“Snow White,” I murmured. She didn’t react. “Marcella.”
Her eyes dragged down to mine, as cold and impenetrable as ice. She couldn’t hide the traces of her tears. “Let me take a look at your ear,” I said in a beckoning voice.
“At what’s left of it, you mean?” she said hoarsely, her eyes full of hatred and accusation, but beyond those obvious emotions, emotions she wanted me to see, I detected her pain and fear, and those emotions cut me deeply. Maybe I should have seen it coming. From the first moment I spotted her, she hadn’t left my mind. What had been lust in the beginning had morphed into something more. I enjoyed talking to her, teasing her. Fuck, I even enjoyed watching her sleep. Whatever I felt and I wasn’t ready or willing to analyze my emotions yet, was at odds with my pure hatred for her father.
“I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have allowed this to happen. It’s not part of the plan.”
Her lips pulled into a tight smile. “And what’s the plan?”
“You were meant to be exchanged for your father, like I told you. It was supposed to happen this week.”
“But what’s the plan now?”
I wasn’t sure telling her would make things better but I knew Marcella was too clever not to realize what was going on. “Earl wants to punish your father through your suffering.”
She nodded as if it all made sense. She jerked her head away again, her shoulders stiffening. I shifted, trying to get a glimpse at her face. I could see the struggle in every perfect inch of it but finally the tears tumbled out. Restrained at first but then her walls came crashing down.
“Snow White, I’m sorry, fucking sorry,” I murmured, touching her cheek.
Her eyes flashed. “This is not a fairy tale. And it’s your fault this is happening.”
She was right. It was irrelevant that Earl would still have gone through with the plan even without my help.
“Let me treat your wound,” I said.
She glared. “It’s your fault. Go away.”
But I didn’t leave, not with her crying openly in front of me, vulnerable like I had never seen a Vitiello before. I took out bandages and antiseptic before I started cleaning her wound. The cut was fairly clean and I was sure there were ways plastic surgeons could replace an earlobe, but that wasn’t the point. Marcella sat quietly as I took care of her, and I wished she’d say something, even if it were words of spite. Anything was better than this sad, quiet version of her.
“Done,” I said.
Finally, her gaze returned to me. The smile she gave me was bitter. “This is what you wanted, huh? Bringing a Vitiello to tears.”
“The wrong Vitiello. Even if I’ve never seen a woman who can cry prettier than you, I never wanted your fucking tears.”
For some reason, this caused a new wave of tears, which only seemed to make her angrier. I slid my arms under Marcella’s knees and her back and lifted her into my arms. She didn’t resist, instead, she sagged against me. What this did to me caught me by surprise. I felt a wave of protectiveness and affection that almost knocked me over.
I put her down on the bed and stroked her back. Certain that she didn’t want me close, I stepped back, wanting to pace the woods to clear my head and figure out a plan.
Her arm shot out, grabbing my hand. “No, stay with me.”
“Marcella, are you—”
“Stay.”
I stretched out behind her and wrapped my arms around her. I’d never hugged her like that, simply to show affection and give consolation. I didn’t remember the last time I’d hugged someone at all.
“It’s only going to get worse,” she whispered. “Your uncle wants to break my father, but my father can’t be broken, so he’ll break me.”
I knew she was right. Maybe I should have seen it coming but I had been too desperate for revenge. “I’ll protect you,” I swore. This oath would be my downfall, I could feel it deep in my bones. Yet, I had no intention of taking it back.
When I left my bedroom to a sleeping Marcella an hour later, my mind was still reeling. I wasn’t sure how to convince Earl to go ahead with the exchange, especially after our argument. He was probably still pissed at me. The common area was filled with guys. Word about my reaction to Marcella’s torture must have gotten around judging by the curious and sometimes even questioning looks I got. I just nodded at them and stalked outside, not in the mood to justify myself.
I paced the forest when I spotted Gray. He hunched on a fallen tree, smoking, his hair falling down his face. Like me, he had been in the club since he was fifteen, even though prospects usually needed to be at least eighteen years old.