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“You look lovely, Emelia. Now, stand. I have something I would like you to wear.”
I do as he says, hesitant as to what he has planned, but stand nonetheless.
“These pearls were my mother’s. I expect you to wear them at any event or ball we attend.”
He’s giving me his mother’s pearls? That seems like too intimate of a thing to just give me.
“Token of ownership, I suppose,” I mumble under my breath, and he catches my jaw between his hands and forces me to look up at him. His eyes pierce mine with ferocity.
“You have to get your shit in order, Emelia. We talked about our white flag, and today you’ve seemed to do nothing but stomp on it. We are a united front, and my tracker may have pissed you off, but it’s truly for your protection. You should be thanking me for thinking of your safety.”
I scoff, crossing my arms and taking a step back.
“Again, I’m not a damsel, Nico. I saved myself by marrying you and getting out of the monster’s lair. And what, you want praise for doing psychotic things and offering the bare minimum outside of that? Your mother’s pearls are supposed to make me swoon or something?”
Placing his hands in his pockets, he cocks his head to the side and looks me over.A strange expression passes over his face, and I can’t quite pin what it means, but it flashes so quickly it's like it didn't even happen.
“That’s exactly what I expect. Think you can manage a simple task, wife?”
“Call me Emelia. Wife implies love or, hell, even just an ounce of respect, dignity, and self-identity, which you have stripped away.” I push past him, and he grabs my elbow. His touch is hot, and it sends an electric bolt through me.
“You will be on your best behavior tonight, Emelia. You will.”
Oh, I will—over-the-top will. Will painstakingly be a thorn in his ass.
“Yes, Nico. Iwillbe,” I emphasize and then yank back my arm, storming off before he can say another word.
We ride the elevator down in silence, and I feel the thick tension in the air. But he must feel it too, because he is fuming, his aggravation felt from here, as if he were shaking and boiling to a tipping point. Stepping out onto the street, we are about to slip into the car, when shots ring out. The sound is so piercing I can’t help but scream and cover my ears.
“Giulio! Cover! Farren, get Emelia inside! Now!” I try to look back at the scene, but I’m practically overtaken by my bodyguard and rushed into the building. We make it to the elevator, and I hear Nico ask, “Is she shot? Is my wife shot!” That’s when I spot the trail of blood that followed behind us.
“No, sir, it’s me. It’s just a flesh wound on my arm,” Farren confirms, and I look at Nico, seeing a flash in his eyes that I can’t place, but he looks somewhat…relieved.
And the way he yelled out, asking if I—his wife—was shot? It held so much fear, protectiveness, and more. It was palpable. The doors shut, my sight of Nico cut off, and the elevator rises.
“Are you okay, Farren?” I ask, turning to check on him. My throat is tight, and my adrenaline is seizing the blood in my veins, but I feel awful he took a bullet while protecting me.
Suddenly, I feel terrified and alone, scared of what is going to happen next. Who attacked us? It wouldn’t be my father; he wouldn’t risk me getting shot…would he?
“Yes, I’m doing just fine. Not my first time. Are you all right, Mrs. Valiente?” he inquires, and I nod.
“Um… yeah, sure. And please… Emelia. Call me Emelia,” I tell him in a whisper.
Would my father really try so soon and so brazenly to shoot my husband with me in the crossfire?
No. He couldn’t. I refuse to believe it. I have to.
The next thirty minutes pass in a blur. I start to worry about Nico and Giulio. Are they okay? What happened? Do they know? I have some of Farren’s blood on me, and I want a shower, then take something to knock me out. My adrenaline won’t settle, and the spike in anxiety is making it impossible to calm myself down. I think about showering, but something in me can’t get past waiting until someone comes in here and tells me what is happening.
“I don’t care what it was or who. I want them dead. Whoever that was made one of my men bleed, and they nearly got Emelia. I will have their blood and flesh for payment!” Nico yells into the phone as he steps off the elevator. His shirt is covered in red. Blood. His blood? Giulio’s? My heart lurches, but then I see Giulio step out, and I’m instantly relieved.
“Nico. What happened? Who did this?” I am up and on him in just a few strides. I’m assessing his body and trying to see if it’s his blood or someone else’s.
“We were attacked, Emelia. Someone is out for us.”
I swallow back the guilt and knowledge that I already knew there was no peace. Also knowing who it is who wants to see Nico’s reign end the most.
“Oh my hell, Nico, you were shot!” I see the bullet wound on his left bicep, and I reach down, grab the bottom hem of my dress, and rip. I fold the cloth up and add pressure. Turning my head, I tell Giulio to call the doctor, the same man who placed my tracker implant.
