His mouth curves, but there’s nothing kind in it. “No, Elizabeth. My plan is tomorrow.”
A cold knot forms low in my stomach.
“And what happens tomorrow?”
He picks up the crumpled wedding dress from the seat and drapes it over one arm, his gaze never leaving mine.
“Tomorrow,” he says quietly, “I start making sure no one can take you from me again.”
Then he turns and walks toward the front of the cabin, leaving me standing there in my oversized hoodie, breathing hard, furious enough to shake—and hating the fact that for all his violence, for all his arrogance, for all the things he still hasn’t thought through…
I believe him.
11
Lorenzo
I walk away from Elizabeth before I do something stupid.
Like kiss her.
The problem is, Elizabeth has always known exactly how to follow a wound until she finds the place it hurts most. She comes after me anyway, fast enough to catch my arm before I reach the front of the cabin, forcing me to turn back toward her.
“I want to go back to Bari.”
“No.”
Her eyes flash so brightly it almost looks like hatred has lit them from within. “There’s no way this ends with me going back to Chicago, Lorenzo.”
I pull my arm from her grip. “You’re right. It doesn’t.”
She gives a short, disbelieving laugh. “God, you really haven’t thought any of this through.”
Something in my chest tightens.
“Stop saying that.”
“Why?” she demands, taking a step closer. “Because it’s true?” Her hands shake at her sides, but her voice only getssharper. “You don’t want me in Chicago. You can’t take me back to Bari. You’re still married. Dante is going to come for me. Your wife is going to want answers. His people are going to want blood. But sure, Lorenzo, tell me again how this was all part of some grand plan.”
I say nothing. Bad choice, because Elizabeth sees it. Her face changes—just a little—but it’s enough. Enough for me to know she found the crack.
“That’s what I thought,” she says, and her voice turns quieter then, which is somehow worse. “You came for me because you couldn’t bear seeing me belong to someone else. That’s it. That’s the whole truth.”
“It’s more than that.”
“No.” She steps into my space again, chin lifted, eyes bright with fury and hurt. “It isn’t. Because if this were love, you would have thought about what happened after the church. If this were love, Teresa wouldn’t have had a gun on her. If this were love, you wouldn’t have ripped me away at the exact moment I was choosing peace.”
The word hits like a knife.
Peace.
Withhim.
I feel my jaw go tight. “You call that peace?”
“Yes.” Her voice breaks, but she doesn’t stop. “I do. Because whatever Dante is, he gave me safety. He gave me a choice. He gave me room to breathe. And you?—”
She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. Only pain.
