Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 115400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Another minute ticks by, and my limits have been met. She will be punished for this. Nobody makes me wait, even women as dazzling as her.
My gaze swings back toward the ladies’ room. She’s too smart to try to escape me, not that any attempt would have been successful, so what the hell is she doing in there?
Frustration burns through me, and as I get to my feet, I press one hand into a tight fist, cracking my knuckles—a sign to every motherfucker in the room to keep out of my way.
I start to move through the room when Sergiu steps into my side. “What’s going on?” he asks, his gaze shifting around the massive ballroom as if searching for a threat.
“Go back to your wife,” I tell him, not pausing to even look his way. “This is between me and mine.”
Sergiu immediately falters, falling back as I continue toward the ladies’ room, not bothered by the hundred sets of eyes locked on my back. My jaw clenches as I consider what the fuck I’m supposed to say to her or what I’m even about to find, but as I continue, the ladies’ room door opens.
A young woman runs out, perhaps one of my distant cousins’ daughters whom I certainly haven’t taken the time to get to know. Her eyes are wide and filled with horror, and as she stumbles through the door, she pauses and searches the room.
Her wide-open stare locks onto mine, and there’s enough fear there to really get me moving.
Something’s happened.
I run, my feet pounding against the marble tiles as the girl scrambles toward me in a blind panic. “It’s . . . She . . . Killian, she needs—”
I don’t hang around to hear what she has to say, bolting past the girl to the ladies’ bathroom. My heart booms erratically in my chest, and for the first time in my life, I feel fear. My forearm slams against the door, swinging it open, and as I barrel inside, I pull to a hasty stop, finding Chiara in a pool of blood on the dirty ground.
She’s not moving, and a fierce rage blasts through my chest.
“Chiara?” I rush out, throwing myself toward her and dropping to my knees as my gaze trails up and down her body, trying to figure out where the blood is coming from. My knees instantly soak in her blood, but all that matters is making sure she’s still breathing.
Please, God. If you fucking exist, don’t take her from me. I’m not ready for her to leave yet.
I cradle her face in my hands while gently stroking my thumbs across her cheeks. “Chiara, Angel. Please,” I beg, her split lip and cheekbone only fueling my anger.
Her chest slowly rises and falls, and the relief that fills me is like nothing I’ve ever experienced, but when those gorgeous green eyes peel open and stare back at me, my whole fucking world comes into focus.
“Killi—” she tries to say my name but cuts herself off with a deep cringe, and I can only assume it’s from the pain.
“Thank fuck, Angel,” I breathe as my men barrel into the bathroom behind me. “Are you okay? Who? Tell me who did this?”
Chiara groans as tears begin filling her eyes, and I quickly realize that an interrogation on what happened in this fucking bathroom is going to have to wait. I need to get her out of here. Besides, I already have a good idea of what happened here tonight. However, in the name of keeping peace within the family, I wouldn’t dare make such an accusation without the proof to go along with it.
“Home,” she croaks out. “Take me home.”
“Chiara,” I warn, my patience wearing thin. “Who hurt you?”
“Please. Not here,” she cries, almost seeming disappointed with herself. “Just take me home.”
My brows furrow as I scan over her beautiful face, and even marred by cuts and bruises, she’s still the most radiant creature I’ve ever laid eyes on. But it doesn’t make sense why she would be disappointed right now. She should be thirsty for blood and ready to take revenge.
“Talk to me, Chiara. What’s wrong?”
She visibly swallows as she reaches up and clutches my hand. “You told me how I respond will define the strength I possess. I failed, Killian. I’m not strong enough.”
Something shatters inside me, and I realize I’m the cause of her brokenness.
I did this.
In the face of an enemy, she responded by showing her strength because of the words I said. Instead of calling for help or backing out peacefully, she stayed and faced this without a shred of training or preparation.
I’ve failed her. I marched her into this building and labeled her as my wife. I painted a target on her back without preparing her for what that truly means, so the cuts and bruises that linger on her skin, they’re my burden to bear, and while I don’t know how I’m supposed to fix that right now, I sure as fuck can ensure I fix everything else. “Îmi pare atât de rău, iubirea mea,” I whisper. “E vina mea.”