“I don’t feel many things,” he continues, each word precise as a blade. “I don’t get attached. I complete contracts and move on. That’s survival in my world.”
My heart is hammering in my chest.
“But I’ll never move on from you. You’ve gotten under my skin, into my blood, and found the parts of me I thought died with my family. And it terrifies me, because everyone I’ve ever loved has died screaming.”
He sits up, despite the pain it must cost him, bare-chested and bandaged, his damaged hands gripping the sheets.
“I love you.” The words are harsh, dragged up from somewhere deep inside him. “I love you, and you’re about towalk back into that house, to that monster, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. If this all goes wrong, I need you to know you were loved by someone who thought he would never feel anything good again.”
I’m across the room before I make the decision to move. I sink onto the bed, careful of his injuries, and take his face in both hands. This is the worst possible time for a love confession, but when is it ever a good time for us?
“And I love you too.” The words come out fierce. “I love you, and I refuse to die. I refuse to let Dad win. Do you understand me? I’m Adora fucking Montoni, and I’m coming back to you.”
“You can’t promise that,” he says, his voice echoing with loss.
“Watch me.”
His expression shifts. Surprise. Pride. Heat.
“That’s my girl,” he says roughly.
I open the door and look back one last time.
He’s watching me like he’s memorizing me for when I’m gone. Like he’s already planning how to burn down the world if I don’t come back to him.
I walk out, carrying his love like a weapon, ready to destroy anyone who tries to take him from me.
I sitin my car outside the mansion, staring at the lit windows. My hands grip the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles ache.
Just a moment. I just need one moment to prepare.
I’ve always been good at pretending, hiding bruises under long sleeves and smiling when friends asked how I was doing. Pretending to be the perfect, obedient daughter even when I was screaming inside. Now it’s time to make it really count.
I touch my lip gently, feeling the sting of the cut Sofia made. The blood on my shirt is dry now, stiff against my skin.
The fear is real. The tears, when they come, won’t be fake. I just have to direct them at the right target.
Taking a deep breath, I park my car in the garage and walk toward the house. My legs feel unsteady, but that will help sell it.
Inside, the mansion is quiet. The housekeeper must have already gone home for the evening. I hear the clink of ice in a glass from the living room.
I find Dad in his favorite leather chair, a whisky in one hand and a book in the other. He looks up when I enter, his expression neutral.
Then he sees my face. His eyes track from the bruise, to the cut on my lip, to the blood staining my white shirt.
“You were right, Dad.” My voice comes out broken, shaking. “He’s a monster. The Vicis are monsters.”
Before he can respond, I stumble forward and collapse onto my knees before him. The sobs come easily, and they’re for Vincenzo, for the danger we’re both in. But my father doesn’t need to know that.
He catches me but doesn’t quite hold me. His body is rigid with suspicion, or perhaps calculation.
“Adora. What happened?”
“I just wanted to spend time with Lucy.” The words tumble out between sobs. “Before the wedding. Just a few days with my best friend. But he found me. He was so angry. Said I shouldn’t be spending time with anyone but him. That I belong to him now.”
I sit up, letting him see the tears and my injury so he can draw his own conclusions.
Agnello is silent. I can feel him thinking. How can he use this? What advantage does this give him?
