47. Juliette
Juliette
M y control was slipping.
If I didn’t get out of here now, I feared I’d use the knife on him, then set this whole fucking house on fire. That was how fucking mad I was.
But even stronger than the fury was this bloodcurdling pain clawing at my chest. My heart hurt so fucking bad that I thought it would shatter for good.
I’d adapt to it. I knew it firsthand. It would hover in my chest until it became part of my every breath and every heartbeat. Or until death came knocking on my door.
Tears blurred my vision, cascading down my face as I made my way out of the house. Luckily my purse was right at the door, next to Dante’s keys and my flats I kicked off last night. I slid them on, then headed outside, slamming the door behind me so hard it felt like the entire house shook.
Ironically, the first signs of spring danced through the air, mocking my dark mood. I drove around the city that suddenly felt dark and unwelcoming for hours.
His words echoed in my brain and screams bubbled in my throat with the need to drown it all out. Coming to a red light, I pressed my forehead against the wheel. A tornado of emotions swirled through me and I had no way to get them out. I needed an outlet.
My control finally snapped. “Fuuuuck!” I screamed at the top of my burning lungs. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
I banged my forehead against the wheel like a crazy person. There was a high-pitched ringing in my ears. I wasn’t dying but fuck it felt like it. This was the type of pain that tore at your insides.
Beep . Beep .
A honk of a car penetrated through my hysterical screaming. I stilled, my voice frozen in my throat. I straightened up in my seat and blinked. Then took a deep breath and exhaled. The world slowly came back into focus.
The intensity of my emotions slowly faded and numbness settled in. Empty and cold.
I resumed driving, circling the city. When I drove by the street where The Library at Gilt Bar was, a brief pang in my chest was the only reaction. The numbness had started to take over.
But still as I drove by, I couldn’t tear my gaze from the door that led to the memory.
Bang.
I slammed the brakes, my head whipped around.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I groaned. Dante’s side mirror hung, half torn off. I glanced behind me. “God, not today,” I muttered.
Of all the fucking days to hit another car, today was not it. Putting the car in park, I got out and went around to assess the damage. My hands shook as I pushed them into my hair.
Why did I have this incredible urge to grab a baseball bat and start smashing vehicles? I took calming breaths. One. Two. Three.
“Beating cars with baseball bats is bad,” I murmured to myself. My pulse slowed, the adrenaline that wanted to rush through my veins and take over the rage receded. “Thou shall not damage others’ property.” Then, remembering what Dante had done, I added, “Except your husband’s.”
“That doesn’t sound very good for your husband.”
A deep voice came from behind me and I whirled around, coming face-to-face with Kian. What in the fuck was he doing here?
“I’m actually here for you,” he answered my unspoken question. Unless I actually said it out loud.
“How did you know where I was?” I asked suspiciously.
He gave me an exasperated look. “I knew your identity all along, Juliette. I was actually on my way to your home.”
My brows furrowed.
“Why?” I asked suspiciously. Now that I knew who he really was, wariness was at the forefront of my mind. “I mean, you probably have better things to do than stalk me. And I already have a stalker.”
His lips curved up. That silver-gray scruff on his face gave him that hot daddy look.
“Your husband, I presume,” he noted. His voice was deep and raspy. I could almost picture how women swooned over his looks and grunts he’d produce when he—
I shook my head. Why in the fuck was I even thinking about that? I didn’t give a shit about Kian. Some Brazilian drug lord. I was done with all men in the underworld.
Liar , I thought. To which the sensible part of my brain yelled, Shut up!
“I didn’t say anything,” he remarked dryly. Lovely, now I was losing my mind too.
“Not you,” I said through a tired sigh. “I was talking to myself.” His brow rose but he didn’t say anything.
“Is this your car I banged into?” I asked.
“Rental.”
“Well, send the bill to Dante DiLustro,” I uttered, my husband’s name on my lips tasting bitter. “Feel free to mark it up.”
“So generous of you.” He was mocking me, no doubt. It wasn’t as if the guy needed the money.
“Back to the original question,” I said, taking a small step back. You could never be too cautious with drug lords. Well, Kian was the brother of a drug lord. But whatever—tomato, tomahto. The point was, just look at the one I married. He was certainly no Boy Scout. “Why are you here for me?”
He watched me wordlessly and I found myself fidgeting, my fingers gripping the material of my shirt. Correspondence via email or text was easier to handle—it let you hide behind an unknown, cryptic number. Or maybe not, considering he’d learned my identity.
“I have one more name for you,” he declared and I stiffened. I hoped he didn’t know, but somehow he wouldn’t be a very good criminal if he didn’t bother to trace his clients.
“You knew all along it was me?” I questioned and his reply was a curt nod. “Why do you run your security-slash-background agency?”
“What else should I do?” he questioned.
I shrugged my shoulders. “Your brother’s cartel. Considering you’re a drug lord and all.”
A sardonic breath left him. “I’ve never been called that before.”
I rolled my eyes. “Probably not to your face.”
He tilted his head. “Probably,” he agreed. “Maybe I got out of the cartel,” he remarked casually. “Maybe I passed that on to someone younger. Or maybe I haven’t gotten into it like my brother.”
I scoffed. “Right.” His dark eyes flashed with something, although I couldn’t read the expression. Not that I cared right now. “So, the name,” I said. “Might as well give it to me. Although next time, please don’t bother with a personal delivery.”
“See, that makes me want to deliver it that way from now on.”
“I swear, you men are annoying the shit out of me today,” I said through gritted teeth. “Just give me the name and be on your way.”
“You won’t like it.”
I swallowed. “Why?”
He didn’t answer, just handed me an envelope. I took it.
“Reevaluate your priorities, Juliette.”
That was all he said, and before I could utter another word, he left me standing in the middle of the street. He didn’t get into the truck I banged up. Instead he went to the sidewalk full of pedestrians.
I blinked and the man was gone.
* * *
As the sun set, I finally made my way to a hotel.
I pulled up at the first one I spotted. Luckily for me it was The Ritz-Carlton.
Parking Dante’s Rover out front, I grabbed my purse and let the valet park it, heading for the reception desk.
“May I help you?”
The receptionist greeted me with a bright smile. It made me feel even worse.
“I need a room,” I stated, lowering my eyes and digging through my purse. Dante’s black Amex was still with me, so I just gave her that. Her eyes flickered to the card, then the name on it. “Indefinitely,” I added.
I wouldn’t risk war between our families. Until I could get my shit together and think of something, I’d stay here.
The receptionist took it after a brief moment of hesitation. “May I see your ID?”
Annoyance flared in my chest. I was tired, emotionally drained. I just wanted to go into a room and sleep. I hadn’t done a single productive thing today, and yet, I felt like I’d been run over by a bus.
No, just my husband’s lies , I thought wryly.
I dug inside my wallet for my license and handed it to the receptionist. She disappeared into the back office—no doubt to validate my identity and the fact I held DiLustro’s black Amex—while I turned my attention to my phone.
There were two dozen messages and a handful of missed calls. All from my friends. One from Dad and one from Aunt Aisling.
I felt eyes on me and looked up to find the receptionist back with an even brighter smile that almost blinded me.
“All good.” She beamed. “Your husband confirmed you have unlimited spending.”
My first inclination was to snap at her for calling Dante my husband, but then I took a different approach. I smiled sweetly with a fuck-you edge to it. The receptionist’s smile dimmed although it wasn’t aimed at her.
“That’s so lovely,” I told her, smiling sweetly.
“In that case, I insist that you ask your chef to be prepared to cook all your best dishes for the next month. On my husband. And please send someone to the nearest shelter and ask what they need. A night at the hotel, a day at the spa, anything and everything. It’s on him.
” Then, just in case she questioned it, I added, “It’s on us. My wedding gift.”
Her eyes widened, almost popping out of their sockets. “Everyone at the shelter? Everything?” she stuttered.
I gave another try at my sweet smile. An honest one this time. “Yes. Make sure all their charges go on that black card. Got it?”
Twenty minutes later, there was a five-hundred-thousand-dollar charge on Dante’s black Amex. It didn’t make me feel better.
I entered the impersonal hotel room and the welcome was as expected.
Cold.
Locking the door behind me, I made my way deeper into the penthouse suite and sank onto the couch. My eyes traveled over the sleek furniture. Something about this room made me feel alone. Not just alone, but lonely.
The gaping, hollow feeling in my chest slowly spread, allowing all the feelings I’d been trying hard to keep at bay to pour in. Each breath splintered into a painful throb. The pressure built, my heart ached. I blinked away the burning behind my eyes. Unsuccessfully.
A lone tear rolled down my face, and it cracked the dam. Tears poured down my cheeks like a damn waterfall. I hated it. I wished there was a way to harden myself and not feel a damn thing.
Every breath squeezed. I couldn’t drag enough air into my lungs, the buzzing in my ears increasing with each passing second.
Not bothering to strip off my clothes, I crawled under the cool, high-thread-count sheets. Curling into a fetal position, I shut my eyes, hoping that sleep would find me. It didn’t. Instead, images of Dante taunted me.
His smile. His stories. The way he kissed me. How he let me cuff him.
It was the latter that broke me.
The pressure behind my eyes exploded and the sobs crawled up my throat, wracking my body. Tears trickled down into my ear, onto the pillow, their saltiness staining my lips.
And just like that day almost a decade ago, my sobs remained unheard. They were quiet sounds trapped in the cold hotel room, suffocating me once more. Something inside me broke.
I felt utterly alone. Just like that night ten years ago.