It’s like the world stops turning until we all get our emotions back in control. When it starts turning again, the rest of what happened tumbles out of my mouth. It’s as hard as it was the first time, but I feel safe telling them.
“It was so quick. And, in a way, that’s what freaks me out the most. I knew I had to break it off with him. He was getting mouthy if I changed plans or didn’t want to catch up. One morning, he didn’t like something I said when he came into the café where I worked. He threw his coffee at me before storming off, then returned a couple of hours later with a bunch of cheap flowers and an apology. But I was so done and had been for a while.
“I asked if we could have a drink at a bar before going back to his place, which I rarely did. He should have read that as a red flag, but he was oblivious and so focused on me asking him out after he’d been such a dick in front of everyone, he ignored the obvious. The second I sat down in the bar, I cut off our very casual relationship. He was upset and overly apologetic, but inside, he was clearly raging. As soon as I finished saying what I needed to, which wasleave me the hell alone, I left. Apparently, there’s a second door I never knew about, and when I was passing the alley at the side of the bar, he jumped me.”
I take a big deep breath, and no one interrupts or moves a muscle.
“He grabbed me from behind, cracked my face into a wall, then barked in my face to force my submission. I remember fighting him off however I could, but I was also aware he was on the edge of turning feral. Except, Rocco was also very aware of what he was doing and how scared I was. He kept laughing in my face while ripping my hair and tearing at my clothes.”
I stop talking, half reliving the moment, half trying desperately not to.
“But you fought back,” Dante adds after a few tense and drawn-out seconds. I lock on to the hint of admiration in his voice, finding the will to keep going and get it all off my chest. Once and for all.
His statement, coupled with the pride in his voice, is like a small nudge to keep going. It’s encouraging, as is the fact the three of them don’t jump into rescue mode. I know they want to—I can see the clawing need in their eyes—but I also know they won’t until I reach for them.
“I did. Before I transitioned, there was a lot of expectation I would be a Beta or an Alpha. My parents never considered I’d be an Omega. I had equestrian club in the mornings before extra study sessions with tutors. After school, it was either more riding or weapons classes with a former marine. I fucking hate horses, by the way, but I was a fast study with all the physical stuff, and it’s one of a handful of things I’m grateful my family did for me. Without it, I never would have made it this long by myself, and I’m pretty sure Rocco would have killed me.
“I have no idea how I managed to fight him off, but I came to in the back of an ambulance. The next time I woke, I was in the ER and had a representative from the local Omega Rescue Center holding my hand and a group of detectives wanting an interview.”
Matteo lights another cigarette, Valentine flips the steaks, and Dante waves me on.
“I don’t stay long in any one place because of how deep my family’s influence is. I have a healthy aversion to anyone holding office or in a uniform because I know what people will do for money and to get ahead. But Rocco’s parting gift was to burn my apartment down, destroying what little I had.”
Matteo scoffs, disgust in his mannerism and words. “What a dickhead. He thought you’d return after he did that?”
“The detective I was with was shocked by how quickly Rocco reacted. He drove me to the airport, gave me whatever cash he had in his wallet. Gypsy handed over her belongings and three plane tickets.”
“To partially conceal your destination,” Matteo says, then shakes his head. “But they fucked up—they should have put you on a train or a bus.”
“They did the best they could,” I say, pointing out the obvious. “Both the detective and the lady from the center took it upon themselves to help on a personal level, which is more than most people I have met over the years.”
Dante reclines, trying to look relaxed, but his muscles are tight and I can scent how close he is to coming over. “How long have you been running?”
“Too long.”
“Yeah?” he says, moving again on the seat.
“Maybe my lack of wrinkles is throwing you,” I tease, and he smiles, but it’s not one of his famous smiles. Everyone waits for me to keep explaining. “At school, I was ahead of everyone. When I wasn’t at school, all I did was study or train for something my father insisted I needed. I had no downtime, and I was constantly watched. It was lucky I loved studying so much, because it’s almost all I did. I was on track for graduating Yale early before everything changed. I know I wasn’t the youngestperson living hard, obviously, but I went from being pampered to having nothing in the space of a few days. My life was flipped upside down and I would do it again if I had to. I haven’t stopped running since then.”
“And they haven’t come close to finding you?”
I wince. Before I answer, I take a couple of steadying breaths, my voice quieter, thicker with emotion. “My brother found me almost immediately.”
“I remember you saying that. What did he do?” Valentine asks. And it’s in complete contrast to my bubbling emotions. I don’t take offense at his lack of emotion—it’s confirmation of how angry he is, but his mood is not directed at me, and I know that.
“He beat me senseless,” I say, closing my eyes and breathing through the onslaught of very dark, pitch-black memories as they surge back to life.
“Why didn’t he take you back?” Matteo asks gently, keeping me in the present with them.
I huff a sad laugh, turning to look at him, to drown in his beautiful compassion as a way of escaping while I tell them. “He was having a moment. Which was the only way I escaped.”
“What kind of moment,il mio tutto?” Dante asks, but he gets up and comes over, somehow knowing already how fucked up this part is, even before I answer him.
Instinctively, I cover my face with my hands to hide my shame. “Promise me it doesn’t change anything.”
Dante doesn’t let me hide; he peels my hands off my face before he cups his hands around it instead. God, the pain I see in his eyes is like the pain I see in the mirror, but I latch on to it, clinging to him. He dips down lower, his ear resting against my lips, giving me the chance to tell him something I have never told anyone.
I need a moment. And I take as many as I need. He waits patiently, his sour cherries scent so tart in his own pain, there is no way I can stop the tear rolling down as I confess.
