25. Amara
AMARA
THIS IS HOW MONSTERS LOVE
I left Pietro a note. I write with a shaky hand.
I can’t live like this. A.
It’s short. To the point, it says everything and nothing all at once.
My hand shakes as I set the pen down. My heart sinks like a rock in a shallow lake. My life with Vukan won’t be a cake walk, but it won’t rip my heart out of my chest like Pietro. I’d rather be a madman’s wife than live with Pietro when it’s clear he doesn’t love me.
I don’t know what I expect—tears? A revelation? That my heart will magically detach itself from the man who has taken it and never once promised to keep it safe?
I exhale and push off the desk.
Matteo will see right through the note. He’s sharp and too perceptive, but that’s why he’s who he is—the don. I can hear him now as he puts us on an emotional balance sheet.
“She’s in love with you,” he’ll say. “Any idiot would see it.”
But Pietro won’t. Or maybe he will, and it won’t matter.
Either way, I have to do this.
I told Pietro I was tired, and he left for work earlier than normal, and it fits neatly into my plan.
I’ve been watching Luca, and he’ll need a cigarette break. I’ll tell him the smoke on the patio gives me a headache. That way, he’ll have to leave his station for a smoke. This gives me the window I need to slip out the door and walk to Elio’s waiting SUV.
As if on cue for a Disney Movie, Luca knocks on my door.
“I’m grabbing a smoke.”
“Would you mind not using the patio? I have a headache, and the smell of smoke right now is too much.”
He pauses—my heart races. Seconds tick by like I’m waiting for midnight on a dateless New Year’s Eve.
“I’m not supposed to leave you,” he says thoughtfully, weighing his options. “But I’ll only be gone a few minutes.”
Jackpot.
“Thank you so much.”
I hear the door of the penthouse click and slip into my coat, hoping he won’t be punished for this, but knowing in my heart he will suffer consequences.
I slip into a dimly lit corridor and hit the elevator button. When it arrives, I quickly ride it to the first floor. I slip out a side entrance and tuck my chin down as I step onto the street to avoid being recognized.
Elio pulls up, and it takes all my willpower to ignore the pain in my chest. Pietro and I might be at odds, but there’s still something simmering beneath our trust issues.
Elio barely glances at me as I get in, and he quickly pushes the gas.
I press my forehead against the cool window as the city speeds past, the neon glow of signs and headlights flashing like a warning.
This is a mistake.
But I don’t see another way.
Twenty minutes later, I’m in front of my father’s estate. The gates open without hesitation, and the security detail recognizes Elio and nods. I feel like I’m in a spy novel as I walk the long path toward the house. Elio flanks my left side.
“You’re doing the right thing. Your father can’t weather another month of hits on our warehouses.”
Why should I care? is what I’m thinking, but I keep my comment to myself.
Inside the house, it’s as if I never left. Everything is the same. Ornate. Cold. A house built on power and blood, not love. The chill of the tiled floors makes me shiver.
The staff moves around like ghosts, their gazes flicking to me before dropping back down. They know what my presence means—why I’m here. They overhear many things, which is why Daddy has them all sign NDAs.
There’s a lump in my throat as I approach his office door, which is cracked open as if he knew the exact moment I would arrive.
I step inside.
My father looks up from a ledger on his desk, his expression impassive. “Finally come to your senses?” he barks.
I close the door. “We need to talk.”
He gestures for me to sit, but I don’t. My legs are too shaky because my nerves are stretched too thin.
“Please call this off.”
“You’re being ridiculous. I’ve lost a million dollars over the past two months. This ends today.” He stands and walks toward me. I step backward, but my back hits the door.
“Just give in and accept the fact you’ll marry Vukan. You need someone to teach you the ways of our world—someone to keep you in line.”
And the way he says this makes me ill.
I’m out of options.
“I’m pregnant,” I say, my voice unwavering, even as my stomach twists violently.
He doesn’t blink.
I keep going, “It’s Pietro’s.”
A calculated pause. A slow inhale. “And you’re telling me this because?”
“Because I want out.” The words are bitter on my tongue. “The Petrovic’s won’t want another man’s bastard. Let me go. I already belong to the Borrellis. This way, there’s no war, and no dishonor. It’s a clean break.”
A slow, terrifying smile spreads across his face as he cracks his knuckles. “You think you’ re so clever.”
My stomach knots as I realize all too late that I’ve grossly miscalculated the situation.
He closes the distance between us with deliberate steps and stops before me. “You have to marry Vukan. I gave Milo? my word.”
“But—” My mind is reeling. How did I not know that my father had to save face? He made a promise, and his word is the law to his men, and unfortunately, to me.
“You think this baby will save you?” He scoffs. “You’re even more foolish than I thought,” he laughs. “If anything, it makes you more valuable.”
My breath hitches. “You’d sell me off, knowing I carry another man’s child?”
He leans in close, his cologne choking me. “If Milo? takes possession of you, it’s his business. His burden. Not mine. You refused to do this the civilized way. You defied me. Now you’re on your own.”
He steps back, and I see his face twisting in disgust, and that’s when something deep inside me withers and breaks.
That’s it? He’s just…throwing me away?
I expect relief, but all I feel is disappointment followed by dread.
And then his hand snaps out and strikes my face. He moves like a heavyweight sumo wrestler, with the unexpected agility of a trained fighter.
The impact hits hard, making me stumble.
The sharp, metallic taste of blood fills my mouth from a split lip.
I fall forward, hands outstretched, hoping to catch myself before I hit the ground.
I see the edge of the desk, and I miss it, because his fist slams into my gut, causing me to drop to my knees.
That’s when I realize he’s not done with me. White-hot pain radiates through my ribs. I struggle to breathe. Gasping for air, I defensively place my hands over my belly and curl into a ball. I have to protect the innocent life growing there.
“See what a Borrelli does with his whore!” his voice thunders. It’s raw with fury. “You’re no daughter of mine,” he yells as I hear his hands slapping together like he’s dusting crumbs off them.
Just when I think his torture is over, I’m hit with another blow as he kicks me in the gut. Once is not enough, so he kicks me again and again—vicious, with calculated blows meant to break, not kill.
I curl in on myself and close my eyes, willing the pain to stop—willing him to stop, though I know he might not be able to.
Pain is his addiction.
I swallow the sob threatening to escape. If I show emotion, he’ll only get worse. He’ll be relentless.
My prayers are answered when, just as quickly as it started, it’s over.
I hear him step back and peer up at him with hooded eyes. He brushes off his suit and barks, “Get out.”
It hurts to move, so I remain on the floor. But my father wants what he wants, when he wants it, and so he nudges my ribs with his expensive shoe. “I said get out,” he says, his voice louder this time.
I force myself to my feet, and every nerve in my body is screaming, and every step is agony as I limp toward the door.
Outside, the guards avert their gazes. They’ve seen this before.
I stumble out of the house. Elio nods to a guard to help me. A hand slips under my arm, and I’m shoved into an SUV.
I don’t know where we’re going. For all I know, it’s a watery grave. So when we reach the city, I use what energy I have left and push the door open when he stops at a traffic light. And then I run as if my life depends upon it.
Because it does.
I clutch my stomach like I’m holding myself together, and my baby in place.
My father’s words loop in my head.
You’re worthless.
You’re no daughter of mine.
You’re on your own.
I take the subway to my stop. I don’t know how I make it upstairs, how I manage to unlock my apartment door before collapsing inside.
Sarah’s gasp is the last thing I hear before I black out.
When I wake, I’m in bed, and the scent of antiseptic hangs like a thick cloud around me .
Sarah sits beside me, her brows furrowed in concern. “Jesus, Amara. What the hell happened?”
I try to sit up, but the pain shoots through my ribs like fire.
She presses me back down. “Easy. What the hell happened to you?” Her face grows white, and I know she’s scared for me.
I lick my dry lips. “I need to get out of here, and I need a job.”
She blinks. “A job? You have a job.” She’s looking at me like I’m talking crazy talk, and perhaps I am.
I’m helpless. But I will continue to fight. I have to.
“I need…” I swallow. My throat is raw. “Something. I need somewhere to go. To be…” My voice fades as I groan. I clutch my stomach. I’m weak, and my lips are parched.
She exhales, brushing hair from my face. She hands me a glass of water. “We’ll figure it out. But right now? You need to drink, and you need to go to the hospital.”
“I can’t. I’m pregnant and I don’t have any money. I have to hide.”
I stare at the ceiling, sobbing uncontrollably, waiting for the inevitable to happen.
Because now, it’s only a matter of time.
Milo? will come for me.
And when he does, I’ll be alone.