Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 97656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
I don’t call out her name. Not yet.
Chapter Thirty-Four
VIOLA
Ipress my fingers gently over the spot through the sleeve of my t-shirt where Mario grabbed me and feel the heat of the forming bruise. It’s a brand I never asked for.
I close my eyes for a second and force the memory of his furious, pain-filled eyes away. I’m never going back there. Never. That chapter is finished. The gates, the cold marble halls, the way the house always smelled of cigar smoke and suspicion — all of it belongs to the past now. I’m safe here. I’m free. I’ll never have to look at Mario’s face again.
I stare out at the Manhattan skyline, the lights glittering like scattered diamonds against the darkening sky. The view is beautiful, almost unreal, and for a moment it feels like the only thing anchoring me. This place is surprisingly warm in a way that Salvatore’s grand estate never was. The leather beneath me is soft, the blanket I pulled over my body smells faintly of cedar and something clean. It reminds me of Ricci. I let myself breathe into it, trying to push the stables out of my mind completely.
Then the elevator pings.
And the sound slices through the quiet like a knife. My heart lurches hard against my ribs. I sit up straight, every muscle locking tight. For one terrifying second, a crazy thought fills my head. Mario must have followed me. He’s found out where I live, and he’s here. I’m already calculating — the kitchen knife, the phone, how fast I can reach the panic button Ricci showed me this morning. My breath comes short and shallow.
Then I realize it can’t be Mario, but purely on instinct, I sprint to my feet, the blanket sliding to the floor. My pulse is racing so fast I can hear it in my ears. My eyes stay fixed on the elevator doors like they might explode open any second. The doors slide open with a soft whoosh.
Of course, it’s not Mario.
It’s Ricci.
He steps into the foyer, tall and broad in a dark suit. His whiskey-gold eyes find me immediately, and the relief hits me so hard it knocks the strength right out of my legs. My knees actually buckle. I fall back on the couch, a shaky breath rushing out of me. The panic drains away so fast it leaves me dizzy, like I’ve been holding my breath for hours and can finally let go.
He sees it all. The fall, the tremble I can’t hide. His expression changes in an instant. Concern darkens his gaze, his jaw tightening with something fierce and protective.
“Viola…” he calls, his voice low and urgent. He moves toward me fast, long strides eating up the space between us.
I try to speak, try to tell him I’m fine, but the words stick. My throat closes up. I am so embarrassed, furious at myself for falling apart the second he walks in. I should have better control than this. I always did before. But the warmth in his eyes, the way he’s looking at me like … like he cares. It undoes something deep inside me.
He comes to a stop in front of me. “Are you okay?” he asks softly, like he’s afraid to spook me.
I nod quickly. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine,” I whisper, but my voice cracks and gives me away. I wonder where my spine went. Where the cool, guarded woman I’ve spent years perfecting disappeared to. I feel small and exposed and stupidly grateful all at once.
His voice softens even more, low and gentle. “Did he hurt you?” A pause “Tell me what he did, and I’ll take care of it.”
The words break me open.
No one has ever asked. Not like this. Not with that quiet promise behind them, like my pain matters enough to be fixed. No one has ever cared enough to offer. The tears I’ve been fighting spill over for real now, hot and fast, blurring the sharp lines of his face. I try to stop them. I really do, pressing my lips together, swallowing hard, but it’s useless. The betrayal, the loneliness, the years of being invisible in that house… it all surges up at once.
So suddenly I don’t even perceive it as movement, Ricci pulls me into his arms, one hand sliding to the back of my head while the other wraps around my waist. His embrace is warm and solid, and his chest is broad against my cheek. I hear his heartbeat steady under my ear. He holds me quietly, no rush, no demands. Just steady warmth and the faint brush of his fingers through my hair, petting me like I’m a small, frightened animal.
I let it all out.
The sobs come quiet at first, then deeper, shaking my whole body. I cry for the girl who was sold into a loveless marriage, for the years I spent frozen and invisible, for the terrible hate in Mario’s eyes. I cry because no one ever asked if I was okay until this man, this supposedly dangerous, merciless beast of a man, walked in and made it the first thing he wanted to know. Ricci doesn’t speak. He just holds me tightly, chin resting on top of my head, his breathing slow and even as if he can anchor me with his calm.