I search his face for some hint of his intentions behind the question. Is this a test? A way to gauge my loyalty? Or is he genuinely asking because he... because he cares?
No. He doesn’t care. He made that clear.
"I..." The words stick in my throat. How can I tell him the truth when it’s too hard to believe? When I don’t want them to be true. I want to hate him. My stupid heart has other ideas.
But what good would come from confessing the truth? He's made it clear that he will never trust me. I will always be a Vitale first in his eyes. Dangerous, untrustworthy, potentially fatal.
"Does it matter?" I finally say. "You've already decided who I am."
His eyes darken, and I see frustration. "Answer the question, Isabella."
The command in his tone makes me flinch but also ignites a spark of defiance. I straighten my spine, meeting his gaze directly.
"Would you believe me if I said yes? Or would you assume it's part of some elaborate plot?" My voice breaks slightly. "I mean, you know the playbook well, don’t you? You used it that night on the terrace to disrespect my father. You used it in Capri, manipulated me to feel something for you. Well, congrats. You did."
I do my best to hold his gaze despite how vulnerable I feel right now. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of thinking he’s hurt me. He’s broken me.
"I've tried not to feel anything for you. God knows, it would be easier if I could just be cold like you."
His dark eyes reveal nothing of his thoughts.
I’m tired of this discussion. I’d rather get on with whatever he’s planning to do to me. “I imagine you’ll have greater satisfaction when you punish me knowing that you can break me.”
“You don’t know shit.”
24
ALESSANDRO
Heaven help me, I want to believe her. Despite the fact that eight leaders in my organization are dead and her family is the culprit, I want to believe she’s not involved. I want to believe she feels something for me.
Fuck.
I rake my hand through my hair, my mind racing to make sense of everything. The poisoned whiskey. Marco's careful plans, or are they Enrico’s? All evidence points to the Vitales. A plot that could have killed me, my brother, everyone I care about.
And yet, standing before me is a Vitale who looks utterly devastated by what her family has done and that I’m accusing her of being a part of it.
"You really didn't know?" I ask, hating my weakness for her that will probably be my ruin.
"No. I would never be a part of something like that.”
I study her face, searching for the tells of deception. There are none. Just pain.
I think I’ll be happier when I’m dead.
Those words felt like a knife in my chest. She thinks she’ll be happier dead? The worst part is that I’m a part of the equation that adds up to her feeling like she’s worthless and her life will be nothing but pain.
She accused me of seducing her to manipulate her, and she’s not wrong. I did that. What I hadn’t anticipated is trapping myself in my own snare.
I've tried not to feel anything for you.
She feels something beyond contempt and fear.
“I know you don’t believe me,” she responds to my comment. “I know you don’t feel anything except hate?—”
“Not hate. Not for you,” I admit.
She shrugs. “The point is, I could love you, Alessandro?—”
