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“You’re hurting me, Michael,” I tell him in a small voice.
“You know, I have to give your father credit. It really is a genius plan. Hide you away just long enough until everyone forgets what you look like. Then he brings you home and has you seduce me. Did your father know about the fake result? Was the plan always to get pregnant then?”
“Michael, please stop.”
“Were you going to just run away and go home to Daddy as soon as you could? Leave my family to be torn apart by your deceit? Forcing me into breaking the fucking marriage contract between you and Igor? Is anything you said true? Were you even kidnapped? Is Liam even mine? You were so quick to fuck me that night, after all. Makes me wonder how many other men you have spread—”
That’s enough. I slap him hard across the face. His head snaps to the side, his eyes blown wide in shock and surprise. The urge to end the poison spilling from his mouth is so intense that I didn’t bother stopping myself.
“You bastard,” I snap and glare at him through blurry, furious eyes. “I didn’t lie to you that night, and I’m not lying to you now. I hate my dad more than you could ever imagine. He was the asshole who sold me when he found me with a baby in Italy. I was sullied goods now, but I could still fetch him a fraction of what Igor was paying at least.” Tears fall down my face, but I’m too angry to wipe them away. “You know, I waited out here on this beach, waiting for the moment I’dfeel scared of you. Because I should be. You represent everything I hate, everything I ran away from…but it never came. For whatever fucking reason, I have felt safe, and warm, and loved with you because you have always made me feel like that. From the very start. But this?” I gesture to the space between us, my left hand still held hostage in his iron grip. “This isn’t safe, Michael. You’re hurting me. And right now? You’re just as terrible as my dad.”
Michael’s eyes fall to our hands, and he flinches as if he suddenly feels the ghost of my slap. He releases my hand, and I quickly pull it away, cradling my throbbing hand to my chest. A few heartbeats later, Michael rises to his feet and takes a staggering step back. I watch him with careful eyes as he pulls out his phone and pops off a text. The sudden change in his behavior is jarring, as if a switch has been flipped, and it leaves me feeling uneasy. Did I get through to him? I know what I said was harsh, but he said and acted much worse than me.
Afterward, he crosses his arms over his chest and turns his back to me. He stares out over the horizon. A storm cloud is rolling in and the wind has picked up, bringing with it the smell of rain and the sound of distant thunder.
I don’t know how long we wait there, but the silence stretches until it’s almost suffocating. His rejection stings worse than I thought it would, and I hate that it does. He doesn’t get to be the only one hurt or upset here. Never once did the idea cross my mind that Michael has some sort of secret agenda. Not to mention, the bastard told me his last name was Gallo. So if he’s going to point fingers, he better point one at himself too. Hell, he better point a whole hand.
“Boss?”
I turn my attention to the walkway and see Enzo stop at the edge where wood meets sand. His eyes dart between Michael’s stiff back and my weeping form, cradling a throbbing hand.
Finally, Michael turns around. Fighting the urge to look at him, I focus on a piece of tree bark buried in the sand instead. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. Right now, he doesn’t deserve a single thing from me. Except maybe another slap or two.
“I need you to take Rose back to the penthouse immediately. I’ll have the doctor meet you to examine her hand,” he orders before he walks away.
Because I’m apparently a glutton for punishment, I watch him go, wishing he would just look over his shoulder once at me. I don’t care if it’s with anger or regret because if he just looks at me, it means he still feels something, and anything is better than watching him walk away as if I mean nothing.
With a heavy heart and tears in my eyes, I watch him disappear around the corner and out of sight, never once looking back.
29
Michael
I watch Enzo leave with Rose.
Rose…short for Rosaleen.
Rosaleen O’Leary.
Fuck.
The mysterious Irish mob princess, who vanished from her sister’s wedding, is engaged to Igor Mikhailov, and the mother of my son.
FUCK.
I turn away, my anger boiling over, and punch a hole in the drywall. Pain explodes in my hand, the skin of my knuckles splitting and bleeding. I welcome the hurt because it drowns out the chaotic noise of my demons and helps me to focus with a clearer fucking mind.
Her confession took me by surprise, and instead of just listening, I lashed out and accused her of scheming with her father. Then I attacked her character and her virtue, which had been like throwing gasoline on a smoldering fire. Something I’m extremely good at tonight. Honestly, I deserved that slap and more. Rose was right to compare me to her father. Because at that very moment, I was no better than him.
Only when I was stunned into silence did I finally listen, and the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. Rosaleen O’Leary left Miami over ten years ago, and no one has seen her since. We never met before she left…and why would we have? She’s ten years younger than me. She was getting her first training bra while I was busy taking them off.
This isn’t safe, Michael. You’re hurting me.
Rose’s words echo over and over in my mind, making me feel worse by the second. As much as I want to chase her and fix this mess before it gets even worse, we both need some space, and I need to talk to my dad. This revelation isn’t something that can wait.
I stop in the nearest bathroom and bandage my bleeding hand before leaving in search of my dad. I’m passing a room that hasn’t been used since Gabriella was a baby and stop, opening the door to reveal a nursery. The staff keeps the room clean and organized even though it hasn’t been used in over two decades. My eyes scan the room before fixing on the crib, and an image clear as day comes to my mind, like I’m seeing it play out right before my very eyes.
Rose stands next to the crib, rocking our newborn daughter as she hums a nursery rhyme. Liam sits at Rose’s feet, flipping aimlessly through one of those pop-up children's books. Our little girl is bundled up, wisps of brown hair poking out from underneath the cap she wears. Her eyes slowly close as she drifts away, happy as can be after a bath and a warm bottle. Once asleep, Rose kisses her forehead and lays her in the crib. She watches our daughter with a loving smile before she turns and aims the same smile at me.
