Page 59 of Blackmailed to the Altar

“It’s not what you think!” she pleaded, her voice breaking, hands raised as if she could calm the storm raging inside me. “Nina’s in danger! I was just trying to help her.”

I hissed, “Lies.”

She threw her hands in the air. “What would I have to gain by lying to you?”

“Gaslighting, that’s what this is!” I roared, slamming my fist against the wall, the pain grounding me, pulling me back from the brink, but not enough. Never enough. I couldn’t unsee Amelia’s face, couldn’t unfeel the burns, couldn’t stop hearing the lies. I spiraled.

Mya’s eyes welled with tears, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t care. Not when everything inside me felt like it was tearing apart, every nerve raw and exposed, screaming. I couldn’t cope. Not with her betrayal on top of the flashbacks, not with her voice still echoing in my ears, mingling with the memory of Amelia’s screams.

“You’re done,” I hissed, stepping closer, looming over her. She shrank back, but I didn’t let up. “You’re going to deal with Sebastian now, got it? I’m done with this shit. I’m done with you.”

I watched her flinch, watched the fear twist her expression. Good. She needed to understand that she’d crossed a line. That whatever control I had left was slipping through my fingers, and it was all her fault.

“Riccardo, please?—”

“Don’t beg,” I snapped, cutting her off. “You think I care? You made your choice. Now, you’re going to face the consequences. Sebastian can deal with your mess, because I can’t do this. Not with you. Not now.”

She stepped toward me with her hand held out. My breathing was erratic, and I pulled away as soon as she touched me.

“I think you’re having an episode,” she murmured, her voice soothing as she stepped toward me.

“I–” I choked. I couldn’t speak. I was fucking weak.

She gently dragged me down to sit with her. She lifted my hand and placed it on her breast, her heartbeat racing. We sat still together, breathing the same air, as our hearts started to sync.

“I-I’m sorry, firecracker. I don’t know what came over me.” That night tried to flash in my mind, but I shook it off.

“Are you alright?” Mya said gently, trying to turn me toward her.

“What?”

Mya sat back and folded her hands neatly in her lap. “Well, would you care to share what that phone call was, and why exactly it got you so upset?”

“No,” I bit out.

“Hmmm.” That was all she said. She didn’t move, and she hadn’t changed her tone.

“Don’t psychobabble me, doc,” I sneered.

“Oh, I wasn’t attempting to do anything of that nature, Riccardo.” She batted her lashes my way.

I snarled, “Right, like you weren’t asking me to tell you why these Albanian fucks would come after me. I mean, clearly the situation was my fault. I kidnapped you, didn’t I?”

“Riccardo,” Mya said gently. “I didn’t say any of those things, but if you want to share what’s going on with me, I’m here to listen.”

I wanted to squeeze her neck. Her calm, affable tone grated on my nerves. But I breathed out a harsh breath, trying to put myself in her situation. A new leaf, I’m sure. I would use all of my skills to manipulate those around me.

But I calmed myself. Would it truly hurt to tell her? After all she’d been through. She was strong and resilient. Not unlike Eden, in her own way. A woman had to be, in order to put up with a monster such as myself.

I opened my mouth and shared our shame with her. The real story of how my dead ex-fiancée ended up in the hospital and, now, in a coffin.

I could smell the smoke now as my mind drifted back. “I was a different man back then…”

Amelia called to tell me that she was waiting in our suite, and she wanted to talk. I didn’t. I didn’t want to marry her. I didn’t want to be with her. I broke off the engagement a long time ago, and was debating telling her I wanted to move her to another villa. We weren’t a couple; I couldn’t do that anymore.

I opened the front door and heard low music playing, and Amelia had lit every candle in the house. In each room, as I passed, I saw more candles lying about. It felt like a bad romance movie.

“Amelia?”

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