Page 51 of De Luca: The Saint

She arches an eyebrow, “I don’t know him.”

I shrug, “I didn’t either. One of the Bianchis.”

A look of understanding crosses her features, “I understand. He won’t call you that again, I promise.”

The tiny little blonde with eyes as green as emeralds smiles softly, closes the door, and gets into the back.

I glance at Max, “Sorry. My address is 7155 Claremont.”

He nods, “It’s quite alright.”

Once he pulls into my apartment complex, he drives up to the front entrance. I expect him to come with me, but he doesn’t. Instead, Mia walks with me to my apartment. She’s quiet as we climb the stairs and waits patiently as I enter the code to get inside. I have no idea where my purse, keys, identification, or anything else is. When I was taken, I had them, but now they’re gone.

She follows me inside and hands me a business card. “If you need anything, and I mean anything, please call me.” She glances around the room, spots my landline, and smiles. “Good. You have a phone.”

I nod, “A landline, yes. I had a cell phone, but I don’t know where it is. I’ll need to get a new one.”

She folds her hands over her small baby bump I hadn’t noticed before, “I can take you to get a new one when you’re ready. I mean it, call me if you need anything at all.”

“Thank you.”

Mia hesitates but then says, “If you want the therapy let me know and I’ll arrange it. It’s important. I thought it was all bullshit but when I went through something like you did, it helped me heal. You don’t have to do this alone.”

“I’ll let you know.”

She smiles and turns, walking out my door and leaving me alone. The sound of solitude is deafening.

I broke up with Damian two years ago for a reason, so why is it that the only thing I can think about is him? Not what he was forced to do to me, just him.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Damian

All three of my brothers came back to my Penthouse, then waited for me to shower when I wished they hadn’t. I want to be alone in my misery. When I make it back into the great room, I ignore the stares and get myself a bourbon. I know what they want to know. How in the hell did I, of all men, rape a woman. It’s a fair question because it’s completely at odds with the man I am or the man I was. I assume, after what Dalia and our mother went through, they’re disgusted with me. I’m disgusted with myself. The truth is, I wish she had pulled the trigger with the gun aimed at my head, first. I’m glad she’s free. That’s what I wanted more than anything. I just wish I weren’t alive to deal with this oozing fucking wound in my chest.

Domenic approaches me and places his hand on my shoulder, “If you’re not ready to talk about it, we can talk about anything else.”

Hanging my head down, staring at the ice cubes in my drink, I admit, “I raped her. I fucking raped her, Domenic. I can’t live with myself.”

“You really raped her?”

I shake my head, “If I didn’t, Wolf was going to, it was a fucked-up choice, Domenic. I thought it would be less painful if I did it.”

“Jesus. What a sick fucker.”

I toss my drink back like the full glass is only a shot and pour myself another.

“I’m sure she understands that.”

Bringing the glass to my lips, I knock that one back, too. I need something to numb this never fucking ending pain.

“Maybe, but I don’t. I can’t fucking stand being in my skin. I destroyed the only woman I’ve ever loved. She cried nonstop, begged me not to, said red repeatedly, still I fucked her against her will. And then to top it all off, I fucking came. I enjoyed it. I’m such a piece of shit.”

Domenic grabs a glass off the bar and pours himself a drink. “You know that’s a physiological reaction, right? It happens to women too.”

I nod, “I know. She came the second time.”

Gripping the edge of the bar with white knuckle force, I grit out, “She said I was the worst thing that ever happened to her. Kat hates me now but no more than I hate myself.”

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