Page 118 of Hate Mates

The thought cracks something deep inside me, and I press a hand to my stomach as if I can hold it together.

The monster has a heart after all. He was just beaten and manipulated into forgetting.

Dinner has long since ended, the house humming in its usual quiet. I linger in the hall, fingers trailing along the polished wood of the railing, my mind tangled in too many thoughts. His words won’t leave me.

I barely fucking survived.

I hear him move behind me, the measured sound of his footsteps as he pours himself another drink.

My eyes betray me, tracking the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers grip the glass just a little too tightly. The way he’sholding himself together with sheer force of will, as if one crack will shatter everything. And I hate that it hurts me to see it.

Since we got married, I watched him to understand my enemy. Now, I watch for better understanding of a man who’s never been shown kindness.

He’s trying to contain it—whatever storm churns inside him—but I see it. The way he stands too still, the way his jaw tics when he thinks no one is looking. For the first time, I realize…

…he’s not fighting for control or power. He’s fighting to survive.

I want to say something. Something soft. Something that isn’t a weapon. But I don’t. I know he’d lash out, mistake it for pity. And Vincenzo Del Rossa would rather die than be pitied.

I sigh, shaking my head, willing the thoughts away. But there’s a sudden feeling of unease breathing along the back of my neck.

Something’s wrong.

Then, the lights flicker.

A subtle thing, barely noticeable. But my stomach knots.

There’s a sound—a rustle, the faintest creak of a door shifting somewhere in the house. It could be nothing. Or it could be?—

A crash. The unmistakable sound of glass shattering.

I spin just as chaos erupts.

Shouting. Heavy footsteps. The sharp ring of a gun cocking.

And then I see them—two men stepping into the dim glow of the chandelier.

“What the fuck?” Vincenzo storms out, and my heart lurches out of my throat when I see the way they stare at him, the hatred in their eyes.

One has an eagle tattoo covering his throat and neck, the other’s head shaved and inked with a smoking skull.

“Remember us, fucker?” The skull-tattoo one moves toward Vincenzo.

“Angelo. Dario,” he says. “Get the fuck out of my house!”

Angelo lands the first hit, a sickening thud of fist against bone. Vincenzo staggers but doesn’t fall.

“You thought you could break our sister’s heart and not pay a price?” Angelo screams.

“You fucked her, made her believe you were in love with her?—”

“I never told her that.”

“You calling our sister a liar?” Dario lands a punch, sending Vincenzo to his knees, then whips out agun, pressing it hard against his temple. “You fucked with the wrong woman, Del Rossa.”

I choke on a gasp, instinct pulling me forward before I can stop myself.“Vincenzo!”

Angelo’s eyes snap to me. He grins like he’s just realized he’s holding something even more valuable than revenge.

---