Page 38 of Marriage of Revenge

“What happened?” My tone is demanding.

“Turns out Ms. Lefevre made more enemies than allies.” Georgio sneers, clearly rattled. “Her son’s bleeding out somewhere, on his way to the hospital. One less bastard for tomorrow's bloodbath.”

I rub the back of my neck and my fingers involuntarily tighten around Isabella's where they rest against my chest. Holding on to her. Steadying me. The sensation of her, the rhythmic pattern of her breathing, it's both a grounding force and a turbulent storm in my mind. Like muscle memory from before the fire, before betrayal, before I learned that trust burns as easily as flesh.

I have to break away.

What the hell am I doing?

I drop her hand and move away so fast she almost stumbles. But I don't help her. I don't even look at her. I can't. Because if I do, I might remember how she felt against that wall minutes ago, how she tasted, how she fucking trembled when I kissed her, when she touched me. I need to make the boundaries known. Need to remember why I'm here.

She's not innocent. She's not a bystander. She's not... the hope I once held close. She's the match that lit my world on fire.

“Security breach, you say?” I let a deadly half-grin form. “Hardly the first. Little miss perfect here seems to have a knack for wandering where she shouldn’t. Maybe she should enlighten us on what she was up to yesterday, playing spy before the auction.”

Isabella stiffens, and the small, twisted part of me that's been nursing this vendetta for years savors her reaction.

But this isn't about protecting her. This isn't one of those fairytales she used to love reading in the library, while we secured her world.

She's no damsel, and I've long stopped playing the knight. We both burned those roles years ago.

"Get her to safety." My tone is cold now. Calculated. Detached. Like I'm discussing a shipment rather than the woman whose taste still lingers on my tongue. "And make sure someone takescare of that nasty wound on her face. I don't want my prize to be broken before I can claim it."

I hear her sharp intake of breath, and a part of me wants to turn around, wants to see if my words landed their intended blow.

Wants to see if she's hurting as much as I am.

I turn on my heel and walk away, forcing myself not to look back.

The tournament is coming, and I need to win. Not for her—never for her. For revenge. For the promises I made to the dead and the score I have to settle.

But damn it, I can’t shake the feeling that maybe vengeance won’t be the clean break I thought it would be.

CHAPTER 18—ISABELLA

There’s chaos in theballroom.

The once-pristine ballroom looks like a war zone. Chairs upended, crystal glasses shattered across marble floors that probably cost more than most people's houses. A streak of blood arcs across imported hardwood like modern art gone wrong. The Russian's men form a tight circle in one corner, guns drawn, while Connor's crew edges toward the exits, eyes scanning for threats.

Henrik is nowhere to be seen, thank god, but his absence feels ominous. Mrs. Lefevre's emerald dress flashes as she's rushed through a side door, her face white with rage or fear—maybe both. Someone shouts in French, the words sharp and angry.

My father's nowhere in sight. And Georgio’s grip on my arm is almost painful.

And Antonio... Antonio's already gone, his cold words still ringing in my ears: "I don't want my prize to be broken before I can claim it." And him telling Georgio about my other escapade.

Yet, my body still feels warm from his touch. And his kiss still burns on my lips, making my skin tingle everywhere he touched me. It wasn't the bitter claiming I expected, wasn't drenched in revenge. It was... god, it was passion and possession and something else, something that felt dangerously like tenderness.

His lips drew heat from places I thought chemo had frozen forever, igniting a hunger that terrifies me more than any medical procedure ever did.

The crack of another gunshot snaps me back to reality. Someone screams—probably one of the dancers from last night. They're huddled by the bar, eyes wide with terror. Ruby's flame-red hair draws attention as she edges toward a service door, using the chaos as cover.

I stand alone in the middle of this storm, Georgio now covering himself instead of me. Everyone has someone protecting them, guiding them to safety. Everyone except me.

And it wasn’t always like this.

Once upon a time, Antonio’s mother tried to protect me—and that changed everything.

"Move!" I'm pushed forward, the harshness of the command snapping me back to the present. My heartbeat thuds loudly in my ears, drowning out the din of the room as I scan the faces. Hoping for him to come back to me.

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