part of the plan. I would never let them take Elio. I?—”
“Shut your lying fucking mouth.” His free hand covers my lips. “You faked your way into my home, mybed. You were very convincing. I’ll give you that.”
I try to tell him it wasn’t fake, but my words are muffled by his hand.
“Should I write to Yale and tell them you deserve your degree because you delivered the performance of a lifetime, or should I riddle your deceiving body with bullets and toss your carcass into the Hudson?”
“Shoot me,” I say with my mouth and my eyes. At least all the pain would end.
“Were you planning to slit my throat while I slept, or did the cartel want the honor of killing me themselves?”
Staring straight at him, I beseech him to see the truth in my eyes. That I love him. That I could never kill him. That I failed and signed my mother’s death warrant to protect him and Elio. But even if I could speak, there’s no point. He wouldn’t hear it, and I don’t blame him.
If the tables were turned, I’d kill me too.
His finger curls a little tighter around the trigger as he continues prodding my forehead with the gun while turmoil spreads across his face.
“Do it, boss,” Vincenzo says.
“Shut the fuck up,” Cristian snaps, never taking his eyes off mine.
A strange sense of peace settles over me, and my body relaxes. If I’m going to die, I’d rather it be at Cristian’s hands than the cartel’s. At least my love will make it quick.
I try to convey everything I’m feeling with my eyes: It’s okay. I understand. I forgive you. I love you. I hope, in time, you won’t hate yourself for this. Tell Elio I love him and I’ll miss him, but he’ll have a guardian angel watching over him from now on—if God doesn’t boot me out of heaven.
Sweat beads on his brow as he stares at me. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. Indecision flickers in his eyes. “Fuckkkkk!” he yells before lowering the gun and his hand from my mouth. He steps back, grabbing fistfuls of his hair as he paces in front of me. “I trusted you,” he yells, glaring at me. “I trusted you with my son, with my heart. How could you do this?”
