Page 87 of The Merciless Don's Bride

Our gazes connect, hers fierce and hurt? I hate that I might have done something to hurt her. And it’s driving me crazy that I have no idea what it is. It takes a couple of seconds before she speaks, her voice low and soft.

“You killed your mom.”

My breath hitches as she delivers that statement. I hadn’t been expecting that. Never wanted her to know about that. My jaw tightens and I feel my throat close up.

“Tell me it isn’t true,” Cassie says desperately looking up at me. “Tell me you didn’t shoot the woman that gave birth to you.”

“I had my reasons,” I murmur.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now? So you’re saying in your sick, twisted, demented mind, you can justify that? You think it’s something to be proud of?”

My jaw tightens even further, “No, I don’t think it’s something to be proud of. But I can justify it. You know what she did to me.”

“Because she made one mistake? You killed her for an action that she probably regretted for so long? What do you expect me to do? Empathize?”

“Yes,” I reply honestly. “Because I thought you understood.”

“I understand what you had to go through, but it’ll be a cold hard day in hell before I ever understand or justify killing family, and of all people, your mother.”

My lips curl up in a cruel smirk, “You’re not a bastion of morality, sweetheart. And neither am I. We’re both just human beings trying to live life. I know you’re probably waiting for me to say I regret what I did. But I don’t. Not really. What use is any regret, anyway? It’s done.”

“Oh my God,” she says, her voice cracking in frustration. “All I’m asking for is some sign that you still have a soul in there! A heart! Damien she gave birth to you. Sofia told me a little about her and she said she was kind and loving. She loved you!”

“She betrayed the Cosa Nostra. She betrayed my father.”

“Speaking of fathers,” she exhales softly, meeting my gaze head on, “What do you know about my father’s death?”

The question throws me off, “What?”

“You heard me, Damien. What do you know about it?”

“Am I supposed to know something?” I question, wondering where she’s going with this, wondering what Miguel told her.

“He didn’t die from a heart attack. He was murdered.”

The pain as the words leave her lips is impossible to ignore. And I hate that she had to find out this way. I already knewGabriel was murdered, but she seemed to believe otherwise and I couldn’t find it in me to ruin that.

“Say something, Damien. Judging by the look on your face, you already knew.”

My jaw ticks but I stay silent, waiting for her to get to the point. Her voice is impossibly soft when she speaks again.

“Did you- Did you kill him?”

I try not to flinch at that accusation. Masking the hurt that flashes through me.

“Did Miguel tell you that? He said I was responsible for your father’s death?”

“That’s no answer to my question,” she retorts. “A simple yes or no will suffice.”

“I’m not fucking answering that question,” I grit out.

“Why because you’re responsible?” she asks, not backing down.

“You killed your mother, Damien. That tells me there's no line you won’t cross. So, what happens when I screw up? When I betray your precious Cosa Nostra?”

A sharp breath drags from my lungs, heavy as lead. “That’s not going to happen.”

“But if it does?” she pushes, eyes shining with fury and fear. “What then? Are you gonna kill me too? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like no one is spared from your cruelty. Not even me.”

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