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“I will be coming for you, daughter. Luca’s fate lands on you now.” When he lets go of my hand, I open it up. A clear vial sits heavy. “If Luca still lives tomorrow night, I will know your answer.”
He steps away, opening the door just as one of Luca’s men barges through it. He takes in my father and me, causing my dad to laugh as he walks away.
“We have her. She is safe,” I hear my bodyguard say.
He grabs my arm, his fingers biting into my skin. With a yank, I free myself, stomping away. I go a few steps before Luca is storming his way toward us. My fingers are clenched around the vial my father gave me. I have nowhere to put it; I’m not even wearing a bra.
Luca grasps my shoulders when he meets me. “Are you okay?” His eyes are trailing down my body, inspecting me, his worried eyes crinkling around the edges.
“I’m fine. I just needed a moment to myself.”
“You mean a moment with your father.” He’s staring at my face, searching for my truth.
“He ended up outside too, yes. Can you broker a truce of some sort? Can’t the families learn to work together?”
“The bad blood is too thick for that.” He pauses, nodding his men off. “Are you ready to go back out there?” He offers me his hand, the one time he hasn’t just taken it. Taking a step forward, I begin walking refusing his hand. My head tilts up in necessary defiance, and Luca matches my steps.
I want to see my mother so badly, but having to give up Luca doesn’t seem right. The poison in my hand is like a ticking bomb. I don’t have it in me to kill him, and I never could. I truly love Luca. I fell in love with him years ago.
Stepping into the beautiful ballroom, Luca begins to lead me to the dance floor. His steps are slightly ahead of mine. The room still has the unbearable tension as before.
Chapter 29
Luca
Myheartricochetsinmy chest as I wait for Aly to tell me what she’s holding. With each sweep to hold her hand, she takes a step away, leaving her out of my grasp. Her feet falter for a brief second when she sees I’m guiding her toward the dance floor. There will be no hiding from me there. My chest drums, hoping I’m reading her wrong. It’s not that I don’t trust her; I don’t trust her father. Tomorrow, some of my men will be fired for losing her, if I’m feeling generous.
Loud chatter envelops the room. Everyone is shaking hands, smiling, but the underlying tension remains. With each stride we take, more eyes land on us. The lights seem brighter than they did a moment ago. All I want is to hold her, to breathe her in. I need her to calm my heart in a way only she can. Using all my restraint, I allow her to have the space she seems to be clinging to. Each muscle in my body is rigid, becoming tight with her refusal to seek my touch out.
Stepping onto the dance floor, I turn toward her. Her eyes bounce around nervously, making my stomach slip further with the realization that we may not have the trust we need. There is still a light of hope that I’m wrong. I keep trying to convince myself as I position us to dance by placing one hand against the soft skin of her back, while my other hand grabs her fisted one that refuses to open.
My instinct is to crush her small hand until she is left with no other choice but to let whatever she is holding fall from her grasp. Instead, I pry her fingers from her palm with no effort, even with her using all her strength. I slide my palm over hers, our fingers interlocking. The cylinder resting between our hands. It’s cold and hard, matching my stance as I hold her. My heart splinters more as we stand in the middle of the room, and she has yet to attempt to explain. Her eyes are wide, going from her hand to my eyes. I thought she resuscitated my black heart to something that may be considered living, but it breaks each second my wife, the woman I love, refuses to meet my eye. The betrayal tastes bitter on my tongue, cracking my chest with what feels like a baseball bat pounding into me.
With elegance, I spin her around the floor, masking all of my emotions. “Little bird, are you trying to escape your cage?”
All this time, I’ve been worried about my actions hurting her—not that she would try to hurt me. Her father called her while she was at her studio; I should have confronted her then. Have they been plotting this the whole time? Am I the one they’ve been laughing at? Gazing down at her, all I can see is her father in her. It sickens me to think I’ve been played so perfectly. That I allowed myself to love, only for it to be a mirage of what my life could never be.
My chest aches in a way I have never felt before. I’ve never allowed myself to get attached. I have tried to stay emotionless because, in the end, no one can hurt you if you don’t care. But with her held in my arms, I feel that gut-stabbing hurt of treachery. That sick feeling is on repeat. My body feels love, but my mind is more cautious. It takes all my strength not to walk off this floor, to escape this nauseating feeling that sits like a rock in my gut.
Holding her hand tighter, I spin her out from me, then pull her back in, this time opening her hand enough to see a small cylinder, much like a perfume sample, with liquid inside.
“You will drink that.” My voice is hoarse and raspy, and it pains me to say the words. Her body has a visible shake to it, and she pales. Tears form in her eyes as she realizes she’s been caught. She displays the typical cowardly signs, and I thought at least she would hold her ground and keep her chin up.
“I can’t.” Her words hardly escape her pretty parted lips, and I have to lean in to hear her. She’s had time to come clean, to confide in me, to trust me. But like everyone else in my life, except my father, she never believed in me, inus. We could have been amazing together.
I hold her stronger. She swallows twice, her arm trying to escape my hold. Her efforts are wasted as I hold her in place.
“No one will come to you. Remember I was the one who saved you,” I remind her, prying her hand open again. We have stopped dancing, but our chests are pressed together. Her heart beats rapidly, matching mine. Her refusal to defend herself further spikes my frustrations and anger. Her mouth opens and closes, yet not a sound can be heard.
I should have known better than to allow myself to fall in love. In the end, everyone leaves me. I thought she could be different.
“I wasn’t going to use it.” There is begging in her tone, and it sounds ugly coming from her mouth as she starts to defend herself. It’s the pathetic tone everyone has the moment they realize they are going to die.
“Don’t start lying to me now.”
It hurts me to do this. I’m holding her hand that’s trying to get away from me, but I can’t fully move it. Not because I can’t, but because my heart is having a hard time letting her go. Inch by inch, I force my hand to move hers up, the poison coming closer to those beautiful lips I loved to kiss.
A flicker of realization that I won’t back down passes over her eyes. I wish there was another way. Her chest works double-time with short pants. She refuses to look around, making me live the horror of killing the one person I thought I could love.
