Page 104 of Where Dark Hearts Devour
I shake my head slowly. “I won’t.”
Trilby
My chest is about to burst with the breath I’ve been holding since Savero and Cristiano walked out of the room. I knew Savero wanted to see if I was telling the truth about not being attracted to his brother, but there was more at play here. Way more. And none of it makes any sense.
Who is Augusto, and why is Savero so pissed Cristiano went to visit him? When did Cristiano visit him, and why? Didn’t he know Savero would be pissed?
Something is going on between the brothers. Something that involves the rest of the Di Santo family—not just the blood family, but the made one too. I have an uncomfortable suspicion Cristiano will forever be entangled in this world, whether Savero wants it or not.
My head spinning with questions, I lower myself onto one of the stools. Cristiano has gone. I just watched him walk out of this house without looking back once. I’m relieved he didn’t,because Savero was waiting for a sign. It’s almost like he wants a reason to screw over this deal so he can just walk into the port, rip the doors down, and take everything from my father without going through with the hassle of a wedding. Cristiano would be in danger too. Not that he wouldn’t be able to defend himself—I’ve seen the darkness that glows behind his eyes. I know he’d kill before someone could kill him. But he was right to leave.
Still, that doesn’t mean my heart hasn’t cracked down the middle.
My throat aches from all the effort it’s taking me to not cry.I take a few sips of water before realizing it isn’t my glass. There’s a small chip on the rim. That means Cristiano drank mine. Still, he pressed his lips to this one before placing it next to my hand and tracing the tips of his fingers across my skin. I bring it to my mouth again and hold it there, my lips touching the same spot as his, and inhale every last breath of him.
I don’t look up until Savero walks back into the house. There’s a look of morbid satisfaction on his face.
“You’re either innocent of my suspicion or you deserve an Oscar for putting on quite the act.”His presence seems lighter as he walks past me. “Not that it matters anymore. I don’t think we’ll be seeing my brother again.”
My gaze follows him out, then I stare at the island. I can’t show my true feelings—I’m balancing on a knife’s edge already. If he believes for a second I’m lying to him, the deal with Papa will be off, and he’ll simply take the port from under us. He’ll ruin us all.
As his footsteps fade to black, my focus seems to move in and out, left to right.I hold onto the kitchen island even though I’m seated. “Lightheaded” doesn’t even begin to describe how I’m feeling. It would be more accurate to say if I were to let go of the counter, I’d pass right out.
“Savero, I ...” My voice sounds impossibly weak and too quiet for him to hear. I vaguely hear him leave the house and close the main door behind him, without another word or a backward glance.
Is this what it feels like to have a broken heart? To have all the blood drain from my head and my limbs? To ache in places I didn’t know I could ache?
I lean forward and rest my forehead on the island. The surface is cool against my skin, but I feel even more dizzy for moving.
My shoulders hurt; my chest hurts. Everything hurts. Then a blissful darkness descends over every inch of me. I slip away from the dizziness and feel the earth beneath my body. Cool and firm.
Then my eyes drift closed.
Cristiano
In my rearview mirror I see the gates closing behind me. My heartaches, the grip of regret closing tighter with every mile I drive. I’ve never had a girl get under my skin like this before. It goes deeper than flesh; deeper than bone. My brother’s wife is inside my beating heart and swimming in my soul.
Every cell in my body screams at me to turn back, and I’m right on that edge, my fingers tingling around the wheel.
Savero and I have grown apart more in the past few weeks than in the past fifteen years of my life. I can’t shake the image of him as a twelve-year-old with a gun pressed to his head. I can see the arm of the person clearly. It looks exactly like Father’s, but there’s no way Father would have done that. Like Augie said, Savero wasn’t an easy son, but Father loved him.
Still, a relentless feeling of unease makes me pull over and take out my phone. I find Augie’s number and press call.
“Cristiano. I thought you were leaving today,” he says.
“I am. But something’s bothering me.”
“I wondered when it might.” His cryptic response draws my brows together.
I take a deep breath and hope this comes out right. “I’ve been having these dreams—or flashbacks. I’m not entirely sure ...”
“Go on,” Augie says patiently.
“I keep seeing an image of Savero being held up at gunpoint. He’s a young boy, about the age he was when he saved me from drowning. I can’t see who’s holding the gun to him, only the outstretched arm. It reminds me of Father ... Tell me I’m going crazy.”
“You’re not going crazy, Cristiano. You’re right to have questions. But that wasn’t your father’s arm.”
The engine runs in the background. “Then whose was it?”
