Page 36 of The Deal

“Long story.”

Instead of returning to the house, I head straight for the Carmichael residence … well, what’s left of it.

From the moment I saw the uninhabitable, dilapidated dwelling—if you can even call it that—I knew it needed to go, so I made it happen. I tracked down the owner, paid him a ridiculous amount of money, and made it disappear. Chloe may not see it my way when she finds out, but I did her a favour.

When we pull up outside the six-foot-high mesh fence that now surrounds the pile of rubble where her home once stood, we find her sitting in the gutter with her forearms resting on her knees, her face buried somewhere within her arms.

My first reaction when I see her is relief—she’s physically okay. However, the steady rise and fall of her shoulders tells me she’s far from emotionally fine, and while that knowledge pains me, I can’t exactly blame her.

It must’ve been a massive shock for her to find her house and her father … gone. I always knew she’d discover it eventually, but this wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. Not this soon.

When Nico pulls up to the kerb on the opposite side of the street, I instruct him and Antonio to remain in the car.

Reaching for the door handle, I exit the vehicle in a flash, striding straight for her. She’s not going to be pleased to see me, but I feel compelled to comfort her, even though I’m the reason for her current dilemma.

She’s so distressed that she doesn’t notice me when I crouch in front of her. Slowly, I rest my hand lightly on her shoulder, softly saying, “Bella.” It’s only then that her head jerks up, her eyes locking onto me in surprise.

“How could you?” she cries, leaping to her feet. The moment I rise, she rushes me, fury in her eyes, like a bull charging at a red flag. “You bastard,” she screams, pounding on my chest with a clenched fist. Her other hand is cradled against her chest. Did she hurt herself during the escape? “You promised me you’d take care of him … I didn’t think you meant wiping him off the face of this earth.”

“Chloe,” I say, capturing her wrist in my hand. “I didn’t hurt your father … I promise you that.”

The tears that are streaming down her face tug at my blackened heart. “Then where is he? You destroyed our house … he had nowhere else to go. You’re a monster. I hate you!”

I can’t tell her the truth about what’s really happening, so I do the only thing I can: I pull her into me, wrapping her tightly in my arms.

That’s when she completely unravels, her body shaking violently against mine. The racking sobs that consume her tug at my heartstrings.

“It’s okay,amore mio,” I say, resting my chin on the topof her head as my open palm runs soothingly up and down her back. “I’ve got you.”

She cried into my chest for what felt like an eternity. When it became clear she wasn’t going to calm down anytime soon, I gently lifted her into my arms, cradling her bridal-style, and carried her back to the limousine. She didn’t resist—too overwhelmed with emotion to protest.

Antonio moved into the front passenger seat when he saw us approaching, giving us some space, but I kept her close. I settled her on my lap and held her tightly, shielding her from everything but the comfort of my embrace.

I could’ve so easily lost her today, and I’m beating myself up inside because I was the one who left her locked away in that room all week. I’m the reason why she felt desperate enough to risk her life for freedom.

I never intended to avoid her for five days, but the longer I kept my distance, the harder it became to face her.

When she opened up about her mother at dinner on her first night in the house, the guilt I’d been carrying since discovering who Chloe was grew even heavier. It was like a weight pressing down on me, so I needed space … time to clear my head.

They say ignorance is bliss, but knowing the truth has only entangled me deeper in my family’s past mistakes. I feel guilty by association.

I’m not responsible for her mother leaving, but my father’s involvement in that decision lingers like a dark, inescapable shadow. The guilt is there, even though I’m not the one to blame.

Chloe’s injured hand is still cradled against her chest, and from this vantage point, I can see it’s bruised andswollen. I’ll get the doctor to come to the house and thoroughly examine her.

She jumped out of a two-storey window, for Christ’s sake … and survived; her wrist may not be her only injury.

I don’t let her go when we return to the house. I carry her inside. Carmella stands just inside the door, waiting for us, her face etched with sorrow. I’m angry at her—at what she did, at the mess she’s caused—but deep down, I know she never intended for any of this to happen. Her heart was in the right place, even if the outcome wasn’t.

“Can you get the doctor here ASAP?” I ask, not slowing my pace as I pass through the foyer and start climbing the stairs. My voice carries urgency, but it’s controlled.

“Yes, Mr Mancini. I’ll call him immediately.”

Her kindness and maternal nurturing, which she has shown me over the years, are exactly what Chloe needs.

I kick her bedroom door open with my foot, and my lips press into a thin line when I see the heavy, solid wooden bed, now clear across the room, positioned under the window. It would’ve taken every bit of strength she has to shift it that far alone. The sight only amplifies the desperation she must have been feeling.

Turning, I make my way further down the hall towards my bedroom. I’ve never brought a woman in here before, but under the circumstances, I feel like this is the best place for her right now. I need her close.

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