"She was what, Salvatore?" I push. "Your mistress? Your fuck buddy? Your dirty little secret tucked away in the staff quarters?"
"I ended it." His response is immediate, sharp. "The night you walked through that door, it was over."
He reaches for me, but I step back.
"Did you?" I wrap my arms around myself, armor against the ache. "Because she seemed awfully confident that she still has access to your bed."
"She shouldn't have been in there." His voice turns cold. Deadly. "I made it clear we were done."
"Clearly not clear enough." I laugh without humor. "She was very comfortable making territorial claims over you."
"She has no claim on me. No one has ever had a claim on me, Valentina. No one except you. You're the only woman I belong to."
"But she did." The words taste like poison. "For two years, she did."
"For two years, we had nothing. Physical. Convenient. Nothing more. She knows that. It was never what you and I have, Valentina. Not even close."
I shake my head, something breaking inside my chest.
"Don't." My voice drops to a whisper. "Don't you dare try to tell me this is love."
"It's the truth." He steps closer, and I hate that I don't move away this time. "When I woke up next to you, I didn't want to be anywhere else. When you smile at me, I feel like I can breathe for the first time in years."
His voice lowers, rough and desperate.
"The thought of you leaving? Of walking out that door and never coming back? It makes me want to burn this entire fucking city to the ground and stand in the ashes until you come home."
Part of me wants to believe him, but all I can see is that lipstick kiss. The smug look on her face. The bracelet glinting on her wrist.
"You should have told me." My voice breaks. "Before she could throw it in my face like ammunition."
"I know."
"Before I had to stand there and listen to her tell me I'm just temporary."
"You're not."
I look up at him, forcing myself to ask.
"Is there anyone else?"
His jaw tightens.
Fuck.
"Two more."
The words hit like a physical blow.
"They're in the guest quarters," he adds quickly, like that makes it better. "They're not in the main house."
"Three," I repeat the number softly, letting it sink in. "Three women you've been sleeping with. In this house."
A hollow laugh escapes me.
"Jesus Christ, Salvatore. I didn't realize I was moving into a high-end brothel."
"Valentina."
