Page 48 of Bound in Promise
“You sell her, Lombardi,” Dante seethes, “and all hell will rain down on your little parade.”
Angelo doesn’t react to my husband’s threats, continuing to study me curiously. “See, how this man continues to taunt me? I hold all the power here, in my house, with my men surrounding my enemy.”
“He’s protecting me,” I retort. “It’s what any decent man would do.”
He nods slowly, as if finally reaching some sort of understanding. “Ah…is that it? I must’ve missed that lesson growing up. Because being decent, being kind, yields no reward in this world. Only the strong survive.”
“That must be taxing. Because being an asshole only yields more enemies.”
He wags a thick finger in my face. “That is also true. But my way has served me well. It’s how I’ve gotten this far, after all.”
I’m not impressed.
Not by him, and certainly not by whatever corrupt and foul sins he’s committed in his past.
“You have me,” I state simply. “You don’t need him.”
“Princess,” Dante warns sharply. “Don’t.”
I don’t dare say another word, not to reassure Dante or to elaborate for Angelo. The last thing I need is for Dante to do something stupid and self-sacrificing in an attempt to end this. He’s not indestructible or immortal. He’s not be capable of rational thought when it comes to me, and I refuse to be an accomplice in his destruction.
“I don’t trust him,” Angelo proclaims.
“He hasn’t killed you yet.”
“But he’s going to try.” Angelo gives me a shitty smirk. “The man is in love with you, and I’ve seen how he goes out of his way to keep you safe, to shelter you. It’s not in my best interest to allow him to keep breathing.”
My gut knots. Angelo can’t see me fumble this, not now. I know he’ll feed off my distress and things will only get worse. He’s trying to fill my head with vague threats, hoping to scare me into compliance.
But he doesn’t know I have a trump card up my sleeve. I know something this mob boss doesn’t.
Dante doesn’t love me.
He wants to dump me off in Paris.
“I hope you didn’t pay those men to watch us daily, Mr. Lombardi,” I tell him, ignoring the rapid pounding of my heart. “He’s too old for me. Our marriage was about keeping Liam from running off with my money and leaving me behind to deal with you alone.”
Angelo stares blankly at me. “And?”
“And you killed him.” The reminder is enough to bring my nausea back full force. “And we’re still here.”
“You won’t convince me you never planned to leave.”
“I’ve always planned on leaving the States,” I tell him, tossing my hair over my shoulder. “That’s never been a secret.”
“Tell me then…why did Dante let Liam live after stealing what first belonged to the boy? After stealing you?”
Because I told him to.
But that makes it sound like Dante gives a shit about what I have to say. And that doesn’t match with the picture I’m trying to paint for Angelo right now.
“I wanted him to,” I lie. “But Dante said Mrs. Moretti would search high and low for her son. We couldn’t risk the cops getting involved.”
“Bullshit.”
I scoff and ball my fingers into tight fists. “How do you think Liam got shot in the shoulder?”
“Not by you,” he grinds out. “You’d never be able to hold a gun without dropping it first. Certainly, you’re incapable of shooting someone, even if you could aim with any accuracy.”
