Cristiano fills the doorway, broad shoulders blocking the light from the hall. He steps inside and closes the door behind him.
I’m trapped. My mind flashes to a wardrobe, to darkness, to his voice through the wood sayingI can’t let you leave.
“Don’t.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “Whatever you’re about to do, don’t.”
He stops. His hand is still on the doorknob, and there’s a dark, calculated flicker in his eyes. “I just want to talk.”
“You always just want to talk. And then you just want to hold me. And then you just want to touch me. And then—” My voice cracks. “I know what you’re like, Cristiano. I’ve watched you manipulate me for years. So whatever play this is, stop it.”
He’s quiet for a moment. Studying me with those amber eyes that see too much.
He takes a step forward, and I take a step back, but we both know I’m running out of room.
“I’m not here to manipulate you. I’m here to explain.”
But I’m the one who needs to explain, and after I do, he needs to leave.
“I’m sorry about hurting your fiancée,” I say as steadily as I can. “I don’t know how it happened. I didn’t mean to hurt her. It was an accident.” Then in a whisper, “Please don’t fire me.”
I hate how small I sound, but the rent is due in two weeks, and I can’t afford to lose this job, and heknowsthat. He knows exactly how trapped I am.
“Mina.” His voice is soft. Pained.
He crosses the room in three strides and pulls me into his arms.
I go rigid. Every instinct screams to fight, to push him away, to run. But his arms wrap around me before I can move, one hand cradling the back of my head, pressing my face into his chest. He’s warm and solid, and he smells like expensive cologne. I can feel his heart pounding beneath my cheek.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into my hair. “I’m so sorry. This is my fault.”
I should struggle. I should scream.
But God help me, it feels good to be held. It’s been so long since anyone held me like I’m precious. Leon hugs me, but Leon is four. He seeks comfort, he doesn’t give it. And there’s no one else. No partner, no lover, no one who wraps their arms around me at the end of a hard day and tells me everything will be okay.
Cristiano is the worst person in the world to fill that void.
He’s also the only one who’s trying.
“Cristiano. Your fiancée is right outside.”
“She’s not my fiancée.”
I try to pull back, but his arms tighten around me. “What?”
“I never proposed to her. I never wanted to marry her. One of my capos vastly overstepped. One of my father’s men.” His voice is rough, almost pained. “I didn’t even know about the ring until today.”
This is the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard. A man doesn’taccidentallyget engaged. There are conversations, negotiations, a ring selection, a proposal. You don’t just wake up one morning with a fiancée you didn’t know about.
“You expect me to believe that?” I ask.
“No. It’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard. But it also happens to be the truth.”
I hear the leashed anger in his words, directed at his capo. One of his father’s men. A man who’s used to taking orders from Don Agnello, and Cristiano is just his son. He doesn’t sound defensive. He sounds furious, but not at me. At the situation, and the capo who made him look like a fool.
Being in his arms and held so tightly that I can’t move should horrify me, but there’s something warm and treacherous unfurling in my chest.
Cristiano isn’t engaged.
He’s not engaged, and he came running the moment he knew I was upset. I suppose Ariana must have sent him a text message complaining about me.
