65

65
"What the hell was that?!" Diamante’s voice echoed the exact words that had just exploded inside my head though I wasn’t sure I could’ve said them out loud myself. My throat had closed up, my voice a captive to shock. All I could do was stare at Fosco as he drew away from the kiss, his lips curling into a smug, self-satisfied smirk.

"Well, that was… enjoyable," he murmured with the smoothness of a purr, and just like that, my face went up in flames.

My hand, still trembling, floated to my lips. I traced the swollen curve with my fingers, meeting his gaze as a soft tingling spread through me. I barely fought the wicked urge to sink my teeth into my bottom lip. My thoughts were a tangled mess maybe even more so than when I’d caused the earthquake. His touch, his scent, everything about him tugged up memories of that dream the one where he starred in far too much detail.

I shook my head hard, as if I could physically throw the thoughts from my skull. This was not the time. I forced my eyes away from him, focusing on the fractured walls, the shattered windows.

When I finally turned to Diamante, guilt flooded my chest. My lips shaped an automatic apology.

"I’m so, so sorry, Diamante," I whispered, bowing my head. Truthfully, I had no clue that my barely contained emotions could wreak actual, physical destruction.

Fosco cleared his throat as he rose to his feet.

"Well, now that we’ve confirmed you’re a danger to yourself and everything within a ten-mile radius," he said dryly, "I suggest you return to the residence. At least there you’ve got space to crash and burn without reducing someone else’s home to rubble."

Diamante’s gaze scanned the wreckage of her apartment, then flicked to me. "I hate to admit it, Domitilla, but he’s right. The Santini residence is heavily guarded. No one could hurt you there."

A bitter laugh scraped up my throat. "Except for the man who owns it."

Fosco sighed. "Gosto doesn’t want to hurt you."

"You don’t know that," I said flatly. "And thanks to my blood, he’s stronger than ever. Who’s going to stop him if he changes his mind?"

Fosco’s jaw tightened. "I will." He took my hand and pressed it to his chest. "You know I’m not lying."

The feel of his body solid, warm, dependable short-circuited my brain again. My hormones were traitors. I shouldn’t be reacting this way, not when everything inside me was supposed to be grieving or burning with anger. But maybe my body was reminding me there were other men in this realm. Hot, infuriating men. Still, priorities. Survival came first.

Easier said than done. Especially when the man I cared about most might be plotting my death. I wanted to shove the thought aside, bury it in some dark corner of my mind, but it refused to go.

"Is Gosto... at the residence?" I asked, bracing myself.

"He’s on his way back," Fosco said. "He’ll arrive in the morning."

I nodded slowly. Swallowed hard. "How much does he know? About me and Diamante leaving?"

"He knows you went to the island to recover. And I’m sure he felt your awakening."

The air felt thinner. I sucked in more of it. "Did he ask about me? When he called you did he ask?"

Fosco’s expression darkened. "We only discussed the most urgent matters. The army."

I shouldn't have been surprised. Or hurt. And yet the ache was unmistakable, plain as day on my face.

Fosco reached for my hand again, gently squeezing it. "Domitilla, I know this sounds harsh, but you need to hear it. Staying with Gosto is your only real shot at surviving. Once the others learn what you are, they’ll either bleed you dry or kill you outright just for existing. But if Gosto becomes king, he can change the laws. He can make you untouchable."

I hated how much sense that made. Hated that it sounded like a plan I’d have no choice but to follow.

"Fine," I murmured, forcing a thin smile. "Let’s go back."

The closer we got to the residence, the tighter the knot in my chest became. By the time I crossed into my room, I could barely draw breath.

His scent was everywhere.

One breath and the pain punched me straight in the ribs. Would I ever feel safe here again? I remembered what Fosco had said, and forced myself to inhale deeper.

Sentiment wouldn’t save me. I had to stick to facts.

Gosto didn’t care about me anymore. But maybe he didn’t want me dead. If I clung to that belief, I could exist in this space like a ghost unnoticed, unharmed until he took the crown. Then maybe I could carve out a life in this realm.

I’d have to ignore his scent, his presence, the pain that would stab me every time I looked at him. I’d have to smother the hate that would grow after the heartbreak settled. But I could manage that. I had to.

And the truth was, now that he didn’t need me, I’d probably never have to see him again. He’d likely be relieved to leave me locked away in here, guarded, a distant obligation while he dealt with the Pirozzi threat.

Hours passed in pacing and silence before exhaustion finally dragged me into sleep.

Fingers moved gently through my hair, soothing, careful the kind of touch meant to comfort. My lips curved in spite of myself. I leaned into it, stretching my neck instinctively.

A soft chuckle followed his chuckle.

My eyes snapped open.

Gosto sat on the edge of my bed, amusement curling the corners of his mouth. My blood turned to ice. I scrambled backward on the mattress, until my back slammed into the headboard. His amusement faltered, replaced by something unreadable.

"Not happy to see me?" he asked, voice smooth, almost tender.

His heartbeat was steady. Too steady. But his eyes… they gave him away.

"Don’t pretend," I said, voice trembling with restrained fury. "Fosco told you everything."

He nodded slowly. "Yes, he did." He studied me, gaze softening. "Are you afraid of me now?"

A bitter laugh tore out of me. "Should I be?"

"No," he said. "I never intended to kill you."

But his heart skipped just for a second. And the tears I’d been holding back burned my eyes.

"That’s a lie," I whispered.

He didn’t flinch. "You’re right. It is."

All the breath left my body. The tears broke free, racing down my cheeks, washing away the brittle shell I’d spent all night constructing. He saw it, the pain, the collapse, and I saw his jaw tense in return.

"I won’t hurt you, Domitilla. That, I swear."

I let out a breath that tasted like iron. "Too late. You already did."

His lips twisted in a rueful smile. "Fair enough," he murmured, lowering his gaze. "I’m sorry."

And the awful part was it felt real.

"Sorry isn’t enough," I said hoarsely. "I need to know why..."

He didn’t look up. "It was necessary."

"Necessary for what?" I demanded.

Finally, his eyes met mine and they were full of something I couldn’t name. Pain, maybe. Regret. Something raw.

"I needed you to fall for me."

I recoiled like he’d slapped me.

"Then you’re an idiot," I hissed. "Because if you’d just told me the truth, I would have fallen for you. I would’ve given you anything. I would’ve"

"That’s exactly why I couldn’t tell you the truth," he said, voice low, voice burning.

My heart dropped.

"But… why?"

He clenched his teeth, holding the silence between us like it was breaking him. Then, finally, he spoke.

"Because I could never love you in return."