"She doesn't know you called me," I said in realization as my feet finally carried me to the door as my body became unlocked. Enzo slid out of the way, closing the door to my office behind me and locking it before he hurried to catch up as I thundered my way down the stairs. Under any normal circumstances, the stairs wouldn't have been enough to even remotely wind me. But with my anger a tangible venom in my veins, my heart felt like it might implode inside my chest.
"No." She said the word carefully, as if she knew she'd stepped on a landmine and did not understand how to defuse the bomb without losing a limb herself.
"She was fucking strangled, and she didn't call me?" I accused, my jaw clenching as I thought about what else she might have kept from me. "Why the Hell isn't she in the hospital?"
There was a pause on the other side of the line that confirmed the woman knew more than she was willing to tell me. “She refused to go to the hospital. She always does, but I suspect you and Samara will need to have a very in-depth conversation about her marriage to Connor before you can understand what I mean, Mr. Bellandi. Should I presume you're on your way?"
"Yes. You can presume that," I bit out, hanging up the call as Enzo slid into the driver's side of my car. He didn't need directions, didn't need to be told that I was in no state to drive. He just slid into the position where I needed him, no matter that it was outside his job description and nearly four o'clock in the morning. As soon as I was in the passenger seat, he peeled out onto the road and made his way to Samara's home.
What had been her home for years, anyway. I already knew she wouldn't be living there ever again. She’d be fucking lucky if I ever let her out of my sight again, given exactly what she’d been hiding from me.
She'd officially used up my patience with her lies and secrets.
And I wouldn't tolerate another second of it.
???
The BMW pulled into the driveway smoothly, no matter how quickly Enzo took the turn. I hadn't even shut the door behind me before the front door opened, and Linda stood in the doorway staring me down. With a resigned sigh, she stepped back as I thundered my way up the front steps of Samara's tiny house she'd loved so much when Connor bought it for her. "Where is she?" I hissed.
"She's sleeping. She should remain that way for the time being." The woman's voice was light, gentle as I made my way to the stairs at the back of the house. "You need to prepare yourself for what you'll see, Mr. Bellandi," she added, closing the door softly as Enzo finally made his way inside. "There are bruises. I thought it might be prudent to warn you before you saw them for yourself." The banister creaked as my hand clenched, the sound of the wood straining under the pressure of my fury a warning that I needed to control myself. The last thing I needed was to scare my Little Dove, especially when she was already vulnerable.
Hurt.
Schooling my features, I nodded to her and released the banister. "Find out everything she knows," I ordered Enzo, and then continued my way up the stairs. The bedroom door at the top was cracked open, the soft glow from the television illuminating the space just enough. I'd not been in her bedroom since she'd moved in with Connor before they married, but the nostalgia of it hit me with a sudden fierceness. I'd spent many nights curled up in bed with her when we were younger, escaping the fear of my father's fists by hiding away in her bed. It had been that way even when I'd been too young to understand what it meant. That she was my home.
On any other occasion, walking into the room she'd once shared with a man who wasn't me would have been enough to drive me mad with jealousy. But the sight of Samara's tiny form curled up in the center of the bed, her knees held tightly to her chest as if she couldn't bear to be alone even in her sleep, was enough to bring me to my knees for another reason altogether. I perched on the edge of the bed, reaching a hand over to tuck her copper hair behind her ear so I could see her face more clearly. Even in her sleep, she looked disturbed.
Trapped.
In a way I recognized, because I'd seen it on my face too many times as a child when I looked in the mirror. There was nothing I wouldn't do to erase that look from her face permanently, but as my eyes drifted down to the purple marks on her delicate golden skin, I knew that I would burn the city to the ground if that was what it took to find Connor.
I curled myself around her, tucking her back into my front to comfort her. When she jerked in my hold, a panicked gasp rattled in her throat. "Shh, Little Dove. It's just me."
She whimpered, and the sound of pain that escaped her in a long, low groan was enough to make a growl rumble in my chest. It took everything I had to keep my body from vibrating with the fury that took over every muscle, tightening everything in me until I could release my tension on Connor when I tore him limb from limb. "What are you doing here?" she rasped, attempting to pull away, but the motion lacked energy and enthusiasm in the way I'd have thought Samara capable of. I wanted to think maybe she enjoyed being in my arms as much as I enjoyed having her there, but I suspected it was just another sign of the pain that wreaked havoc on her body.
I drew my phone out of my pocket, texting Enzo to have Linda come and pack Samara a bag when he finished discovering what she knew. "I think the better question would be, how long do I plan to play with Connor before I slit his throat?" She winced, and I suspected my words may have gone too far. Still, she didn't escape my hold, and barely spared a glance for Linda when she stepped into the bedroom quietly.
"You called him," she whispered, burrowing the side of her head farther into the pillow. Linda didn't bother to respond, and there was no shame in her face as she set to packing Samara's things. It was good to know that one of them had the sense to involve me, even if it had come too late. But Samara's reaction concerned me.
Desolate.
Resigned.
As if there was nothing worse than me knowing the truth, nothing worse than whatever justice I might mete out. Samara had never made me feel like less, even though she knew what the Bellandi family did. The possibility that she might hate me for killing someone who hurt her was too crushing to consider. Linda zipped the suitcase up, depositing it at the foot of the bed and staring do
wn at Samara, who refused to look at her. "One of these days, you'll understand. You'll have a girl you love like one of your own, and if someone ever dares to hurt her, you will do whatever it takes to protect her."
Samara nodded, but even that motion didn't have her usual zest. I suspected there was more to it than her sore throat but didn't press. We didn't move until Enzo came up to collect the suitcase, and then I climbed out of the bed. I drew Samara into my arms, lifting her and carrying her out of her room.
My Samara would have protested. Would have claimed she could walk, that she wasn't an invalid. This Samara allowed it without a word, snuggling her face into my shoulder and sighing contentedly.
A broken dove.
She didn't so much as flinch when I crawled into the back seat with her, and Enzo pulled out in favor of making our way to my house.
Ten
Samara