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The truth lodged in his throat like broken glass. He couldn’t force the words out.

Her chin trembled once, then steadied. His silence was enough.

“I see.” Her lips pressed tight, trembling slightly. She stared at the spoon in her hand as if she’d forgotten it was there, then dropped it back into the bowl. For a long moment she stared down at the batter, her shoulders rising and falling as if trying to remember how to breathe.

Then she turned. Quiet. Resolute. Walking away.

“Madelaine, wait!” Paulo surged forward. “There’s more to this!”

But she didn’t slow.

He slowed only long enough to level a murderous glare at Sal. The bastard didn’t flinch, only glared back, his silence another judgment.

“Fix this,” Sal ordered coldly. “If a man ever manages to find someone who is as obviously perfect for him as she is for you, then he should never abuse her trust in this way!” Sal glared at Paulo for a long moment, then he added, “You’ve never preyed on the innocent before. Not until now.” Then his friend turned and walked out.

Paulo knew Sal was right. And the memory of Madelaine’s eyes, so hurt and betrayed, were still seared into his mind. He started toward her, ready to beg, to explain, to do anything to bring her back.

Then his phone rang.

He glanced at the caller ID. Tony. With a growl, he swiped to answer. “What?”

“Are you using Sal’s best friend to get to your nemesis?” Tony’s voice was a low, deadly rumble.

Fury flared, raw and violent. One accusation too many. “Don’t go there,” Paulo snapped, ending the call. Tony could damn well wait. His woman came first.

He hurried into the kitchen but it was empty except for Rosa.

“Where is Madelaine?” His demand echoed loudly through the silent room.

Rosa didn’t even flinch. She was stirring what looked suspiciously like the same bowl of batter Madelaine had been holding moments ago. Her usual calm eyes were hard, her voice sharp. “She’s gone. And whatever you did, Paulo Ruffino, it was dead wrong. You broke her heart.”

Her words struck harder than a train. Paulo raked a hand through his hair. “I know. I need to find her so I can fix it.”

Something softened in Rosa’s expression, but only barely. “Good. But until she tells me that you’ve made it right, you’re getting boiled chicken and steamed broccoli. Every night.”

Paulo nearly winced. Broccoli. He hated the stuff with a passion. And cauliflower. And asparagus!

“I’ll fix it,” he swore even as Rosa muttered something about cauliflower sauce. The sound of a door slamming above him sent him running for the stairs.

Two at a time, he pounded upward, heart hammering against his ribs. Relief washed over him as he heard sounds coming from her room. Drawers opening. Clothes shifting. She hadn’t left the house yet. She was still here. Still safe.

He gripped the doorframe and took a deep breath to steady himself, then knocked. No answer. Just the sound of more drawers.

Cowardice clawed at him. He shoved it down, and opened the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice filled the room.

She froze, then shook her head and shoved a ratty old sweatshirt into the pathetic backpack she’d brought with her. “I’m leaving.”

He stepped forward. “You can’t just leave, Madelaine.”

Her glare stopped him cold. “All of this,” she gestured toward the room and the clothes, her voice tight with fury and hurt, “was just a way to use me to get to my father.” Her lips trembled, and he caught the shimmer of tears she tried to blink away. “This whole situation is fake. A plan. A ploy for your revenge.” She shoved the sweatshirt into her backpack, then zipped it closed.

“He killed my father,” Paulo admitted quietly.

She stilled. She pressed the backpack to her chest like a shield. His words had struck home.

“He killed my father,” Paulo repeated, each word rougher than the last. “The only family I had left.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping, unsteady with a truth he’d never spoken aloud. “I was twelve. Alone. I learned to survive on the streets, to become this…thing you see now.” His hands flexed at his sides. “He took everything. And I’ve spent years trying to draw him out, but he’s a coward. He hides. He runs. No taunt, no trap has ever worked.”