As I started the engine and turned the wheel, movement at the front door caught my attention. It was Patricia. She glanced behind her several times as she made her way toward me. I rolled down my window.
“Mr. Benedetti.” She was out of breath.
“Yes?”
“Your uncle asked me to give this to you.” She slipped a note to me and quickly backed away from the car.
“Thank you, Patricia,” I said absently as I unfolded it and read the brief, hurriedly written note: Dominic visited Isabella DeMarco late last night, just before your arrival there.
Dominic was there? I’d gone inside—well, I’d gotten as far as the foyer. Did Lucia know Dominic was there and keep it from me? And did this confirm my growing suspicion?16LuciaI woke suddenly, sucking in a breath, my throat incredibly dry.
Looking around, I remembered where I was, remembered the night before. I lay in Salvatore’s bed, his scent still on his pillow, the indentation where his head had been now containing a small piece of paper.
Unfolding it, I read:
I need to take care of some business. I will be back this afternoon. I have Marco’s phone, and I’ve programmed the number into yours in case you need anything.
SalvatoreI set it down and closed my eyes, feeling sheepish at what I’d done, dropping his phone into the toilet.
But now, I had to face the thing that had woken me, as unbelievable as it was. I wished I’d kept my father’s note rather than throwing it away. At the time, I’d been so upset.
My father had committed suicide because he couldn’t live with the decisions he’d made. Because he hadn’t been able to come to terms with the fact that when I turned twenty-one, Salvatore would claim me as his. Did he have any idea how that letter would make me feel? Did he know he laid more guilt on my shoulders with that letter than he had in signing the contract that bound me to the Benedetti family?
But there was something else. He’d said something I’d just remembered moments before waking. He’d blamed the Benedettis for destroying both his daughters.
I’d thought—when I’d heard the man’s voice last night, I’d thought I’d recognized it, but it wasn’t a familiar voice. I’d thought it was Dominic Benedetti. But what would he be doing at my sister’s house? Isabella hated them more than I did.
But what my father had said…
“No.”
I sat up and pushed the blankets off. I was naked and saw that Salvatore had carefully bandaged my knees and the heels of my palms from where I’d torn myself up, running from him last night. When he’d caught up with me, he’d been fierce but also tender. Caring.
I shook my head and got out of bed. Back in my own bedroom, I dressed in running clothes. Running always helped clear my head, and I needed my head cleared really bad right now. Once dressed, I headed out. I heard Rainey in the kitchen and someone vacuuming in another part of the house.
I started at a slow jog, trying to choose some music, but then I stopped, wrapped the earbuds around the phone, and tucked it into my pocket. I didn’t want music today. I’d listen to the sounds of the forest.
Last night, when I’d asked him what he wanted, Salvatore had said he wanted me.
“At this moment.”
The swell inside my chest deflated instantly at the memory. He had to have me. It’s not like I was his choice.
I shook that thought aside. I needed to figure out what was going on. I needed to talk to Izzy, but how? How could I tell her I’d heard a man’s voice without giving myself away? How offended would she be if I asked if Dominic Benedetti were at her house?
But what if it was him? What if she’d known him for far longer than I realized?
And what if she knew about what he’d done to that little boy, kidnapping Natalie’s son like that?
“I took care of what you wanted done.”
No. No way. Izzy would never have arranged for something as terrible as the kidnapping of a child. And I should be ashamed of myself for thinking it.
I pushed myself to run faster, even though I hadn’t properly warmed up yet, and broke a sweat within a few minutes. I ran harder than I usually ran, but I needed more, needed to burn and exhaust my muscles, purge myself.
When did things get so complicated? Isabella and I were DeMarcos. We hated the Benedetti family. That was simple. It was black-and-white. But this? This attraction, this pull toward Salvatore? My yielding to him? It didn’t make sense. And my questions about Izzy. About what my father potentially referred to in his letter. About having heard Dominic’s voice in her house late at night.
I was running too fast on unfamiliar terrain and not paying attention, so when I tripped over the exposed root of a large tree and went flying, I shouldn’t have been surprised. But when I tried to stand, I had to haul myself up with my arms. My left ankle was already starting to swell and hum with pain.