The Darkest Temptation (Made 3)

If I didn’t find myself, love would be all I’d be.

I knew what I had to do, though just the thought wrenched my heart. The fact I was about to hit one of Ronan’s weaknesses made me want to throw up. He was the strongest man I’d ever met, and still, I couldn’t stand the idea of hurting him.

“I guess Khaos doesn’t have to go to the pound,” I finally said, my raspy tone hiding the heartache inside.

My papa’s head shot up at my voice, relief filling his eyes.

Ronan’s stoic expression didn’t falter. My stomach clenched when I realized he knew what I’d come to terms with at the same time I had.

“How long was I out?” I asked.

“Three days,” Ronan said emotionlessly.

My papa got to his feet, came to my bedside, and grabbed my hand attached to an IV. “I am so sorry, angel. I am so—” His voice cracked. “I will never forgive myself for this.”

I stared at his hand holding mine, unable to remember the last time he’d touched me intentionally. And all it took was being shot by his own gun to gain his affection.

Numb, I pulled my hand away. “I forgive you, Papa.”

His pained eyes found mine. “I always wondered how I made a girl as compassionate as you.”

“I’m compassionate, Papa, but not forgetful. I don’t hate you—not for what you did to my mother, not for lying, being absent, or for putting me here.” My voice was unnaturally calm. “But I will not forget.”

He soaked in my words silently.

“You will always be my father . . . but I think it’s best if we go our separate ways.” It surprised me I could say those words without any emotion. Though I wasn’t the same girl who’d boarded a plane to Moscow with hope in her eyes.

He looked a little stricken, but then sullenly nodded. “If that is what you wish.”

“It is.”

Without another word, my father walked to the door.

“Why did you do it?” I blurted.

He paused, his body tensing. He knew I wanted to know why he killed my mother. His hesitation created a heavy silence in the room, like he wasn’t sure if he should tell me the truth. In the end, I knew he did.

“She was pregnant with another man’s child.”

Then he walked out of the room and out of my life, leaving me numb at his response. “You look too much like my Tatianna . . .” His Tatianna. My papa may care for me, but he’d never truly loved me. I was simply a token of his toxic obsession with a famous opera singer. It felt like he’d abandoned me years ago, but there was a finality in the realization and watching him walk away that sent a shard of glass through my heart. The mayhem in my chest convinced me of my next conversation starter.

Staring after my papa’s retreat, I said, “If you hurry, you might be able to catch him in the parking lot.”

“I’ll pass.” Ronan’s tone was derisive.

“He knows you’re not going to harm me now. You’ve lost the upper hand.”

“He’s been here all day,” Ronan snapped. “If I wanted to kill him, I could have done it multiple times by now.”

I drew my gaze his way. The sight of him filled me with a heavy longing that spread through my veins: for him to touch me, hold me, show me he cared. Though the reminder I couldn’t have any of that felt like a blow to the chest.

I swallowed. “So you’ve given up on your revenge?”

He clenched his teeth. “You think revenge is on my mind right now?”

“You hit him,” I challenged.

“That was necessary to regain my concentration.”