Page 31 of Tortured Hearts
His jaw tightens. “You ask this after letting me inside you?”
“Just answer the question.”
He’s silent for a moment, his hands clenching at his side. “I’m not responsible for any of it,cara mia.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“You shouldn’t.”
It’s the first honest thing he’s said since we met.
I stumble backward, the rage that fueled me earlier now draining me. “I gave you an alibi. I lied to the police, and now, I’m here…”
“Because of Henry,” he snaps, his expression darkening.
“Henry?” My stomach drops. “Oh my God, what happened to Henry? Is he?—?”
“Lying face down under a bus? I hope the fuck so. You would, too, if you knew how dirty that bastard turned out to be.”
The room spins as the final moments in my condo play out like a movie in my head. I feel the heavy arm swinging in front of my face and the familiar voice in my ear.
“Going somewhere?”
I raise a shaking hand to my mouth. Christ, does everyone pull a gun once my back turns? For someone who reads people for a living, I’ve done a shit job of it, personally. I gesture around my musty prison, all the fight in me evaporating. “Why bother saving me if this was always going to be the result?”
“I told you I’d never hurt you.”
“Then open the door and let me walk out.” When he doesn’t budge, the crack in my heart widens. “You know what makes me feel most stupid? I defended you when my father claimed I was just another spoke in the Marchesi wheel.”
If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear he winced. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I offer a slow, bitter smile. “I know a lot more than you ever wanted me to.”
The confidence on my face is only skin deep. Beneath the surface, there’s a riptide of indecision pummeling my heart. I don’t know whether I want him to turn away or force an answer out of me. Maybe both. Because of that, I don’t know who I fear more, him or me.
My answer comes when he closes the remaining distance between us, the ever-present pull wrapping a firm hand around my throat. “Well, come on, Doc … I’m waiting. If you’re going to play poker, then play by the rules. Either show your cards or fold.”
I step back, my tepid smile faltering. “My father finally told me the truth. All this time, the monster in my nightmares was never the Rogue.” Lowering my gaze, I hug my arms to my chest. “It was you.”
“You don’t have the whole story.”
“I never have, and something tells me I never will. There will always be pieces hidden from me, by my father, by you, by God knows who else that’s involved in all this. I’ve learned in the last few days that people want forgiveness, but they want it on their terms. But it doesn’t work that way with me. Truth is a right, not a judgment call.”
“Doc…” Without warning, his boots flood my line of sight. I snap my head up, stopping him with a palm to his chest.I have to.I won’t be strong enough to push him away again. My resistance turns the muscle beneath my palm to steel. “Your father isn’t the reformed white knight you’re making him out to be.”
“No,” I agree shakily. “But at least he opened a vein and came clean. I want to believe you. I want to believeinyou, but things like this keep happening”—I wave my hands around the damp basement—“and revert us back tosquare one.”
“What about what just happened?”
“That was just sex.”
“What about everything I said in the hospital?” he counters, his nostrils flaring. “Do those confessions hold less weight than your father’s?”
“Words can be twisted to suit any agenda.”
The cords in Gianni’s neck tighten as he pushes against my hand. “Something you know all too well. Yet you condemn me on the word of a man who spent two decades convincing you that your version of the truth was a delusional opinion.”
A slap across the face would’ve been less brutal. “Don’t try to gaslight me.” I stumble back a step, then two. When my spine hits concrete, he leans forward and braces his palms above my head. “You’re both responsible for some very permanent scars,” I counter. “You wanted each other out of my life, and you both went too far.”
