I nodded mutely as reality crashed over me. I was willing to slice open Matteo’s throat.
“Philipe!” Gio called, and the man entered the room, shoving the bag over Matteo’s head and cutting him loose before dragging him out.
19
Gio
Emilia stood there, staring at the door Romano had just been dragged through. Her hand was still covered in blood, a smudge on her cheek. I wasn’t as sick as Jackson, but I had to admit, it did something to me seeing her like this. So savage, so corrupted. In more ways than one.
I had given her that knife because I assumed he’d hurt her and I wanted her to take back some power, but now I saw; he hadn’t done it to her. Whatever it was, she was ready to kill him for it. I just couldn’t let her. After a while, you became numb to death, but I never wanted Emilia to be stained by my world like that.
She folded her arms over her chest, and I could practically see her re-forging her armor. “I’m still not yours,” she whispered. “I didn’t beg. I just said it for…him.” One step forward and two back, all the damn time, as if any glimmer of surrender had to be combated on pure principle. Something had just happened between us, a shift, and I wasn’t about to let her deny it.
My temper rose, and I gripped her throat. “You can fight and hiss and scratch all you like, Emilia, but deep down, you want to be mine.” I tugged her close and dragged my nose up the side of her throat, inhaling the scent of her. “Because you know I’ll fuck you and look after you.” I pressed a kiss to her jaw. “And if anyone hurts you—past, present, or future—I’ll kill for you.”
Emilia Donato was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Given the chance, she could be fierce, but beneath all her fight, she wanted this. For someone to fight for her. Because I could tell no one ever had.
“Now, are you going to tell me what he did to make you hate him enough to kill?”
A slow nod. I took her hand, guiding her to the couch. The music from the club still rumbled around us, but it did nothing to cut through the tension radiating from Emilia’s stiff shoulders.
I pulled her into my lap, and she didn’t argue. “Who did he hurt?”
She looked away from me, eyes glazing as she focused on a spot on the wall. “My sister.”
I took her hand in my own, the blood now drying and sticky. “Tell me about her.” This felt pivotal somehow.
Emilia was so open in many ways, so easy to read, but there was a whole side of her she kept locked down, and I wanted it. I wanted to know every detail of her life. Her pain, her pleasure, what made her cry or smile. For long moments she remained silent, and I expected her to shut me out.
“Chiara was the good one, the dutiful daughter. She was kind and sweet and so naïve,” Emilia choked. “She believed the bullshit my parents fed her, that women in The Outfit were protected and cherished. Thought she’d get married to someone they picked just for her and live this happy life…” she trailed off, eyes closing as her brows pinched together. “Uncle Sergio gave her to him like a broodmare he no longer wanted. Matteo abused her, beat her, raped her.” Her voice broke, and I held her tighter, as though I could physically keep my little kitten together. She came to me, burying her face in my throat, and it felt like the sweetest gift—her vulnerability, her trust.
“When she got pregnant, she knew she’d be trapped forever.” Small fingers fisted in my shirt. “She killed herself.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, her pain a raw wound that I felt as if it were my own.
And just like that, it all made sense. For the first time, I saw Emilia clearly. The armor she wore was forged in suffering, her mistrust warranted, because her family had sold her sister, and given the opportunity, they had done exactly the same thing to her, giving her to me. And when she didn’t want it, they had threatened to give her to the very same creature who had driven her sister to her grave. No wonder Emilia feared him. No wonder she had run. Why would she trust anyone? Except for maybe Renzo Donato.
“I’m sorry, piccola.”
She felt so small and fragile in my arms, and fuck if I didn’t want to slaughter everyone who had ever hurt her. But I was one of them.
My phone rang, and I took it from my pocket, sending Jackson to voicemail. I wanted to tell Emilia that I released her from our agreement, from whatever this was, but I couldn’t bring myself to say the words. It was selfish, but I couldn’t let her go, and I knew the second I did, she’d run and wouldn’t look back.