The only thing I can do is bang on the glass with my fists, exposing myself, stopping Giovanni. Even for one more second, stopping him from committing this sin. Murder in cold blood. He must have done it before, and he’ll do it again, but I don’t care. I can’t save those people. I probably can’t save this man either, but I have to try.
And maybe somehow I can save Giovanni, too.
This place makes you evil. I figured that out a long time ago, but I refuse to succumb. No matter how much violence I see, no matter how much is visited upon me, I will never accept this as normal, as right. Power doesn’t make this okay.
Giovanni’s expression darkens when he sees me through the window.
I expect him to send out one of the men standing by the door inside to get me, but he comes himself. His grip on my arm presses deep enough to bruise. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“I don’t know,” I cry brokenly. I didn’t realize how much hope I held that he was still good inside until it was crushed. I’m like the man on the ground in there, knees broken, destined for death but somehow begging—hoping anyway. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”
I don’t know why I interrupted him. I want to blame it on my upbringing, but I think it’s worse than that. Despite everything I loved him too much to leave.
Giovanni looks terrifying in the slash of light across half his face, like a gargoyle or some other night creature. “I told you this wasn’t for you to see.”
“So that makes it okay? You can kill someone as long as you lock me in my room first? You can torture someone?”
He gestures into the room. “Torture? This isn’t torture.”
“You shot his knees!”
A rough sound. “He doesn’t deserve your sympathy.”
“What did he do that was so bad?” I ask, incredulous and tearful. “He crashed your party? For that he should be killed?”
“Don’t be foolish,” he says, his voice as harsh as I’ve ever heard him. “He came for you.”
That makes me stop. I swallow hard, tears cold lines down my cheeks. “What?”
“Christ, bella. He took her, he’ll take you too.”
“He took…he took who?” I never imagined he was a monk in the years I was gone, but I didn’t think he found someone else. Someone he got close to, someone to love. Was he engaged to someone else? Married? Was she kidnapped?
Then I’m more of a pawn than I even knew.
Giovanni turns away with a low growl, running a hand through his hair. “You shouldn’t have come here.”
“You’re right.” I wrap my arms around myself as if that can control the shaking. My throat sounds like it’s been cut with broken glass. “I should have just left. That’s what I was trying to do. I got away from Romero. I was going to escape.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“Because I wanted to be wrong about you.” I lose my tenuous grip on the tears, and they fall freely now. “I wanted you to be the Giovanni I loved. And God help me, I wanted to marry him.”
He stares at me a moment, deathly still. A long pause. “I told you he’s gone.”
“I know.”
“He’s fucking gone, Clara.”
“I know.” I scream it at him, as if to block out the sight of the man with his broken knees. It doesn’t work. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget. It’s tainted me, touched me. This place.
Gio’s eyes seem to glow from inside, a dark vehemence I’ve never seen from him. Something cruel and determined. “I don’t think you do know. Come inside, Clara.”
My throat clenches tight. “No,” I choke out. “I’ll go back to my room.”
He shakes his head, taking me by the arm. His grip isn’t bruising anymore, but neither is it gentle. I can’t get away as he pulls me around through the door, into the glare of the room.
Two guards are standing on either side of the door, making sure the man on the floor can’t leave. Not that he can, with his knees shot to hell. I have no idea what they think about me being there, but they don’t meet my gaze. I recognize one of them—a decent man, at least I’d thought so.