Page 57 of Cage the Storm
Nico pales. I see his mind scrambling to unsee the truth. How often had he heard his brother sigh about my “aversion to wifely duties”? Or how easily I bled?
“Every. Night.” I let the words land like knives. “He wanted a child, but not enough to touch me like his wife.” My laugh is brittle. “You can’t create a child without planting the seed.”
His gaze drops to my stomach, and for a moment, I think he might collapse. Good. When his eyes rise to meet mine, brimming with an understanding that I craved, my fury wavers.
“He thought he broke me,”I say, pressing a hand to my womb. “But your brother never accounted for this, for us.”
Nico steps forward, his hand lifting as if to touch me, then falters. “Luna. I swear I didn’t… I never?—”
“You never asked.” My words bite, but my throat tightens. “Not when my hand brushed yours as we passed in the gardens, or when I bumped your leg while eating dinner. You thought it was just an accident. So many subtle hints were ignored. But you never noticed my cry for help since you were too busy honoring him to see I was dying inside. And when I asked you to fuck me, it was because I wanted to hate you for being as sadistic as your damn brother.”
A tear slips down his cheek. I want to hate him for it, for the way his grief takes precedence over mine, but his whisper disarms me.
“Bria was telling the truth. You were supposed to be mine. But Gio insisted on a virgin bride.”
I want to scream, to undo time, to claw my way back to the version of me that belonged to Giovanni. But she’s gone.
“They might have given me to him,” I say, voice trembling. “But I’ve always belonged to you. I chose you. I’m yours now.”
“Let me fix this.” His voice breaks, raw and pleading. “Let me love you. Both of you.”
Love.The word fractures me.
I see it then, the man who’d sneak me books after Giovanni locked me in our bedroom. The man who steadied me with a quiet hand when I stumbled. Who left a flower on the bench in the gazebo, knowing I always sat there before swimming. Maybe he was trying to tell me something, and I didn’t know how to recognize love.
“You don’t get to fix me,” I say, but my hand trembles as I press it to his chest. “But you can stay. If you swear never to walk away again.”
His fingers brush mine, tentative. “I’m here and present. That is my promise to you and the baby.”
I don’t believe in promises and fairy tales. But when his palm rests over our child, I let myself lean into him. Just this once.
“He never deserved you,” he growls, so low I feel it in my bones.
My knees buckle, and Nico catches me, his arms cradling me like I’m something sacred. I want to hate him. Ineedto hate him. But his heartbeat thrums against my ear, and I know I made the right choice.
“Look at me, Luna,” he murmurs. A long-ago memory slices through the mist; the scent of lemon trees is as bright as Nico’s stolen glance as we pass each other on the path. We’d exchanged nothing but frigid pleasantries, but Giovanni had seen. He always did.
“Careful, little brother.” His laughter slithers from the shadows. “Wives are like church wine, meant to be sipped, not stolen.”
I tilt my head up. Nico’s smoldering gaze is filled with rage and remorse. “I should’ve killed him myself,” he says.
His words are laced with regret. I let myself imagine it for a heartbeat. Nico’s loyalty fractured for me, his hands drenched in family blood. But the fantasy curdles. “You wouldn’t have,” I say. “You loved him.”
“No.” His grip tightens. “I loved him as he was. The boy who took beatings for me when we were kids. Not the monster he became.”
The storm brewing outside mirrors the wildness in his eyes. I want to claw the truth from his throat. Why didn’t you save me? But his thumb brushes the scar on my ribcage, which Giovanni carved with his signet ring. The touch is a confession.
“You want forgiveness?” I ask, tilting his chin up. “Then earn it.”
He stills, a man poised between salvation and damnation. Then his hands slide to the small of my back, and for the first time, I let myself believe love exists.
“Tell me how,” he says, searching for answers.
I guide his palm to the pulse thrumming at my neck. “Leave the past where it belongs so we can move forward together.”
“Luna,” he breathes. “You ask for the impossible.”
“Then lie to me,” I challenge. My fingers thread through his hair. “Pretend we’re not damned.”
