Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 40015 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 200(@200wpm)___ 160(@250wpm)___ 133(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40015 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 200(@200wpm)___ 160(@250wpm)___ 133(@300wpm)
I snarled right back at him. He was the one who was meant to be dead. But my blade had missed its mark. A thick bandage was wrapped around his shoulder, already soaked through with blood. But the fucker was still breathing. The injury I’d inflicted didn’t seem to pain him at all; he was too consumed by his rage and loathing to notice the wound.
Or maybe it was his concern for Nora that kept him upright. Despite his contempt for me, his gaze strayed back to her, his sharp features pinching as though her agony was his own.
I focused on her too, addressing the man I surmised was Dante’s private physician. “How is she?” I asked. “What did they do to her?”
“You know what they did!” Dante thundered, but he didn’t make a violent move against me. All his muscles locked up tight, and a vein pulsed at his brow as he glowered at me. “And it’s your fault.”
My stomach sank. “I had to get her away from you.” The excuse was bitter on my tongue. “Her father sent Giana to retrieve her. I wasn’t going to deny her the chance to escape this hell.”
“She doesn’t need to escape from me,” he barked. “She is my wife. And you let her run straight into a Russian ambush. They must’ve grabbed her when she was on the way to her father’s house. For all I know, they might’ve attacked Giuseppe too. I haven’t been able to reach him. I could’ve used his men to kill more of the Russian bastards during the assault.”
My fists flexed. I hoped the Bratva had killed Giuseppe, my oldest, most hated enemy. Although, he deserved to die by my hand after abusing Nora for years. And after how he’d caused my own mother’s death. If the callous bastard had died, I hoped it’d been slow and painful.
Dante’s attention strayed to Nora again. “How is she?” he asked the doctor, voice gravelly with something like fear.
Nora hadn’t so much as stirred during our argument. She’d been bleeding from a head wound. I could see that she was breathing, but that didn’t mean she’d ever wake up.
“She’ll live,” the doctor responded in clipped, clinical tones. “Nothing is broken, but I’ll monitor her head injury for the next few days. She’ll be in a considerable amount of pain for a while, but she’ll heal.”
Dante sagged with relief, leaning against the bedpost for support. He quickly straightened and went to her bedside, carefully taking her small hand in both of his. He held her as if she was made of glass.
I kept my own careful hold on her other hand, my mind sticking on Dante’s accusation.
You know what they did! And it’s your fault.
The Russians had brutalized the woman I loved.
Another memory flashed through my mind: I love him!
Nora had declared her love for me while she begged for my miserable life, for Dante to spare me from a killing blow.
Guilt tore at my heart more keenly than any blade. The Russians had raped my wife, and it was my fault. I’d told Nora to flee with her sister. I’d urged her to leave Dante’s estate, when I knew that they’d staged an ambush nearby only days earlier. Dante had taken a bullet to save her during that assault, and it’d only been a few miles away from his defensive walls. I’d allowed her to run straight into the Bratva’s waiting hands.
I wasn’t worthy of her love; I’d never been worthy of her. I’d been selfish and used her for my own ends, and then I’d failed to protect her from Dante’s sick games. Now I’d failed her in the worst way. It was unforgiveable.
I released her hand as though her chilled fingers had burned me, unable to bear the tender contact when I knew I didn’t deserve to touch her.
She groaned, and her hand twitched toward me. “Luca…” My name was a barely intelligible mumble, and the pain that laced her voice cut at my soul.
“Hold her hand, you selfish fuck,” Dante seethed. “I will do anything for my wife, even if that means letting you touch her.” His lips twisted as though the words were sour. “The Russians might’ve broken her, thanks to you, but I’ll do whatever it takes to put her back together again. You should be screaming for death right now for what you’ve done, but I won’t kill you because that would hurt her.”
My heart sank. It would hurt her because she loved me.
Reluctantly, I wrapped my fingers around hers, squeezing in a small pulse of comfort even though the contact turned my stomach. My unworthiness was poison in my veins, making me sick with the knowledge that I’d failed her in the worst way.
“I still have Gabriele and Lorenzo as my hostages,” Dante reminded me sharply. “Don’t test me, or they will suffer. Just because you’re not in your cell, that doesn’t mean you’re not my prisoner. I won’t harm you, but I won’t hesitate to torture your friends.”