Page 40 of Hearts Of Darkness

Seeing the panic in my eyes, he leans across the bed and folds me into a tight embrace. I know it’s an attempt to halt my racing thoughts. He starts to stroke the back of my hair, but they’re too singular and terrifying to dismiss that easily. A question keeps returning to me over and over:

What if these hands are the same ones that killed my brother?

Later that day,I find the courage to venture downstairs. Dante’s been gone since the morning, and I’m sick to death of these four walls and the dark and twisted paths my thoughts keep leading me down.

I’m wearing another white shift dress—cut low with large, copper buttons down the front. Easy access, just the way he likes it. It’s almost as pretty as the dress from last night…

Last night.

My stomach muscles clench as I remember the shocking events during dinner. That’s another reason why I’m leaving the sanctuary of my room, I’m on a mission to find Sofía. I need to assuage some of my guilt. I need to find out, once and for all, if Valentina is okay.

The kitchen is empty, so I find myself wandering in and out of a labyrinth of beautiful, but strangely sterile rooms. They all feature a similar theme of heavy, dark furniture and plain white walls. There’s a starkness and parity to this place. It’s not a home, it’s a shell. Eventually, I find a couple of pictures hanging on the wall in a dining room, but they’re depicting an unfamiliar landscape. Do they mean anything to him, or arethey just more throwaway belongings?

In the courtyard, I discover that the plates and candelabra have been cleared away. Even the lights from the pergola have gone. The setting is no less pretty for the lack of romance, but this place will be forever tainted for me.

I pause by the table and run my finger across the wooden surface. How different the evening could have gone, though the finale would have been the same. A shiver brings a rash of longing to my bare arms. Dante and I are like two magnets from opposing sides, drawn together by forces we can never hope to understand.

Turning to leave, I notice a small door built into the brickwork. It opens easily to reveal a large field. Two horses are grazing nearby. One of them, a gray, lifts his head in my direction and chews thoughtfully as I edge closer and hook my elbows over the white fence.

There’s a noise behind me, and Dante steps through the same courtyard door. He’s wearing black jeans and a black shirt that barely contains those massive shoulders. I blush as flashbacks from last night steal their way into my mind. There was a viciousness to his touch, but there were moments of unexpected gentleness, too. He calls to the darkest parts of me while I seem to curb the very worst of his debasement.

“Do you ride?” he asks, inclining his head at his horses.

“Is that a loaded question?” I mutter, and a glint of amusement lifts his grim expression. “No,” I add quickly. “Not anymore.”

How do I tell him I adore horses but that I haven’t ridden for five years. Not since Ryan’s death. How my every waking moment since that day has been a carefully controlled study inrisk aversion; that I’ve done everything in my power to avoid more anguish for my parents. That I miss my former life with all my heart.

“How did you know I was here?”

He points to a small security camera on the side of the wall.

“Do you make a habit of spying on women?”

“Only the ones who hold my attention.”

“Until the next pretty face comes along.”

“I’m not interested in pretty. And you can get that thought out of your head because it’s never going to happen.”

His certainty is dizzying.

“You have horses here. I never expected that.” I move away from the fence to open up a little distance between us.

“I have everything you could possibly want for here, Eve. You just need to open up your heart and take it.”

No. No. NO.

“This willneverbe my home,” I tell him, scowling to add gravitas to my conviction.

“It already is. How many times do I have to say it? You’re mine now. Your old life is inconsequential.”

“Not to me it isn’t!”

I find this argument as exhausting as it is repetitive. He’ll never let me go, and I’ll never stop fighting for my freedom.

“How big is this place anyway?” I say desperately.

“Big enough.”

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