Page 135 of Ruined By Protection
Elliott would have gotten away with it. He would have found another woman to control, to abuse, and possibly kill.
I curl up into a fetal ball, trying to make myself small on the bed. But I cannot get away from the blood on my hands. I can hide in a guest room and listen to Florence, but I'm still part of this. I was the bait that lured him to his death.
A distant thud makes me flinch. Was that a gunshot? I can't tell from where I am. Matteo has purposely positioned me at the other end of the house from Elliott’s office below.
I listen with my ears pinned back like a feral beast. The house has fallen silent. Too silent.
I should feel something more defined than this strange emptiness. Relief, maybe? Satisfaction? But all I feel is hollow, like someone scooped out my insides and left nothing but an echo chamber.
Elliott is gone. He can't hurt me anymore. He can't hurt anyone anymore.
That has to count for something, doesn't it? That has to make this right—or at least less wrong.
The system isn't built to protect women like me or Melissa. It was built to protect men like Elliott.
The door flinging open makes me startle from my preoccupation. Matteo stands there, his face purposely blank.
"Is it…?" I can't complete the question.
"It's finished," he says and I don't know whether that’s good or bad.
Elliott is dead. I'll never see him again. Never feel his hands encircling my throat. Never hear his voice go gently dangerous right before he explodes. Never watch him charm dinner guests while his fingers gouge bruises on my flesh under the table.
“We’re leaving.” Matteo extends his hand to me and observes as I get unsteadily up from the bed. He’s calculating my reaction. Whether I regret the plan we executed. Whether I hate him now.
"Do you need a minute?" Matteo asks, still watching me carefully.
"No.” And then a heartfelt “Thank you." I force my voice to extend more strongly than I feel inside. But of course Matteo knows, and as soon as I reach him he wraps an arm around my waist, lending me the full bulk of his massive torso to lean into as we head down the stairs.
I don't look toward Elliott’s office as we pass through the hall. Don’t want images in my mind of him throwing that crystal paperweight at my head for interrupting an important call. I don’t look anywhere other than straight ahead, into my future. Whatever that will be.
Outside I gulp in a deep breath of Texas night air heavy with jasmine. And I know there’s one more thing I have to do. “I need a moment alone before we leave," I tell Matteo.
He studies my face, wondering whether I’m going to weaken on him. My eyes flick toward the tree at the distant end of the garden and immediately he understands.
“I’ll be right here if you need me,” he says.
I hear Noah protest as I start to walk across the grass, something about a text having been sent, how we have to get away from the scene. Matteo silences him.
The oak tree stands at the edge of the property. It's grown so much in the two years since we planted it in that Montgomery new-family-member tradition that makes my stomach turn over. Here I stood, digging a grave and smiling for society page cameras.
"I'm so sorry," I whisper. The leaves rustle above me in the gentle breeze, as if acknowledging my repentance. "I'm sorryno one rescued you. I'm sorry your mother never got to say goodbye."
I sink to my knees in the soft earth. "We're going to tell her where you are," I promise. I take the earbuds from around my neck and lay them over the spot where I dug. “She’ll come get you.’
Behind me, I sense rather than hear Matteo keeping his distance, a silent guardian allowing me this moment of grief. I know they’re anxious to get away before the authorities arrive. I can do no more than hope she’ll listen to the song in whatever place she is now.
"It's over at last," I whisper, both to Melissa and to myself. "He can't hurt anyone else."
In some strange way I feel connected to her—another woman who loved the wrong man, who trusted when she shouldn't have, who paid the ultimate price for Elliott's rage.
When I finally look up, Matteo is still there, a shadow among shadows. The protector Melissa never found. I rise to my feet, flexing my stiff knees.
He doesn't try to comfort me with empty words. He simply offers his hand, and I take it, drawing strength from his solid presence at my side.
Together we walk back toward the waiting cars, ready to leave behind this house of horrors. Through the rear window of the car behind ours I see Vanessa’s face peering out, her stare fixed on me. As I pass the window and head with Matteo to climb into the other SUV, I catch her nod in my direction. She signals her regret for what we’ve been through, and respect for what I’ve done here tonight.
CHAPTER 44
