Elie hadn’t roared with rage. He hadn’t said a damn thing. He stood in front of Raimondo and Dario, silently demanding answers. They both gave them to him. Raimondo clearly had done his best. He had followed protocol. Asier Fredrick had been a legitimate agent, checked out thoroughly by the investigators and identified by facial recognition software, not once but twice. He was a real agent. Unfortunately, there was now no question, he’d been on the Toselli payroll.
“Elie, are we ever going to talk about this?”
Were they? He didn’t know if he could talk about it without losing his shit. How could he make her understand? She sat there looking so reasonable, sounding so reasonable, when there was absolutely no reason or understanding in the situation. She hadn’t seen what he had. She hadn’t felt what he had, but then again, she hadn’t wanted their marriage from the beginning.
“Sure, bébé, we can talk about it. You can tell me why you chose to disobey direct instructions to save your life and get your sweet little ass into the safe room for the second time. It isn’t like we haven’t discussed this, but you don’t seem to give a damn what I think. Or what I care about.”
Elie turned to face her, keeping his distance, back pressed to the wall, fingers curled into tight fists. His gaze drifted over her pale features. She looked a little shocked by his choice of words.
“Elie, of course I care what you think. I had to make a split-second decision. Leone was already down. Raimondo had no chance at all if I went into the safe room. The only way to get the door closed was for me to take out the men preventing us from doing so. It was instinct more than anything else. I just dove for the shadow.”
Brielle even put one hand in the air as if that would deter his anger. He didn’t feel anger at her. Or rage. That was reserved for those conspiring to kill her. He felt—hurt. Fear. No, terror. She was uncontrollable, just as Dario had said she was. Just as Stefano had said. Unlike Francesca, she didn’t love him enough to give him what he needed, which was to know she would be alive and well when he returned from wherever he had gone.
“Did you ever once think of me, Brielle? What would happen to me if you didn’t live?” He asked the questions in a low tone, knowing his voice shook, betraying the intensity of his emotions. She got it because she went very still. “You didn’t, did you? When I stood before the priest in that chapel, knowing I was marrying you, I meant every damn word I said. I meant those vows. For the first time in my life, I thought maybe I would have someone of my own. Someone who would love me back. My own family. The two of us. I thought I could make you happy if you just gave me the chance.”
Brielle’s eyes went wide and she shook her head. “Elie.”
“You would have left me with nothing. But then you never wanted to marry me. You made that very clear. Sex is great, isn’t it? But you’ve never really wanted me. I should have taken you at your word instead of forcing you into something you didn’t want from the beginning. Maybe if I had, you wouldn’t risk your life every time I turn around.”
He could barely talk. His throat felt raw, and the lump in his throat was so large, he was choking on it. Was she deliberately putting her life at risk in an effort to escape him? He hadn’t thought of that. He should never have insisted on their marriage. Was it too late to have Stefano let her out of it?
Brielle tossed back the covers and went up on her knees when he once again pointed at her and shook his head. She couldn’t get near him. He didn’t have control. That had deserted him the moment he saw her lying on that table covered in blood. He’d thrown out all the furniture. Every single piece of it. Had the floors sanded down. They were going to start over. He was uncertain if he could walk through the front door again. The thought of it made his stomach lurch.
“You don’t understand, Elie. It was always you. Always. From the very first time I ever saw you, when I was still a teenager. I stalked you like some creeper. I did it so much, I was ashamed of myself, but I was obsessed. Fayette knew how much I wanted to be with you. That was why she made up all those stories. It was to hurt me. I never wanted another man. I never seriously considered another man.”
Elie ran his fingers through his hair in agitation to keep from strangling her. She made no sense, but then she often didn’t. “Brielle. If it was always me, why did you go to Jean-Claude’s to say you couldn’t marry me when you were eighteen?” He didn’t believe her. He couldn’t believe her, yet there was the ring of honesty in her voice.