Page 155 of A Beautiful Crime

Fury.

White hot fury that burns like molten lava courses through my veins.

My first instinct is to seek retribution. The darkness in me wants his blood on my hands. To paint him a pretty crimson as pleas and apologies tear from his lips.

And as I take a menacing step closer he falters. almost tripping over his feet as he backs away from me in fear.

Tears pool in his eyes and I hate how I loathe to see it.

Because as much as I am furious with him, as much as I feel the sting of betrayal, I remember all the times he had risked showing affection towards me.

If Savio or Luca were to know how he consoled me for months after mamma’s death, how he tended my wounds, and how many times he continued to check on me after my rebirth he would surely be dead.

Maybe one day I will find it in myself to forgive him. But that day is not today. These wounds are too fresh. And this time he can’t be the one to mend them.

“Why confess now? Why not keep your secrets?”

His voice is small. “My hand was forced.”

I raise a cool brow. “By who?”

He nervously swallows before opening his mouth, deciding against it, and keeping it shut instead.

And if fear is keeping his mouth shut I will make him fear me more so he will sing the person's name like a canary.

“You will tell me who forced your hand Giuseppe or I will remove your hand.”

“Constantine,” he says so quickly I’m sure I didn’t hear him right.

“My Constantine?”

He nods his head.

A knife has just lodged itself in the center of my heart.

And somehow finding that he knew all of this and decided to keep it to himself hurts far worse than Giuseppe doing the same.

The betrayal digs deeper. Hitting the very marrow of my bone.

How could he have known and not tell me?

Why keep me in the dark? Was it for leverage later on? Was it to have blackmail in his back pocket against Savio and Luca?

Whatever his reasons might be I’m afraid they will fall on deaf ears.

This shouldn’t have been kept from me. My mamma. . .

My poor heart bleeds for her.

Steeling my spine and keeping the rage of tears at bay I say to him briskly, “I trust you can see yourself out.”

“I never meant-”

I silence him with a scathing look. “It doesn’t matter what you meant. It’s what you did, Giuseppe. And if you don’t see yourself out this very second I assure you the knife in the kitchen calling my name will.”

He nods his head resigned. Eyes heartbroken as they fall to the floor. Tears fall unbidden and I feel a twinge of sorrow for being the one responsible.

Nodding his head to himself one final time he brushes the tears away with the sleeve of his shirt. He then stands tall. Reminding me so very much of the butler I’ve known him to be. He graces me with a pained smile and a small bow of respect.

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