She’s right. I hate it, but she’s right.
“Can you do something for me?” she says, her voice suddenly different. “You’re not going to like it, but it’s important.”
“Anything. Wait, what do you mean I’m not going to like it?”
She takes a deep breath and fixes me with a look that’s equal parts determined and terrified.
“I need you to hit me. Hard enough to leave a mark.”
13
Adora
The words hang in the air between us. Vincenzo stares at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“Absolutely fucking not.”
“Vincenzo—”
“No.” He tries to sit up straighter in bed, his face contorting with pain. “I’m not hitting you. Ever. What the fuck, Adora?”
I expected this reaction, but the horror in his eyes still makes me feel like a terrible person.
“Listen to me.” I grab his shoulders gently, careful of his injuries. “My father needs to believe you’re exactly what he thinks you are. An animal. A violent Vici assassin who cares about no one but himself. Otherwise, the plan won’t work.”
“So lie to him. Tell him I held a gun to your head or something.”
“He won’t believe it unless he sees proof.” I keep my voice steady, urgent. “He needs to see bruises. Needs to think you’re abusing me the way he abuses me, and that I’ll take it from himbecause it’s my duty, but I won’t take it from you. Dad warned me not to trust you, and seeing my face all bruised up will be the vindication he’s been waiting for. This is the only way he’ll believe that I’ve made up my mind to kill you.”
“You want me to give you bruises so you can go crying to your father and convince him you’re still planning my murder?” His voice is flat with disbelief.
“Yes.”
“Absolutely not. Find another way.”
Desperation claws at my throat. “There is no other way. Vincenzo, please. This is the only thing that will work. If I cry in his arms and tell him he was right all along, he’ll let his guard down around me. He’ll brag. He’ll confess.”
“I don’t care.” His voice comes out rough, almost broken. “I’m not putting my hands on you like that.”
“My father hits me because he enjoys it.” I cup his face, forcing him to look at me. “You would be doing this because I asked you to. Because it’s the only way to keep us both alive.”
“Doe—”
“Please.” My voice breaks despite my best efforts. “I know what I’m asking. I know it’s horrible. But we need this, Vincenzo. Dashamir will kill us both if I don’t get that confession, and my father won’t confess unless he trusts me.”
He stares at me, anguish written across his bruised face. “I can’t. I can’t do that to you.”
“You can.” I take his bandaged hand and press it to my cheek, holding his gaze. “You have to.”
The door opens.
Sofia stands in the doorway, a tray with soup and bread balanced in her hands. Her eyes take in the scene. Vincenzo in bed, me leaning over him, the tension crackling between us.
Then her gaze drops lower and her eyebrows shoot up.
Vincenzo swears under his breath and yanks the blanket up over his lap.
“You must be feeling better, Vincenzo,” Sofia says dryly, setting the tray on the dresser. A smile plays at her lips, but it fades quickly as she looks between us. “Something’s not right. Are you two arguing?”
