“I’m sure they all assume you’re dead by now. They know Toni is. Sent his wedding band finger in a box to his family.”
Oh my God. His mom. His brother. I can imagine their horror. The tears rolling down their sad faces. “They didn’t deserve that!” I snap, rising on my knees. “They were good people. His mom was like a mother to me, too.”
“Emphasis on the word was.” His jaw ticks.
“I want proof, Draco,” I demand.
“Even with proof, you won’t trust me, Gianna.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because I can be very impulsive. You’ll never know what I’ll do next.”
“You already said you wouldn’t kill me. That’s fair enough. I don’t have to know what you will do next. I’m certain I can handle whatever you throw at me. You don’t kill me and I won’t make an attempt to kill you. I have nothing left to lose but my life, Draco, and that already feels pretty worthless. What good would it be for me to run away—go back to the life I had—just for you to destroy it again? I know if I run, you’ll find me. You’ll drag me right back to you and kill anyone that stands in the way of that.”
His chin tilts in a superior way, and I know I’m right.
“So I won’t run. I will do my part. But I want proof. I want to know that Daddy actually trusted you and your father. I need that assurance. It will give me peace.”
He looks me over in my naked, vulnerable stance before pulling his eyes away. “Fine.” He picks his head up, tipping my chin. “But about what you did with the Ricci cousin . . . I won’t be able trust you anymore. You stay here. You’ll be mine, but I can’t trust you, Gianna. You cut a potential enemy loose. He could have told anyone where I was, and they could have killed me.”
I drop my line of sight to his chest. “I’m . . . sorry, Draco.”
He pulls his hand away. “Sorry won’t cut it. It’s a pathetic word with no depth. Your apology means nothing to me.” Stepping away, he looks toward the stairs and says, “Get out and go to my room. Shower and go to bed. I have things to handle tonight.”
I blink up at him, how he avoids my eyes.
Wait.
He’s serious.
He won’t trust me. He probably won’t even try to again.
He lowered his guard just a little, and I stabbed him right in the back like a fool, and now he won’t even look at me. He can’t look at me, because if he does, he might hurt me again. Or worse, become so blind with rage that he’ll have no choice but to end me.
“Draco, I—” I reach for him, but he takes another step away.
“Go, Gianna. Now. You’re lucky that was all I did to you.”
Wow. He can’t even punish me. Not like he used to. What does that mean? That he did trust me? That he actually felt something for me? Or does he still?
Maybe I’m wrong about him. He was trying to make something work between us, and I tore that right to shreds. His humanity was trying to break through, but I just sealed the cracks, leaving him drowning in the darkness again, and all for my own selfish needs. For his power. His control. His dominance, and that terror that I love feeling deep down.
I climb off the bed and walk down the stairs, purposely taking my time—hoping he’ll stop me, grab me, spank me, or do something to make him unleash the rage I’ve initiated.
But he doesn’t. I don’t get anything at all from him.
I pick up his shirt that’s down by the rails and slide into it, walking toward the tall doors. I look back when I pull one of them open, but I don’t see him. I can’t even hear him.
He’s so quiet. He’s . . . hurt. Because of me. He only wanted my loyalty, and I gave him my ass to kiss.
Shit.
What have I done?
21
I decided to sleep in the library instead. I didn’t know if Draco would come to bed soon, and, frankly, I didn’t want to sleep with him. Don’t get me wrong, I feel bad—guilty, because I did wrong, and he left Henry alive, for now at least.
I don’t know why, or what he was planning on doing, but I can’t face him. Not until I’ve processed my thoughts, so I write until nearly four in the morning, letting the words of remorse flow.
I can’t stop. Not for a while. When I do, I read over it a hundred times and then I fold it up, taking it with me to the daybed. I don’t want him—or anyone else—to walk in and see it.
Before I can get comfortable, there is a knock on the library door . . . at four in the morning. I frown as I stare at the door. Draco would walk right in. So would Patanza. Who the hell is it?