Page 102 of Savage Vows
My father studies Dante for a long, tense moment, his lips pressed in a thin line. Finally, he lowers his chin in surrender. “Fine. Have it your way. But you’ll regret this, all of you. Soon.”
The threat lingers like a storm cloud as he turns and stalks away, his men falling in behind him. For a moment, all I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears.
Dante slips his gun back into his jacket and goes straight to Julianne, his tone gentle, protective. “Are you okay?”
To my surprise, Julianne pulls away from me and moves into his arms, hugging him tightly. He lets her, holding her just long enough for her breathing to calm. I stand frozen, awkward, my hands suddenly useless at my sides. I catch my reflection in the hallway mirror—my rumpled robe, my hair wild, my face drawn and pale. I see just how plain I look, and I feel something wilt inside me. Without a word, I start to turn away, desperate for a moment alone.
“Adriana,” Dante calls, his voice cutting through the fog. I stop. He’s watching me, unreadable. “I need to talk to you. Alone.”
He leads me to our room. I move to the little drawer where I tucked away the pregnancy test, but when I turn, Dante is standing much too close, his eyes searching mine with a fierce intensity.
He doesn’t waste time. “Did you tell your parents about Julianne?”
My eyes widen in shock. “Of course not.”
“Don’t lie to me,” he snaps, his voice rough, his jaw tight with anger I don’t understand.
Tears sting my eyes, and I shake my head. “I swear I didn’t. Why are you doing this? Why do you look at me like I’m the enemy?”
My hands tremble as I clutch the edge of the dresser, aching for him to see how scared I am, how much I need him to believe me. “I don’t understand, Dante. I don’t understand any of this…”
Tears slip down my cheeks before I can stop them. I’m suddenly aware of how tired I am, how all the fear and worry and hope I’ve carried for days has worn me down to nothing. I press my fist to my mouth, fighting to steady my breath.
“Why are you doing this?” I whisper again when he doesn’t reply, voice barely more than a gasp.
Dante’s face is tight, but something flickers in his eyes—regret, maybe, or guilt. I can’t tell. He steps closer, and I flinch, wiping at my cheeks, desperate not to fall apart completely in front of him.
“Maybe trusting you was my mistake,” he says, his voice flat and cutting. “Every time I let my guard down, someone gets hurt. Maybe you’re just like everyone else—looking out for yourself, saying whatever you need to survive.”
His words hit like a slap. I flinch, pressing a hand to my chest as if I can hold my heart together. “That’s not fair,” I whisper. “You know it isn’t. I’ve given up everything for you. I’ve tried?—”
He shakes his head, not letting me finish. “Don’t cry. Don’t pretend you’re the victim in this. If you brought danger into my house, I’ll never forgive you. And if you’re lying to me now, Adriana, you’ll regret it.”
My legs go weak. I sink onto the edge of the bed, sobs escaping before I can stop them. It’s not just what he said, it’s the look in his eyes, cold and distant, as if I’m nothing to him at all.
My voice breaks through the silence before I can stop myself. “Is this about my father or Julianne?”
Dante stops with his hand on the door, shoulders tense. He turns back, his eyes colder than I’ve ever seen. “I can’t believe you would say that,” he says, each word slow and heavy. “Weren’t you supposed to be your sister’s protector? Isn’t that what you told me, over and over?”
The words sting worse than any slap.
Before I can answer, before I can even breathe, he turns away, pulls the door open, and walks out, leaving me alone, my heart shattered, the silence closing in around me like a fist.
30
DANTE
She looks so sad.
I notice it every time I glance at her. The slump of her shoulders as she moves around the apartment. The way she hugs herself when she thinks no one is watching. The dullness in her eyes that used to hold fire and stubbornness. Adriana barely speaks now, and when she does, her voice is so quiet I almost don’t recognize it.
I watch her from across the room and every instinct in me wants to reach out, to pull her close, to tell her everything I haven’t said. I want to promise her safety, to promise her that it will all work out, to touch her just to feel her warmth against my skin. But I can’t. I made a choice, one I can’t back away from, and every time I open my mouth to speak, the words catch in my throat. If I break my promise, if I let my guard down now, I put her in even more danger than before.
Sometimes I wonder if she knows how much I’m holding back, how much it costs me to keep this distance. At night, I lie awake listening to her breathe, just on the other side of the bed, so close but a world away. I want to wrap her in my arms, beg her toforgive me, but I stay still, afraid that if I touch her I’ll never let her go.
I tell myself this is for her own good. That it’s better to be cold than to give her hope I can’t keep. But it hurts to see her this way. And I can’t help but think that every time I pull away, I lose her a little more.
I button up my shirt and stand at the dresser, fighting with a stubborn cuff link. Julianne appears in the doorway, hair freshly brushed, wearing one of Adriana’s old sweaters. She picks up the cuff links from the tray and brings them to me, her smile uncertain but grateful.
