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She looked like the apparition that always haunted him. Like a goddamn fairy come to mock him for his human failings.
And he wanted her.
Now more than ever, he wanted her. The more she resisted, the more she compelled him.
Just like the time she'd bit him, taking a chunk of flesh out of his neck, he simply felt awe-struck by her and her countenance.
And by Hades, he would have her. If he did nothing else, he would have her.
"A few nasty things?" she repeated, her lips stretching into a cruel smile. "Is that what you call it?"
"And what would you call it," he shot back, growing more annoyed by the second.
"Murder," she stated. "Infanticide. That's what you did, Michele. You killed your own child in cold blood and you killed my heart with it."
For a second, he felt at a loss for words as he processed what she was saying. Then, almost like a haze covering his mind, his brain went off at the accusation as it hit one spot deep within him—onedeepspot that he'd always hid from the world.
"Infanticide? Did you have to look that up in a dictionary?" he drawled mockingly.
She didn't react.
"How long did it take you to read the word?" he smiled. "Since you know, you seem to have a problem with that."
She was quick to mask her expression of hurt, but he saw it, nonetheless.
"Go ahead," she nodded. "Insult me," she said, stunning him with her sudden stance. "Yes, I am dumb. I am stupid and anything else you can think of. I am all of those things, I admit. And I'm the stupidest of all for having fallen for you. For buying your lies. For ignoring every single red flag when you were waving them right in my face. So go ahead. You can call me anything you like. But that doesn't change the fact that you," she raised her voice a notch, poking her finger at his chest, "are a murderer. Theworstkind of murderer. You took my choice away from me. You tookeverything!"
Her words filtered through his brain. He could barely hear her. He could only see the woman in front of him like he'd never seen her before.
It thrilled him. It excited him. It fuckingenragedhim.
"Do you know how they do it?" she continued, coming closer. This time it was her who took the initiative, bringing her face next to his as she braved his gaze with hers, a smug smile playing at her lips. "They use a forceps and they pull the baby's body apart. Limb by limb. Body part by body part until there's nothing left," she told him in a cold, chilling voice. "And you did that. You ripped your own child apart," she accused, raising a brow as if she dared him to object—to defend himself when there was nothing to defend. "I bled for days. But you don't care about that, don't you? For you I'm just a hole to stick your dick inside, nothing more."
"Careful, pet. Careful," he warned quietly, his fists clenched by his sides as he barely controlled himself.
She was making a mockery of his self-control and everything he'd set to achieve that night.
She was making a mockery of him. Period. Because no matter how much he held himself still—how much he tried to seem indifferent—her words hit him like a fucking atomic bomb, ripping his insides apart just as he imagined those of their child had been. Now, he had the mental image. And by God… He didn't think he'd ever get rid of it.
A twitch appeared in his jaw as he met gaze dead on, hiding underneath every reaction that sought to get out.
"Careful what? Easy for you to speak," she laughed, a dry, ironic laugh that grated on his ears. "I've dreamed of him," she continued in a low voice. "He came for me, and you know what he told me?" A slight smile played at her lips.
He didn't answer, didn't say anything.
"He thanked me," she shook her head, her smile growing bigger. "He thanked me for not letting him be born to a father like you."
At that, he finally blinked—a small reaction, but one, nonetheless.
That one sentence struck him so hard, he had to hold himself still to not physically reel from the force of it.
"And that's why, Michele Guerra," she continued to jab her finger at his chest, her eyes never leaving his. "You're dead to me."
Foreign emotions piled up inside of him until he didn't know what to do anymore—until he didn't know how to react. Pushing her off him, he stepped away, voices crowding his mind, echoes of pain—so much fucking pain.
Yet he didn't let it show.
He kept the same blank expression as he took a step back, even though beneath it all, a war was raging. The worst war of all—the war for his soul.
