Page 120 of Brutal Devil
“Thanks, Doc.” Saint shakes his hand.
The doctor leaves the room, and I glare at his back. “That was some seriously sexist shit right there. I’m Priest’s wife, and the asshole wouldn’t even look at me. He pretended like I wasn’t here.”
“That’s because I told him to report to my brother.” Priest’s voice is a deep, unexpected rumble. I turn to watch him enter the room, menacing and powerful even with his arm in a sling. “Now that this is all over and Amedeo is dead, you can finally have what you wanted—your freedom back.”
For the second time in as many days, my glass slips from my fingers and shatters into a thousand tiny shards.
Priest
“What do you mean?” Luna asks, her voice unnaturally quiet, almost like something inside of her has broken, along with the glass she dropped.
“I mean that I want a divorce,” I say, careful to keep my voice cold, my face expressionless. “Amedeo’s dead, and so are his loyal soldiers. We’ll make it known that he’s the one who ordered the hit on your father, your brother, and my cousin. Iagreed to this marriage so that I’d have the Revellos backing me, but without Amedeo and his plotting in the way, I don’t need backing to get what I want. I can do it without you, and tonight, you’ve proven to me that having a wife is a liability that I don’t need.”
I hate the shock on her face, the hurt.
I fuckinghatedoing this. I’d rather eat every shard of broken glass littering my floor.
But when I got the call from Bruno earlier, I had the scare of my life. All I could think about was Luna. I was fucking terrified that Amedeo would hurt her before I could get to her. That he’d pass her around to his soldiers, that he’d torture her, kill her. I’ve never felt so helpless.
And when I was stalking through that warehouse putting down what remained of Amedeo’s soldiers, I knew what I had to do.
I can’t keep Luna safe.
She doesn’t belong in shootouts. She belongs at her fancy grad school, finishing her MFA, writing poetry, and doing what she loves. Asking her to stay with me and give up everything she’s worked for is wrong. She risked her life to warn me. Amedeo could have killed her for what she did. Now, I’m returning the favor.
I’m saving her from a selfish, heartless asshole named Matteo Andriani. Because she deserves so much better than what I have to offer her.
Because I love her.
I fucking love her, and I have to let her go.
“I don’t understand,” she says weakly.
Saint shoots me a dark look and stands up. “I’ll get something to clean up the broken glass and leave you two to talk.”
I wait until he’s gone and then sit on the couch. Not close enough to touch her, because I don’t trust myself. My shoulder hurts like a son of a bitch, thanks to the bullets I took, and Doc says it’s likely that I’ll need surgery at some point to truly repair the damage, but I’d rip out every fucking stitch and bleed out just to hold her one more time. My pain meds haven’t kicked in yet, and I’m not sure I want them to. The ache in my shoulder is a nice distraction from the fucking hole in my heart.
“Look,” I tell Luna as gently as I can manage, “you’ve been through a lot. I’m sorry about what happened today with Amedeo. I should have seen it coming, and I never should have left you alone in the penthouse. It’s my fault, and I’ll never forgive myself.”
Her brow furrows. She’s pale and looks like she’s out of it, likely a combination of shock and the concussion she suffered when one of Amedeo’s goons knocked her out. This is a conversation that should wait. But I can’t put it off. Because if I do, I’ll be tempted to never have it.
“You couldn’t have known what he was planning.” She frowns, her dark eyes searching mine. “Is that why you’re saying all this? Because you feel guilty about what happened?”
The bruise on her cheek from that bastard makes me want to bring him back from the dead just to put a bullet between his eyes a second time. He hit her. I should have chopped off his hand before I put a bullet in his head.
But I can’t think about Amedeo now. He’s in hell where he belongs. I have to focus on this conversation with Luna.
I don’t look away from her. She needs to know this is real and I’m serious.
“Luna, I’m saying it because it’s what needs to be said. I thought that maybe there was a chance we could make this work, but what went down in that warehouse proved me wrong. You were almost killed because of me.”
That much is the truth. But I’m letting her think I don’t feel anything for her because it’s easier that way. Because severing ties with her is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
“I don’t blame you,” she tells me. “You shouldn’t blame yourself either. No one could have suspected Amedeo would storm the penthouse.”
Of course she doesn’t blame me. She’s looking at me with those big brown eyes, her heart on her fucking sleeve. I want to hold her. To breathe her in. To kiss her until everything else falls away. But I can’t do that. Because trying to hold her here is selfish.
“Here’s what’s going to happen. You can stay the night here in one of the guest rooms. In the morning, I’ll have Roc drive you to the airport. He’ll arrange for your things to be sent back to you as soon as possible. My lawyers will handle the divorce. It’ll be a clean break. You’ll receive a nice settlement for your time as my wife, and I’ll be more than happy to buy all your father’s businesses from you or to manage them in your absence, whichever you prefer.”
