Page 123 of Lovely Venom

“Cristian,” Angelo prompts him.

“I heard what you said.”

He has no argument for that, which only confirms my suspicions. Cristian knows I’m hiding something, and there’s at least a part of him that believes Angelo is right. He can’t trust me.

I don’t know why it feels like a punch to the gut, because it’s at least partially true. I can’t reveal my identity, and if Cristian does uncover it, I can only imagine two natural conclusions. He’ll think that I’ve betrayed him, and he’ll be disgusted by who I really am.

I wouldn’t be surprised if they have people excavating my entire life right now. And this is exactly what I didn’t want.

If word gets out about me, I could be marked for certain death. Either my past will come calling, or the Vitales will realize they’ve had a blood enemy at their table all along. I don’t know how they’ll handle that, but I know how things work in the world I was raised in.

The Mafia isn’t known for forgiveness, and I can’t count on a man to protect me over his own interests. The man I was supposed to marry certainly didn’t. And neither did my father.

It’s a bitter pill to swallow, but it shouldn’t be. I’ve known this all along.

I live with enough guilt for deceiving my friends, and I don’t need to add Cristian to that list. He’s making sacrifices with the belief that this could actually be more than what it is.

But it can’t be.

I need to make that clear before I ruin both of our lives.

23

CRISTIAN

After a tense standoff with Angelo, I walk down the hall to find the bed empty. The bathroom door is open, and the scent of lemon and vanilla hangs in the air from her shower.

It only takes one look at her as she applies her makeup to see that something has shifted this morning. She won’t look at me, and she’s dressed for a workout in a pair of leggings and a sports bra.

“Out of bed already?” I move in behind her, settling a hand on her hip as I meet her reflection in the mirror.

She tenses beneath my touch, and I don’t like it.

“I have a Pilates class,” she says.

Now I know she’s looking for an excuse to leave, because she reserves harder classes for her days off. Today isn’t one of them.

“How much of that did you hear?” I ask.

“Probably not all of it.”

Her response is toneless—armor meant to convince everyone she’s incapable of being hurt.

It weighs heavy on me, because I know I fucked up.

Things with Chantel have never been linear. Vulnerability destabilizes the system she’s built to protect herself, and the concept of trust terrifies her.

Whatever she heard in my conversation with Angelo validated her uncertainty. But I know better than to push her when fear has her in its grip. It’s the reason she ran from me in the first place, and it’s a mistake I won’t make twice.

She only surrenders in moments she feels safe. When she doesn’t, she retreats.

So as much as I hate it, I release her and give her some space.

“I’ll be here when you want to talk about it.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” She tosses her makeup into her bag and zips it up. “I just want this to be over. You go back to your life, and I’ll go back to mine, and we can pretend this never happened.”

“No.”