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“No!”
I take a step back from him, feeling like a caged animal that’s about to be hunted by the worst kind of predator.
“When did you meet him?” He takes a calculative step closer to me. “While I was working my ass off for us?”
I shake my head, and before I can answer, he asks, “Where did you even get the time?” He lets out an aggressive chuckle. “So, while I thought you were here at home, you’ve been sneaking around behind my back?”
Will anything I say matter?
“I didn’t, Armani.”
He lifts his arm and looks at the gun. Agonizing seconds pass before he tucks it back into the waistband of his pants.
Hopeful that he’s calming down and we’ll be able to talk rationally, I ask, “Can I make you some coffee? If we sit and talk–”
Armani’s chillingly intense eyes flick to me. “You’re going to pay for betraying me. I’m going to kill your lover in front of you and make you stand in a pool of his blood.”
Dear God.
He lets out a harsh breath, and for a moment, it looks like he’s going to be sick. “I need a fucking drink,” he growls as he wipes his palm over his face. “Cristo, I can’t even look at you.”
The hatred in his voice is a destructive force, ripping every happy moment we’ve shared to shreds.
With crushing heartache, I watch Armani turn away from me and leave our home.
I wrap my arm around my stomach as I desperately gasp for air. My body convulses, and running, I make it to the toilet in the nick of time. I bring up everything in my stomach until bile burns my throat.
Slumping to the floor, a sob tears from me.
My perfect world continues to spiral into a black hole until all that’s left is the grave worry and fear that Armani’s going to kill me.
If I had received a recording like that, hearing Armani with another woman, I’d believe it too. The evidence is overwhelmingly stacked against me.
There’s nothing I can say or do to defend myself.
I’ve seen what happens when Mr. Aslanhov has a drink to ‘calm down.’ It always had the opposite effect.
My baby.
Climbing to my feet, I rush to the bedroom. I yank a bag from the top shelf and haphazardly throw clothes and toiletries into it.
My panic grows with each passing minute I take to pack, and when I can’t take the stress anymore, I shut the bag and hurry to the kitchen.
I grab the pretty shopping list that’s stuck to the fridge with a magnet and write a quick note before grabbing my phone and shoving it into my purse.
It’s all I have time to take with me.
Run, Tiana. Before he gets back and kills you and your unborn baby.
I rush down the stairs, and scared of running into Armani on the streets, I throw my luggage into the boat. For a terrifying minute, I struggle to start the engine, and when it finally roars to life, I sob with relief.
Steering it up the waterway, I head for the heart of Venice so I can catch a train.
Where will I go?
What will I do?
My chest implodes with unbearable pain when the reality of what I’ve lost hits.
I’ve lost the man I’ve built my entire existence around. The love of my life.
I can’t find it in myself to place any blame at Armani’s feet. I ache for the pain he’s been forced to suffer.
I mourn the amazing man that’s been stolen from me.
I weep for the happiness I had with him that’s been cruelly ripped away from me.
I’ll never feel his kisses again. I’ll never have his arms wrapped around me again. I’ll never make love to him again.
The severity of my loss threatens to strip me of my sanity, and it hurls me into a bottomless pit of despair.
I almost bump the boat against the side of the waterway and blink the tears away so I can see where I’m going. Entering a busy canal, I have to slow the speed and maneuver between the other boats and gondolas.
My anxiety spikes sharply from the time I’m losing, knowing at any moment, Armani might realize I’m gone and come after me.
My breaths rush over my lips, and I try to keep an eye on the sidewalks for any sign of Armani.
I can’t believe this is happening.
It hurts too much. More than anything, I’ve suffered through in my past.
Reaching a platform that leads to the train station, I haphazardly park the boat and climb out. I haul my luggage to the sidewalk and run with it bouncing behind me.
The need to get to safety, and to protect my unborn baby, drives me forward.
I keep glancing over my shoulder and plow into a woman who curses me in Italian. I don’t even apologize but continue to race toward the train station.
