Page 42 of Captured Innocence

“Are you going to talk to him?”

“No. In fact, I’m going to disappear. Enjoy the party.”

“Are you kidding me?”

I turned toward her, trying to ignore the electricity that continued to tether me to the bastard. “I need some space. I’m going to my room. If he leaves, come and get me. Okay?”

“What do I tell your father?”

“That I wasn’t feeling well.”

She nodded, concern in her eyes as he glanced over my shoulder. “He’s coming this way.”

“I’ll call you.” I backed into the shadows, determined to lock myself in my room. I rushed toward the other side of the house, heading toward the employees’ stairs. I moved through the corridors into the residential side of the house, my heart racing.

How could I fall for the man’s charm, believing for one minute that a single part of him wasn’t a greedy, arrogant murderer? Tears formed in my eyes and as hard as I tried to keep the anger, it was almost impossible. I still had feelings for the man.

I slowed down, trying to catch my breath.

Then I heard footsteps.

Oh, God. Someone was trying to follow me. I knew exactly who that was.

I tried to stay as quiet as possible as I headed for the stairs. When I reached the bottom, I threw a look over my shoulder.

There he was in all his glory.

“Sophia. We need to talk.”

“We don’t have a single thing to talk about, Mattia. Just go.”

“I can’t do that.”

I gave him a hateful look then rushed up the stairs, flying toward my room. He was right behind me.

“Sophia. Why are you running away? I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Yes, you will.” My feet pounded on the floor, my heels slowing me down. But I reached my room, able to slam and lock the door. Then I backed away, trying to catch my breath. “That’s what you do. You hurt people. You kill those important to others. Why?”

“You already know what I’m required to do, which isn’t something you don’t understand. But I would never hurt you or anyone you consider special in your life. I’m a bad man, maybe even evil. But not with you. Not around you.”

God, I wanted to believe him. I cinched my eyes shut, my body tensing to the point my joints ached. “Just go away.” If he didn’t, my resolve would crumble. I knew it. I felt it.

I hated myself because of it.

He tried the handle, rattling it several times.

“Sophia. Let me in. I just want to talk.”

“Get out, Mattia. I don’t want you here. We have nothing to talk about.”

I could hear him mumbling in Italian. “This is ridiculous. We’re adults.”

“So what? You’re a murderer.”

He said nothing, but I sensed his continued presence. As the seconds ticked by, I pressed the back of my hand across my lips. Then I took a deep breath. Maybe he’d left.

At least I’d be returning to Paris within a couple of days. I could avoid him until then. Then I’d do everything in my power to shove the memories into a padlocked box, never to be opened again.

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