I will always fight for the life I want. I owe that to the little girl inside me who never even had a proper childhood.
He watches me for a moment. I can tell by the look in his eyes that I've gotten under his skin.
"Do I scare you, Grace?" he asks.
His voice isn't mocking. He's not trying to provoke me. He's just asking a question.
"No," I say. "I probably should be scared, but I'm not."
"I don't want your fear," he says. "You've had enough of that. I want to say that I can let you go, but my hands are bound too."
I’ve had this thought already. I had a feeling that Dante didn’t have a choice in this either.
"Do you even want to be married to me?" I ask.
"I want you, Grace," he says. "Haven't I made that obvious?"
There's a tug deep inside my core again, making me feel restless.
I glance down at the diamond ring on my finger.
"That's not what I asked," I say. "You just said your hands are tied. Does that mean you don't have a choice in this either?"
"I already told you that it was an order from my boss."
"So if your boss hadn't given the order, none of this would be happening?"
"I'll be honest with you,piccola," he says. "I knew I wanted you the minute I saw you. I had no intention of letting you go."
His words are supposed to feel like a noose around my neck. But instead, they feel like a stolen kiss.
It's so twisted, but I like that obsessive look in his eyes every time he looks at me. I like the way I get a little breathless every time I hear his voice.
"I told you about my family. Tell me about yours,” I say.
He looks away, but not before I catch the way his eyes burn. "There's nothing to tell."
"Siblings?" I ask, noticing the way his jaw flexes. "Parents?"
"Dead," he says.
The single word drops like a heavy anchor inside my stomach.
"I'm sorry," I whisper.
He's staring at the ocean. I watch the way the last rays of the sun light up his eyes.
"Can I ask what happened to them?"
He closes his eyes. I study his face shamelessly.
"They were killed," he says. "Murdered in cold blood."
I swallow. I want to ask him if he knows who their killer is, but there's a heaviness in my throat that keeps me from speaking. I get the strangest feeling that what I'm feeling isn't mine. The emotions I'm feeling are his.
He opens his eyes and looks up at the sky, trying to compose himself.
We sit in silence as the sky turns a violent shade of violet, its final color before darkness takes over.
