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If I’d been rational and in control of myself, I would’ve punished her. I would’ve beaten the truth out of her, because if I had any doubts before, I now know without question that she’s untrustworthy. Why else would she snoop around my house in the dark, risking my wrath? Perhaps that’s why I’m pushing myself so hard to be unfeeling toward her. It’s the only way to protect myself. No matter how much I lie to myself, her betrayal will disappoint me. No, it’ll slay me.
I know what my uncles will say. That I should kill her. That I should shackle her in the basement and torture her. It’s only fair. That’s how we deal with traitors.
Yet the beast who likes his new possession a little too much won’t let me. The man who fought wars to own her can’t destroy her. We came too far. I sacrificed too much.
The tires kick up gravel as I bring the car to a screeching halt in front of the main house that belongs to me now. I inherited it because I’m the sole survivor. I’m the only person left in this family. My vision darkens at the thought, my fingers tightening around the wheel with a force that hurts.
The front door opens. Light spills out. Heidi stands in the yellow glow, wearing a tracksuit instead of her usual uniform. Her features are pulled into a mask of concern. Disappointment, maybe.
“Angelo,” she exclaims when I get out of the car.
She’s been with my family since before I was born. She doesn’t often use my first name. Only when someone is about to die or something serious is happening.
“Angelo,” she says again when I shove past her.
She runs after me and blocks my way, her gaze fixing on my naked torso. “You’ll catch your death going out in the cold like that.”
“I’m alive,” I grumble, making to go around her, but she prevents me with a step to the side.
“Where is she?” Her manner is strained. “Where did you take her?”
Her eyes plead with me, begging me to tell her I didn’t beat my wife to death and bury her in a shallow grave.
“At the new house,” I say, the suppressed violence and anger turning my voice gruff. “Where she’ll live from now on.”
“She’ll catch her death too.” Her tone becomes softer, more cajoling. “Let me take her some clothes and food. A blanket, at least.”
That stops me—the realization of what I did, dragging Sabella away with no protection, not even the thin layer of a blanket. It doesn’t surprise me that Heidi knows what happened. Little goes on in the house that escapes her. Besides, I wasn’t discreet when I hauled Sabella into the night with nothing but my shirt on her body.
The notion tightens my gut. The taste in my mouth turns bitter. I liked that look on her. It woke something protective inside me. Why the fuck did she have to go snooping? I haven’t been in Adeline’s room since the accident. Going in there did something to me. Seeing her things around Sabella’s feet, broken and cracked, cut open a wound that hasn’t healed. That jewelry box was Adeline’s favorite possession. I gave it to her when we turned six. She kept all her treasures inside it. And then Sabella threw all those memories on the floor, exposing them to eyes that were never meant to see them.
“Angelo,” Heidi says, pulling me back to the present with a gentle but insistent reprimand.
“Fine.” I grip her shoulders and set her aside. “Take clothes and food. But do not speak her name in my presence again. Are we clear?”
Her lined face collapses with something akin to pity, but she knows better than to argue.
I leave her to her pity and stalk upstairs. With every step I take, I punish myself, fighting the urge to turn around and take those things to Sabella myself.
On the landing, I pause. Hesitate. Wrestle some more with myself. But no. I can’t grow soft. Not for a woman. Not for a traitor. What did I expect? I always knew Sabella was strong-willed. She never liked me to tell her what to do or how to behave. When she chooses a man, she’s all sweetness and soft consideration, a warm body and an even warmer smile. I can never forget those stolen moments when I was the man she’d chosen. I miss them more than I care to admit.
Yet I’ll commit the same sins if it means I get to keep her. Even if the price is banishing her to a place where she can’t gather evidence against me. If given another chance, I’d steal that book with the incriminating evidence from her father again.
I push myself to walk away. It takes tremendous effort. My feet slap the floor hard when I enter my bedroom. Why does she have to fight me so persistently? If only she’d gone down on her knees, she could’ve slept in my bed tucked against my side. If only she’d asked nicely for once, she could’ve had a warm shower and wake up to breakfast in bed. Instead, she’s locked away in a tower, in a house that my mother’s family rejected and deserted, and I’m here wishing things were different.
Maybe that’s the problem. Wishful thinking and facts aren’t the same. I should’ve known right from the start this was how we’d end up, with her rebelling and me deflecting.
I reach for the decanter of Scotch on the table. On second thought, I retract my hand. Drinking only makes me more volatile. I looked down the bottom of a bottle far too often during the last few months.
Going back to sleep isn’t an option. I get my phone and send an instruction to the guardhouse to dispatch a man to watch the house at the far end of the property, not only to keep my wife safe but also to make sure she doesn’t run. Not that she’ll get far. There’s nothing for miles around. The village is down in the valley. Anyway, I don’t expect her to escape. She’s cleverer than that.
With the task out of the way, I send a message to my uncles, calling them in for a meeting first thing in the morning. It’s time to put them back in their place.
Chapter
Three
Sabella
