Page 30 of Secret Betrayals
And just like that, everything shifts.
Talon walks in like he owns the air we’re breathing. Same cocky stride. Same steel in his eyes. Time hasn’t softened him—only carved him into something harder, more dangerous. He’s heavier now, thicker with muscle, ink crawling up his neck like shadows trying to claim him.
And he hasn’t seen me yet.
But he will.
The moment his eyes land on me, everything stops. The gym fades—the ring, the heat, the noise—all gone. Just him and me, standing in the wreckage of everything we were. And that history? It hits like a freight train. Every betrayal. Every lie. Every night, I cried and still crawled back. It’s all there, in his stare—regret, fury, hunger, something dangerously filled with familiarity.
I don’t flinch. I don’t look away.
He moves closer, the air tightening with every step. Armand shifts forward, protective. Ready. I place a hand on his chest without even looking.
“No,” I whisper. “Let him come.”
With a nod, he turns and takes a few steps away to give Talon and me a minute.
Talon stops just two feet from me. His cold eyes flick to Armand, then lock back onto mine.
“I didn’t think you’d come back.”
I give him a slow, dangerous smile. “I didn’t come for you.”
That smirk curls on his lips. Arrogant. Familiar. “Of course not. You’re too busy running. Lying. Painting me as the villain.”
I step forward, close enough for him to see the storm behind my eyes. “I don’t run, Talon. I walk away from things that stop being worth my time. Don’t get shit twisted. I’m not that girl you used to manipulate with sweet lies and stolen moments.”
His smirk fades, just a fraction.
“You’re funny. I never lied to you. Was I wrong? Fuck yeah. I was young, dumb, full of cum, and I fucked up. But don’t act like you didn’t feel how much I loved you.”
He glances at the boys—ourboys. His voice drops.
“I should’ve known about them.”
I inhale sharply, fighting to keep my voice low, steady. “Talon… come the fuck on. Itried.” I pause, letting the weight of it settle. “I tried,” I say again, quieter now. “But you can’t fault me for giving up.”
The silence between us crackles.
Behind us, the boys are still sparring, but now their eyes flick this way between strikes. They feel it. Everyone in the room does. Talon steps in again—too close—but I don’t back down. I lift my chin and hold his stare.
His voice lowers, almost a whisper. “I really fucking can. Because let’s be real, Gabriella—your father was Don fucking Barone. If you wanted me to know, I would’ve known. You didn’t want to tell me. You wanted to punish me. Hurt me the way I hurt you. And you did.”
He shakes his head, jaw clenching, and turns. No warning. No more words. Just walks away.
“I know,” I say under my breath.
Because he’s not entirely wrong.
I release a breath as I watch him go. I can feel eyes on me, but I ignore them. With a shake of my head, I release my thoughts. This day has been emotionally exhausting for the boys and me, but I’m okay. I’m feeling echoes of what I felt back then. The partof me that never stopped loving him is stirring, and I hate it. I never truly got over him, even if someone else tried to make me forget—and damn near succeeded.
I try to keep my face neutral, emotions buried. But Armand? He sees right through me. He always has. No matter how hard I try, I’ve never been able to hide from him. He’s my person. And I’m his.
In this business, having someone you can trust implicitly is more valuable than money or muscle. Someone who’ll support you even if they don’t fully understand or agree with your choices. Armand doesn’t have a strong opinion about this mess. He wants it resolved in a way that protects my children and me. But that doesn’t mean he won’t meddle. So I steel my face, knowing he’s watching me closely, digging beneath the surface.
“Don’t do that,” he says. “Ye know it donna work on me.”
His Irish brogue thickens when he’s upset—thicker than my mama’s gumbo. I try a soft smile, hoping he’ll let it go.
