Chapter 14 The Bitter Choice
The moonlight in the North Wing didn’t feel like silver; it felt like cold steel. Lisa sat by the narrow window, the note from Dante feeling like a lead weight in her palm. He’s planning to take the baby and dispose of the mother. The words played on a loop in her head. She wanted to scream that it was a lie, that the man who had just kissed her with such desperate hunger couldn't be capable of such cold cruelty. But this was the Moretti family. Blood was their currency, and loyalty was their law. To Silvio, a child with Moretti blood even his rival brother's blood was a prize. A mother who had lied to his face? She was a liability.
She looked at the heavy oak door. Beyond it sat the man she was terrifyingly starting to love. Outside the window, in the shadows of the cliffs, was the man she had once trusted.
"Why is nothing ever simple?" she whispered, her breath fogging the cold glass.
Midnight approached with agonizing slowness. Every time the floorboards creaked or the wind whistled through the stone masonry, Lisa jumped. She had packed a small cloth bag with the few things she had a sweater, some bread she’d saved from her tray, and the sonogram.
As the clock in the hallway struck twelve, a soft scraping sound came from the window. A rope made of thick, knotted nylon dropped down from the roof above. Lisa’s heart nearly stopped. She stood on a chair, reaching for the iron bars. A face appeared, upside down, silhouetted against the moon. It was one of Dante’s men; she recognized the jagged scar on his cheek from her father’s estate.
"Hurry," the man hissed. "The guards are on a shift change. We have five minutes."
Lisa looked at the door one last time. She thought of Silvio’s warmth, the way he had tucked her in, the way he had bled for her. If she stayed, she was gambling with her life. If she left, she was betraying the only man who had ever truly protected her, even if he did it in a way that felt like a prison.
She reached for the bars, but her hand stopped.
A shadow moved under the crack of her door. The smell of sandalwood and bourbon drifted into the room. Silvio wasn't sleeping. He was standing right outside her door. She could hear his heavy, rhythmic breathing. He was guarding her, or perhaps he was simply mourning the woman he thought she was.
"Go!" the man at the window urged.
Lisa turned back to the window, her eyes filling with tears. She grabbed the rope. She had to think of the baby. She couldn't take the risk that Dante was telling the truth about Silvio’s plan. She began to pull herself up, her muscles aching, her heart screaming at her to stop.
Just as she reached the ledge, the bedroom door didn't just open it exploded inward.
"Lisa!"
Silvio’s voice was a roar of pure, shattered agony. He didn't have his gun drawn. He looked at her, perched on the windowsill, half-out of the room, and the look on his face wasn't anger. It was a man watching his world burn down for the second time.
"Get away from her!" Silvio screamed at the man on the rope. He lunged forward, his movements blurred with desperation.
The man at the window didn't hesitate. He reached into his jacket, but Silvio was faster. He tackled Lisa, pulling her off the ledge and throwing his body over hers just as a gunshot rang out. The bullet embedded itself in the mahogany headboard with a sickening crack.
"No!" Lisa shrieked, clutching Silvio’s shirt.
Outside, shouting erupted. The sounds of a struggle on the roof and the barking of dogs filled the night. Silvio didn't move. He kept her pinned beneath him, his breathing ragged and wild. He tucked her head under his chin, his large hand shielding the back of her neck.
"You were leaving," he whispered into her hair. The vibration of his voice felt like a funeral march. "You were going back to him."
"I was scared, Silvio! He said you were going to take the baby!"
Silvio pulled back just enough to look at her. His eyes were bloodshot, and a single tear traced a path through the dust on his cheek. "And you believed him? After I took a bullet for you? After I let you live when my mother demanded your head?"
"I didn't know what to believe!"
Silvio grabbed her wrists, pinning them to the floor above her head. The tension in the room snapped into something raw and carnal. He looked at her with a hunger that was terrifying. He leaned down, his lips brushing against hers, but he didn't kiss her. He just breathed her in, his body trembling with the effort of not breaking her.
"I should let you go," he rasped. "I should let him have you and see how long it takes for him to sell you to the next highest bidder. But I can't."
He lowered his head, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of her neck. He bit her, not enough to draw blood, but enough to leave a mark. A claim.
"You aren't going anywhere, Lisa. Not to him. Not to your father. Not even to the grave."
He stood up, pulling her with him. He didn't put her back on the bed. He walked her to the center of the room and gripped her waist so tight it bruised.
"Dante just signed his death warrant," Silvio said, his voice dropping to a deadly, quiet chill. "And as for you the North Wing is too big for you. From now on, you sleep in my bed. You eat at my table. You don't take a breath without my permission."
"Silvio, please"
"Quiet," he commanded. He leaned in, giving her a kiss that tasted of iron and obsession. It was the kiss of a man who had lost his soul and decided to take hers as a replacement.
He picked her up, ignoring the protest of his wounded shoulder, and carried her out of the prison wing. As they walked through the dark halls toward his master suite, Lisa realized the choice had been made for her.
She was no longer a debtor or a prisoner. She was the obsession of a dying dynasty. And as she looked at Silvio’s hard, determined jaw, she realized the scariest part of all: she didn't want him to let go.