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He only looks at me with gleaming eyes.
“You used me,” I say, stepping away from him, my palm burning and my hands shaking.
He doesn’t deny the accusation.
“You planned this for a whole year.” My voice quivers. Tears prick at the back of my eyes when I realize how deep his deceit runs. “That’s why you gave me a phone.”
“Not only,” he says with a stoic face.
Fuck. That hurts. I gnash my teeth, forcing back the tears. I will not show him how effectively he’s broken me into pieces. The only thing he deserves to witness is my loathing.
I shove him again. “How could you?”
He just stands there, taking my abuse.
“Damn you, Angelo Russo. Tell me.” The volume of my voice rises to a hysterical level. “Why? Why did you do it? What are you going to do with the information you stole?”
Still, he says nothing, shows nothing. No emotion. No regret.
Done. I’m done with this. The this he didn’t want to do through the bars of a gate last night had nothing to do with me. It was all about stealing information from my dad.
I utter a wry laugh. He couldn’t steal that through the bars of our gate. No. He needed me to switch off the alarm and let him in. And I did it. I invited him in, welcoming him like a wolf in a lamb’s pen.
He walks to a wet bar in the corner and pours a glass of water. I take in the surroundings for the first time, the spacious lounge that opens onto a balcony with potted trees, the canopy bed in the adjoining room, and the home gym in front of the big windows.
He puts the glass on the coffee table in front of me. “You need a drink.”
I feel like throwing that water in his face, but I’ve already assaulted him physically, and it’s not how my parents raised me. I don’t like this person, the one I become when I’m with him.
“Juice, perhaps?” he asks.
“You’re an asshole.”
His mouth lifts in one corner. “Maybe I should add some sugar for that mouth of yours.”
I’ve tried. I’m not going to get answers from him. There’s no closure for me here, no reasons or excuses.
I hold out my hand. “Give me the book.”
“It won’t make a difference. The information has already been copied and stored in the cloud.”
“I’m going to tell my dad. You know that, don’t you?”
“It doesn’t matter. He already knows.”
“That was your business with him?” I exclaim. “You son of a bitch. What do you want? Money? Are you blackmailing him? Is that it?”
His tone is level. “If your father was a man of his word, this wouldn’t have been necessary.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but it doesn’t change the fact that you manipulated me or that you’re using stolen information to blackmail my dad.”
“I did what had to be done for us to be together,” he says matter-of-factly.
“Us?” My chuckle is ugly. “Do you seriously think I’ll ever be with you after what you’ve done?”
“One day, you’ll understand.”
“Never,” I spit out. “We’ll never be together.”
His look turns calculated. “Then you better think again, cara. You’re mine. We belong together. Nothing will change that. I’ll kill for you if that’s what it takes.”
Oh my God. He’s not just bad. He’s the definition of evil. The love he kindled inside me and so carefully cultivated is like poison. If I don’t cut it out of my heart, it’ll kill me.
My dad was right. I’ve been Angelo’s fool, and I’m no longer playing the idiot for him.
Stripping the ring from my thumb, I throw it on the table. It clatters over the glass before rolling off the edge and hitting the carpet with a thud. “I don’t ever want to see you again. Stay away from me and my family.”
I turn on my heel and head for the door, but I don’t make it two steps before Angelo wraps a big hand around my throat and pulls me back. The action breaks my momentum. I stumble, my back hitting the wall of his chest.
He squeezes, pressing his fingers on sensitive spots. “You’re not so quick to like me now that you’ve seen my true nature.” It almost sounds like an accusation. Lowering his head, he brushes a whisper over my ear. “That ring stays on your hand until I replace it with another. Have you forgotten so quickly?”
I step away and spin around. “Keep your ring. I don’t want it.”
“You’ll wear that mark on your finger or branded into your skin. Your choice.”
My lips part. He must be joking.
He’s not. He bends, picks up the ring in no hurry, and takes a Zippo lighter from his pocket. It’s the same one he used to light a joint when we first met. I watch, horrified, as he flicks the lighter and holds the ring under the flame.
