"I love you," I sob. "I love you. I love you?—"
We come together, violent and desperate. I'm screaming his name, and he's groaning mine, and for a moment the world narrows to just this—us, connected, destroyed, remade.
Afterward, we stay pressed together. His forehead against my shoulder blade. Both of us shaking.
"Don't fucking push me to choose between you and the family," he says finally, pulling out of me. "Antonio's dying. The family's falling apart. Everyone questions whether I can lead. I need you to fall in line."
I want to scratch his eyes out, but I don't. There's something in his eyes that holds me back.
His eyes are exhausted. Not angry. His face is open. Vulnerable. Raw in a way I've never seen.
"I can help you," I say. "I can?—"
"You gave intel to Alexei."
"I know." I feel guilty. Really guilty for the first time. "I was wrong. I was hurt and scared, and I made a terrible decision. But Saint, you have to understand?—"
His phone rings.
We both freeze.
He pulls it out, checks the screen. His face goes white. "Yeah?"
I watch his expression change. Crumple. Reform into something blank.
"When?" a pause. "I understand. I'll be there in twenty minutes."
He hangs up.
Looks at me.
"Antonio's dead."
The words hang between us.
All the fight, all the anger, all the passion—gone. Replaced with grief so raw I feel it in my chest.
"Saint—"
"We need to go." His voice is mechanical now. Distant. Hard. He reminds me of the Saint I knew when we first got married, and I feel a sort of desperation clawing its way up my throat.
"Saint, I'm sorry?—"
"Later." He's already pulling away, fixing his clothes. "We deal with this later. Right now, we go home. We mourn. We present a united front."
"And then?"
He looks at me. Really looks at me. "Then we figure out if this marriage can survive what you did."
The words cut deeper than any of the cruel things he said during sex.
Because he's right.
I betrayed him. Betrayed both our families. And the fact that I love him doesn't change that.
It might make it worse.
We leave through the back exit. Emmanuel is waiting with the car. If he notices our disheveled appearance, he doesn't comment.
