over my face before entering the main part of the cabin. “Smith…” I wait a few seconds, aware he’s always listening, but also know I’m not the only person he keeps tabs on—if he’s still keeping tabs on me. “Smith—”
“Is handling other matters right now.”
With my heart beeping in my neck, I shift on my feet to face the voice that froze my heart. Since his Italian accent was heavier than I’ve heard it before, I assumed it belonged to Dimitri’s father. If the dangerous pump of Dimitri’s nostrils is anything to go by, I’m kind of wishing it was still him. Dimitri is bristling with anger, and once again, all his focus is on me.
I hate myself for running. I pledged on the way here that the rod in my back won’t bend for anyone. But that doesn’t count when the man you love is looking at you like he wants to kill you.
Besides, I’m not running from him. I am running away from what he represents. More than once he hurt me, yet all I want to do is smooth the groove between his brows with my lips.
That makes me as unhinged as Dimitri’s growl when he slams the door shut before I get close to darting through it, then crowds me against it. I’m scared shitless, but for some stupid reason, I relish his big brooding frame looming over me. If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t be here. If he were done with me, he wouldn’t have needed to check that Rocco drove away after dropping me off.
As I consider the possibilities of what his arrival means, my heart picks up speed. Will he beg me to stay? Will he tell me he’s sorry? Will he introduce me to his daughter instead of pretending he hasn’t noticed me watching their connection from afar?
The possibilities are endless, I just never considered this one.
With his big hand cupping the little pouch in the lower half of my stomach from eating too many carbs the past week, and his lips squashed against my ear, he whispers five words more important than any, “I cared. I still do.”
35
Dimitri
Every step I take away from the private jet feels like a knife is being stabbed into my chest. My words shattered Roxanne, she broke down in front of me, yet I still walked away.
I don’t have a choice. I can’t be who she needs me to be and protect her at the same time. She craves a monster, a bastard, a man who’d rather destroy her than have her ever believe she deserves better than him, but I need to be more than that.
I need to be the lowest of the low, the scum on the bottom of a seedy one-star motel shower stall, the man my father raised me to be. I need to rain terror down on those who have done me wrong and resurrect the innocent I burned along the way.
And I need to start with her.
Megan’s eyes are as red-rimmed as Roxanne’s. They’re puffy like she’s been crying, but not a touch of moisture is seen on her cheeks. She’s scared she is about to meet with her maker but considering that couldn’t occur until I broke her out of a mental hospital alters her perspective on things. She isn’t close to being free, her wings are fully clipped, but it’s better than being dead.
It’s the same with Theresa. As much as I want her to be the villain of my story, that isn’t a title I can give her just yet. She shared information with me tonight I couldn’t have gotten elsewhere. Undeniable evidence that will have Roxanne returned to my bed even quicker than I’m hoping.
That alone will spare Theresa of my fury. It isn’t a lifetime guarantee, but bearing in mind the many ways I had planned to kill her when her overzealous hands had Roxanne acting out, she should count her lucky stars. If she hadn’t spilled a vault load of my father’s secrets the past four hours, she would have been wearing concrete boots by now, and Rocco would be guzzling down saltwater right along with her. That’s how much my blood boiled watching Roxanne and Rocco get cozy and how tenacious my itch to kill was.
It’s just fortunate for them both, my wish to return Roxanne to her rightful spot at my side was greater than my urge to slit their throats.
It was a fucking hard feat—one I’m still struggling to maintain.
After sliding