46. Nicolai
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
NICOLAI
The cabin’s quiet as I sit in the leather chair by the glass doors. Staring at the lake and watching how the moonlight fractures across the water. The reflection’s distorted with the gentle ripple of the waves. It’s constantly changing, and it feels fitting.
Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my knees, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes.
I’m desperately trying to quiet the confusion in my mind.
This cabin’s supposed to be a place of solitude, but tonight, it feels like nothing more than a cage.
A place to hide from the truth instead of facing it head-on.
The whiskey hasn’t done a damn thing to settle me.
It never does. I could drain the entire bottle, let it burn its way through my system, but the guilt would still be there.
The memory would still haunt me. My hand wrapped around her throat, her desperate gasp, the way she clutched her stomach like she thought I’d take more from her than I already have.
My jaw clenches, fingers tightening around the glass until I have to force myself to let go. The thought refuses to fade since I walked away, since I left her standing there, caught between fight and flight.
Luna didn’t beg.
She barely struggled.
Then looked at me with quiet resignation, like she had already accepted her fate. Like she thought I was that kind of man.
I rake my fingers through my hair, trying to clear my head. I could stay here, locked away in my misery, drowning in a past that can’t be undone. Or I could face her. Face what comes next, whatever the hell that is.
The thought alone is enough to unsteady me.
Because after everything, after the rage, the betrayal, the truth, there’s only one thing I know for sure.
Luna’s carrying my child, and I need to decide what happens next.
The moment I accept the truth, I’m moving, walking away from the cabin without looking back. Solitude is forgotten because none of it matters anymore.
Thomas started the ball rolling. Not Luna. Not me. And she has every right to know.
As I approach our wing, I decide to knock instead of barging in. It gives her a choice to open the door or slam it in my face. I wait. And the longer I wait, the more I’ve convinced myself that she’s decided to ignore me.
Just when I’m about to turn away, the door eases open. She’s standing there, but the chain stays latched, a barrier between us. She knows it wouldn’t stop me if I wanted in, but maybe it makes her feel safer. And perhaps that’s enough.
“We need to talk.” Her fingers tighten around the doorframe, like she’s deciding whether to let me in or shut me out for good. Then, without a word, she slides the chain.
So, I take a breath, because this changes everything.
I step inside, closing the door behind me. The significance of what I need to say is overwhelming, and I need to find the right words. Luna watches me carefully, but I can see the exhaustion in her eyes. The bruises on her throat from yesterday are obvious, and it devastates me. I did this to her.
She needs to hear the truth, no matter how difficult this conversation will be. Luna deserves to know everything that Mateo and I have pieced together.
“Thomas betrayed you.” She recoils but doesn’t speak.
“He started this war by going to your father, and then your uncle, before Giovanni ever stepped foot inside that whorehouse. He set this in motion.”
“No.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “Not Thomas. He wouldn’t—he?—”
My jaw locks. “Well, he did.” I watch the denial flash across her face, the betrayal.
I slowly close the distance between us. “Why did you tell me that you killed Giovanni?”
She shakes her head, but I don’t let it stop me.
“Was it because you pulled Thomas into this?” I question, watching her reaction. “Or was Thomas supposed to be the hitman?” Thomas was her bodyguard and surely could have pulled it off.
“I asked Thomas to kill Giovanni, but I had no idea he would involve my father.”
“Tell me the truth, Luna.” Needing her to confirm my suspicions, I ask, “Was Giovanni so repulsive that you’d rather be widowed than married to him?”
“Yes,” she screams. “He was a sadistic bastard, but that’s not the only reason I wanted him dead.” Her words gut me deeper than a knife ever could.
My jaw tightens, and for a moment, I don’t know if I should be furious or if I should have seen this coming.
“What was your end game in all of this?” I demand, searching her eyes for any sign of regret or remorse. Something to tell me this wasn’t just cold calculation.
“My end game was you,” she admits, her voice shaking.
Everything I stood on gives way, forcing me to reevaluate everything I thought I knew.
She was too young to be forced into an arranged marriage. That much I do know, but if this is the case, am I to blame for Giovanni’s death? And was I to be her next victim?
“You could have just talked to me,” I bite out, my patience unraveling.
“Would you have listened?” she counters, her eyes burning with unshed tears.
And I don’t have an answer for that.
Because maybe—just maybe—I would have ignored her out of respect for Giovanni.