When She Loves (The Fallen, #4)(62)

“He did. He offered me freedom. I wouldn’t have to marry anyone else. He said that after he managed to kill you, he would disown me, and that I could go to Italy to be with Vale and Gem.”

Go to Italy? In what fucking universe would I allow that to happen? Oh right, the one where I’m dead.

The thought of her living a life without me somehow triggers me far more than anything else she’s just said. My anger pulsates beneath my flesh, my vision narrows, my breaths come out short and quick. There isn’t enough oxygen in my lungs.

This is a possibility she considered for two fucking weeks?

Cleo tries to take another step back, but there’s nowhere to go. Her calf hits the edge of our car, and she yelps as she loses her balance.

I eat up the space between us with two long strides and force her back against the car door. Above us, a fluorescent light flickers. It’s the only movement in the empty garage.

Did I bring this on myself by being so lenient with her? Has she forgotten who she married?

She glances at the hand I’ve got pinning her shoulder, exposing her neck to me. I lift my knife and press the cool blade against her delicate throat. She stiffens. Sucks in a breath.

Sandro’s head pops out on the driver’s side. “Boss?”

“Get the fuck back inside.”

A beat passes before he does as he’s told.

I move my hand from her shoulder to her chin and turn her face toward me.

My wife stares at me with her piercing green eyes, the color of emeralds. Who knew they could hide so much deceit inside their depths?

“He offered you a good deal,” I whisper.

She licks her lips. “Everything I thought I wanted.”

“And tonight, you told him no?”

“I told him no.”

I lean closer. “Took you two fucking weeks to do it, though.”

When she swallows, a part of her neck brushes against my blade.

You know what’s infuriating? Even now, with my knife pressed to her throat, she doesn’t seem scared. Upset, yes, but not scared. Like she knows I’d never harm her, even after what she just confessed. And she thinks I have no weaknesses?

“What finally made you decide not to turn on me?”

Another tear slips down her cheek, but she doesn’t answer.

I press in, my hips pinning hers. “Hmm? What was it? The jewelry, the money, the staff that’s at your beck and call?”

Slowly, she shakes her head. I have to pull my knife back a few millimeters so that she doesn’t cut herself on it.

“Was it the way I ate your cunt a few days ago?”

She bites down on her lip and shakes her head again.

I’m so close, our noses are practically touching. “Then what the fuck was it?”

She exhales a broken breath. “It’s the way you see something in me. Something that no one else does. Around you, I’m not just a fuckup that needs fixing.”

My chest caves in. Something inside me wavers.

A sob escapes her. “I should have told you earlier.”

Glistening eyes. Wet cheeks. Parted lips. I know guilt, but I know sincerity too. It skims off some of my anger, turns the temperature down.

“You shouldn’t have even considered it. Your father is a fucking idiot, and his plan would have never worked. You should have known that.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

I lower my knife, tuck it back up my sleeve, and open the car door. “Get in.”

She slides inside, keeping her gaze on me the entire time. I follow after her and slam the door shut.

Sandro looks at me in the rearview mirror, his jaw tense and his skin as pale as a sheet. “Where to?”

“Home.”

Cleo huddles on the other end of the seat, her pink-rimmed eyes glued to me. I look away from her. We drive through a maze of skyscrapers, and I attempt to settle down, but ten minutes later, I’m still buzzing.

She didn’t do it.

But she thought about it. She imagined her new life without me in it.

She chose you.

A growl tears its way out of my throat, and I grab her, pull her on top of me, shove the skirt of her dress up so that she can straddle my thighs.

Her wide eyes meet mine. She looks like a deer in the headlights, unsure about whether to stay still or try to run.

I shove my hand into her hair and kiss her. It’s rough and raw and dominating. Meant to stake a claim. Meant to remind her who she belongs to.

She chose you.

Her mouth parts for me. My tongue slides in. I bite on her lips, pulling on them with my teeth. I kiss her until we’re both panting, until my anger mixes with arousal, the kind that makes one burn.

I’m furious with her, and I’m so fucking hard.

She chose you.

Cleo brings her hands to my chest, her right palm over my pounding heart. I pull them off me. Why should she know how she makes this damned thing race?

I guide her wrists behind her and press them to her lower back. I dip my other hand into the pocket on the back of Sandro’s seat and pull out one of the zip ties I always keep there. I’m still kissing her as I wrap the tie around her wrists. Pull it tight.

She rears back, her lips puffy and her cheeks pink. “What are you doing?”

Sandro’s gaze flicks to us in the mirror. We make eye contact for a split second before he swallows and looks back to the road.