Page 47 of Of Lies and Shadows

And Bruno,fuckingBruno.

The way she looked at him. Like he was salvation. Like he was safety. Like if she just reached out, he’d catch her.

My jaw tightens, rage and jealousy coiling hot and ugly in my gut.

I wanted to believe she gave herself to him before she came here. That her father sent her as a punishment. That the shame would kill her faster than my hands ever could.

I wanted to believe it.Neededto believe it.

Because if I believe she’s innocent. If I believe she’s good.

Then it’s not just her blood staining these sheets.

It’s mine.

And I don’t think I can live with that.

The bathroom door creaks open. I don’t look up at first. I can’t.

When I finally force myself to lift my head, she’s standing there, pale and composed, wrapped in a robe because the dress is ruined.

In her hands is the bloodstained dress.

She steps closer, each movement so measured it feels rehearsed. Like every ounce of humanity has been wrung out of her.

She holds out the dress, stained with her virginal blood, but not even looking at me.

"You can go show them the marriage was consummated," she says quietly.

No anger. No tears. No soul left in the words.

My chest squeezes painfully, but I stay sitting, my hands fisted uselessly on my knees.

She nods to herself as if she’s having an internal debate, then turns toward the bed.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," she says, voice steady in a way that guts me worse than any scream would have, "I need to sleep. I have to wake up early tomorrow."

She pulls back the clean side of the sheets and slides into bed without looking at me.

My hand twitches toward her. I want to touch her shoulder, say something, anything. But I freeze halfway, fingers curled in midair like a coward, then let it drop back to my knee.

"I have the children to take for their uniform fittings. Nanny duties," she finishes, like she’s reminding me and herself what she is now.

Not a wife. Not even a woman. Just… a function.

I sit there, useless and mute, watching her turn her back to me, curling into a tight ball on the edge of the bed.

And for the first time since I put a gun to her head, I wonder if I made a mistake I can never come back from.

Chapter Eleven

Francesca

Iwake up more tired than when I went to sleep. My body aches all over, especially between my legs.

Dante fucked me.

I flinch at the thought. At the word. At the sharp pulse of pain that reminds me it wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t a nightmare. It was real.

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