Page 21 of Savage Love

“But it’s not, and you led them straight to us.” Isabella’s voice is sharp and caustic. “Both ElenaandI are in danger, if Diego is reaching out to contacts here.”

“She’s right.” Niall rubs a hand over his mouth. “I’m going to need to talk to Connor and Liam tomorrow and see what their plan is. It’s not just Elena that could be affected—it’s my family, too. Not that Elena isn’t—” He lets out a long, frustrated breath. “I’m sure they’re already thinking of how to deal with this. And in the meantime, we’ll make sure the wedding happens as soon as possible.”

I nod, but my thoughts are already elsewhere, following Elena. I want to go after her, comfort her, but I’m not sure if that’s the right thing to do. After our fight, I’m not even sure she wants that from me any longer.

But I go anyway, drawn after her as I so often am. I have a feeling she’s gone out to the garden, and that’s where I find her, standing on the path with the soft glow of the lamp on the side of the house illuminating her in the darkness.

She looks up as soon as she hears my footsteps. “I said I wanted to be alone,” she says tightly, and I stop where I am, watching her from halfway down the path.

“I can go inside if you want. But Elena, I wanted to make sure you were alright–”

“How could I possibly be alright?” She turns to face me, and even in the dim glow, I can see that she’s been crying. There are spots of red high on her cheekbones to match the raw edges of her eyes, and she looks exhausted. “I thought I was safe here. I waspromisedit would be safe here. And now I’m pregnant—it’s not just me in danger. Fuck—I led him right to Isabella, too! And Aisling—”

“Shh.” I stride towards her despite her protest, putting an arm around her shoulders and pulling her against my chest. “It’s going to be alright, Elena. I promise. Connor and Liam will come up with a plan, along with Niall and I. We’re going to keep you safe. This affects everyone. And the wedding—”

“What will the wedding do?” She crosses her arms, pulling away from me. “You think Diego will care if I’m married?”

“There’s politics to this, Elena. You know that. If you’re married, then you’re no longer worth as much to him. Revenge might still be worth something, but he’ll have to weigh that against inciting the wrath of the Kings and the Andreyev Bratva, and decide if it’s worth the risk. Not only those factions, but their allies as well, like the Romano mafia. I don’t think it’s going to be worth it to him.”

“You can’t be sure of that,” she whispers, and I nod.

“You’re absolutely right. I can’t be sure. But all we can do is take whatever steps we can now to mitigate the situation. And the first and most important one is for us to get married as soon as possible. That’s your best protection against this.” I let out a long, slow breath. “Elena—there’s no choice about this any longer. Or there is—but it’s a choice between you marrying me and marrying someone else chosen for you by the Kings, to protect you, the alliance, and Niall’s family. That’s what Connor and Liam will do if you were to decide not to marry me. Whether or not to be married isn’t an option any longer.”

She swallows hard, tears filling her eyes as her arms tighten around herself, and I reach for her again, pulling her into my embrace.

“I promised to protect you, Elena. That’s not changing. I’ll protect you, and I’ll protect our child.” I reach down, tilting her chin so that she’s looking up at me. “You believed in me in Rio. If we could manage it there, we can manage it here, where we have more resources.”

She nods slowly, biting her lower lip. “It was easier when it was just you and I that I needed to worry about,” she says softly, and I feel something in my chest clench.

I know it’s not what she means. But all I can think is that she doesn’t trust me to keep our child safe–and why would she?

She knows what happened before.

I feel things for her that I have no right to, that I don’t deserve. I want to keep her in my arms forever. At the same time, I want to undo every decision that led us here, so that she can have the life she was supposed to have—the life her father sent her away in hopes that she could make for herself.

I want to kiss her. I want to gather her in my arms and kiss away every fear that she has, every worry that I see in her dark eyes. I want the Elena back that I knew before, the girl who found a reason to believe that we would prevail in every situation, who kept me stronger than she knew.

But instead, I let go of her chin, pulling her against my chest instead as I rest mine atop her head, one arm around her shoulders.

“Whatever happens,” I tell her quietly as we stand there in the warm darkness, “I’ll keep you safe.”

I hope that this time, it’s a promise I can keep.

Elena

My wedding day dawns as beautiful and bright as I could possibly hope—and the exact opposite of my mood.

I wake up earlier than I meant to, feeling anxious and fraught with nerves, lying in bed with my pulse beating rapidly in my throat. Levin stayed in a hotel last night, since Isabella felt like it wasn’t right for us to be under the same roof, even though he wasn’t all that keen on leaving me with only Niall for protection; a phrase which it was clear Niall took some exception to.

Connor and Liam have had security doing rounds, visiting Niall’s periodically to check for any sign of disturbances, but they don’t have a permanent post. I think it’s meant to make us feel as if the situation isn’t so bad yet—that we don’t need round-the-clock security—but it’s only heightened my anxiety, and I think Isabella’s, too. I’ve heard Niall and Levin discussing the wedding and reception, and I know there will be security there.

It’s not that it’s strange to me—all my life, I’ve been surrounded by guards watching my every move, keeping me safe. But having had a taste of freedom here, what it’s like to choose where I go and when without anyone watching me, it’s hard not to feel eyes on me again, and feel as if I’m being caged.

All I want is for Diego to leave Isabella and I be. The thought that he’s still posing a threat, that even Boston wasn’t far enough away to run, makes me want to curl into a ball and hide. I’d put so much faith in the idea that this was a safe haven, and it feels as if it’s been suddenly ripped away.

Isabella knocks on my door at eight. “I brought you breakfast in bed!” she tells me cheerfully, walking in with a tray filled with French toast, fruit, sausages, and a mimosa perched on it.

“You didn’t need to do that,” I protest, sitting up, and she waves a hand at me, setting the tray down on the bed as she sits cross-legged across from me.

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