Page 128 of Pietro
"What did you say?"
"You heard me." I lean forward as much as the ropes allow. "Three years, Declan. Three years of you pumping away for two minutes before rolling over to sleep."
His face darkens. "You were boring," he spits. "Lying there like a dead fish, never initiating, never?—"
"Because you never made me want to." The laughter comes easier now, genuine. "Christ, I thought something was wrong with me. Thought I was broken. Then Pietro touched me once—once—and I understood. The problem wasn't me."
Declan's hand cracks across my face hard enough to taste copper again.
"You comparing me to that guinea fuck?"
"There's no comparison." I work my jaw, checking if anything's broken. "When he fucks me, it's because he wants me, not some trophy to parade around Boston."
"I gave you everything?—"
"You gave me lies." Blood drips from my chin onto my torn shirt. "Every kiss, every 'I love you,' every promise about our future. All calculated."
Declan surges to his feet, chair screeching against concrete. He paces the small space like something caged.
"You know what the funny part is?" I watch him through swelling eyes. "I would have been the perfect wife for you because I loved you. If you'd just bothered to pretend you gave a damn."
"I did care?—"
"You cared about the alliance. About impressing Connor. About having the princess of the O'Sullivan family in your bed." My voice drops. "But you never cared about me."
He spins, stalks back to loom over me. "And Sartori does?"
Yes.
The answer is a silent scream in my head.
He wantsME.
He doesn't just want what I represent.
"Pietro would burn Chicago to ash for me."
"He let you walk into my hands."
"I walked myself."
Declan's fist connects with my ribs. Pain explodes through my torso. I bite down on the scream, refusing to give him that satisfaction.
"The security codes." He's breathing hard now, control slipping. "Give me something useful or I start breaking fingers."
"I don't know any codes."
He grabs my bound hand, isolates my index finger. "Last chance."
"I. Was. Just. A. Secretary."
He focuses on my index finger, bending it back until it’s at an angle it was never meant to hold. There’s a sickening, wetpopthat I feel more than hear, a sound that travels up the bone of my arm. A scream tears from my throat before I can swallow it.
"Security codes."
"Go to hell."
Another finger. The crack echoes off the walls. Tears stream down my face but I lock my jaw, swallow the screams.
