Page 52 of Cage the Storm
“Had to,” I choke out, but the words barely matter. The rage pouring off him is drowning everything else, swallowing his restraint.
“You had to?” His laugh is vicious. An eerie sound that barely masks the madness simmering underneath. “You had to?” His grip tightens, my breath catches, and I wonder if this is it. If Nico is too far gone. If there’s no coming back from this.
“Nico,” Mateo warns. I know it’s meant to ground him, but he doesn’t ease the pressure constricting my throat.
“This isn’t the way,” Mateo tries again, his voice edged with something dangerously close to intervening. “You don’t want to do this.”
But Nico barely acknowledges him.
His grip stays tight, his stare locked onto mine, burning with a rage so consuming I don’t know if reason even exists for him anymore.
“She killed Giovanni,” he spits out, but he’s not speaking to Mateo—he’s talking to the demons clawing their way up his throat.
“Luna didn’t know the whole truth,” Mateo counters, ready to step in before Nico does something he can’t undo.
But Nico grabs his gun and presses it to Mateo’s chest, while squeezing my throat with the other. Questioning where his loyalties lie. “This is between me and my fucking wife! If you can’t handle it, then leave!”
My strength disappears, my vision blurs, and panic grips my chest like a vice. I fight against his hold, twisting, pushing, kicking, desperate for air, but there’s none. Just him and his unstoppable rage.
My hands fly to my stomach without thinking, trembling fingers pressing against the small swell beneath them. A silent plea. A desperate attempt to stop this before he kills me.
For a moment, nothing changes. Then his fingers twitch. His jaw relaxes. The fury is still there, but then he slowly loosens his grip. Not enough to say this is over. But enough for me to catch my breath. I struggle to breathe and stay upright as I grab his arm.
Nico’s stare lingers, as if his mind is trying to catch up with what his eyes are seeing. My hand trembles against my stomach, cradling the small bump, something so obvious now, yet something he never noticed.
We lock eyes, and his hand falls limply to his side for the first time since I threw the truth in his face. Yet his body is rigid, like he’s bracing for the next blow.
I cough, sucking in precious air, as my lungs burn from his hold. I’m shaking from the tip of my head to my toes. I want to drop to my knees and drag air into my lungs, but I force my head up and meet his eyes.
“You almost k-killed me.” I choke out the words but refuse to shed a tear. I’m lightheaded, but I’m not done yet. “And the b-baby.”
That does it.
Nico stumbles back, like the force of my words hit him harder than any bullet ever could. His hand immediately flies to his chest. And he stares at my trembling hands that are splayed across my stomach.
Something blazes in his gaze, something unrecognizable.
“You didn’t notice,” I choke out, my voice raw from speaking too much. “B-because you were too busy recovering, and I was too b-busy pretending this wasn’t real.”
His stare darkens, confusion curling behind the rage still splintering through his body.
“I was with the women every d-day,” I continue, “t-trying to keep things together, trying to convince myself I wasn’t f-falling apart.” I start coughing, and Mateo reaches for me, but I pull away. Knowing if he helps me, there will be consequences.
Once I catch my breath, I glare at Nico, and something shatters in his expression. Something raw and terrifying. His fingers twitch, gripping his chest like he’s trying to hold himself together and breathe through the truth, while his gun slips through his fingers.
I see the war raging inside him. Only this time, it’s not vengeance. It’s something that cuts deeper than a knife. He doesn’t know how to fix this. Doesn’t know if he can. But ashe stands there, hands clenched at his sides, one brutal truth remains—he has never been more terrified in his entire life of the man he has become.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
NICOLAI
I’ve become him.
The realization sits heavy in my chest. Clawing at my ribs like it wants to tear me apart from the inside out. I swore I’d never be like him. Swore I’d never let the rage consume me the way it consumed my father, the way it turned him into something unrecognizable.
And yet?—
I had my hand around her throat.
