Bloody Heart (Brutal Birthright #4) - Sophie Lark Page 0,80
violence. I don’t even watch it in movies. That’s why it was so disturbing to me when I saw Dante covered in blood that night.
Now I’ve actually seen him in action—seen him throw another man across the room as if he weighed nothing. I watched him choke Kenwood until the life faded from his eyes.
It was horrifying. And yet . . . I know Dante did it for me. I saw the look on his face when he crashed into the room, and saw me with my dress ripped, arms pinned behind my back. He went into a rage for me. To protect me.
I want to look over at him. I want to say something. But I’m so afraid to break the silence between us. To shatter this brief, moment in time, where I know for certain that Dante still cares about me at least a little. I’m afraid if I say anything, the understanding between us will splinter like glass and fall apart, leaving me cut and bleeding all over again.
But I have to speak. I have to say something.
“Dante . . .”
His dark eyes meet mine. They look a thousand miles deep. I can see past the anger, down to the pain he’s been hiding. I hurt this man. I hurt him badly.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
Why was it so hard to get those words out?
Why didn’t I say them to Dante a long, long time ago . . .
The effect is instantaneous. Dante’s huge hands tighten around the wheel, and he swerves hard to the right. The car screeches and almost spins, sliding onto the gravel shoulder before coming to a stop.
Dante turns and faces me.
He’s frightening me, but I have to keep going.
“I’m sorry I left,” I babble. ”It was a mistake. A mistake I’ve paid for every day since.”
“You paid for it?” he says, in a tone of disbelief.
“Yes,” I’m trying not to cry, but I can’t help the hot tears pricking at my eyes. “I’ve been so unhappy . . . I never stopped missing you. Not for a day. Not for an hour.”
He’s silent, his jaw clenching and working while he seems to struggle either to say something in response, or to hold back.
I can see the battle on his face. Two forces warring inside of him—the desire to rage and yell, against maybe, I hope, the desire to tell me that he missed me too.
“You’re sorry?” he asks me, those black eyes searching my face.
“Yes.”
“I want you to show me how sorry you are.”
I don’t understand what that means.
He pulls the car back out onto the road. I don’t know where we’re going, and I’m too afraid to ask. I’m nervous and confused. But there’s also a grain of hope inside of me . . . because he didn’t reject me outright. I think there’s the tiniest chance he might forgive me still.
We drive back into the city without speaking. Then Dante stops abruptly outside The Peninsula hotel. This isn’t where I’m staying, so I’m confused.
“Go wait in the lobby,” Dante orders.
I do what he says.
As always happens when I’m self-conscious, I feel like everyone is looking at me. I have to hold the left strap of my dress together, because it’s still torn. After a few minutes, Dante joins me with a room key in his hand.
“Upstairs,” he says.
A shiver runs down my spine. I think I’m starting to understand, though I don’t dare say a word. I follow Dante obediently into the elevator, hands trembling and knees shaking with nerves.
The elevator rises up to the top floor. Dante leads me down the hallway to the Honeymoon Suite.
He unlocks the door and pushes it open.
I hesitate on the threshold. I know if I step over, something is about to happen.
I don’t care what it is. In that moment, I finally understand that I’ll do anything to have Dante again. Even just for a night.
I step into the hotel room. Dante closes the door behind me. I can feel his heat and bulk, right behind my back. I feel him looming over me. I’ve never known a man who could make me feel so small and helpless just by standing next to me.
When he speaks, his voice is the deepest and harshest I’ve ever heard it.
“Do you know what that nine years did to me?” he says. “Do you know what I did to try to forget you? I abandoned my family. I joined the military. I flew halfway across the world and