Chapter 13 #2
She pauses at the door, looking back at us. “Be careful,” she says softly. “Both of you.”
Then she’s gone.
I turn to Vincenzo. He’s staring at me with such anguish.
“Come here,” he says roughly.
I cross to the bed, and he pulls me down carefully, holding me like I might break, but careful not to smudge the makeup.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers into my hair. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” I pull back to look at him. “This is what needs to happen. And now that it’s done, I can go to my father. I can start working on getting that confession.”
He touches my face, so gently I barely feel it, avoiding the makeup and the cut.
“When do you have to leave?”
“Now. Before it gets too late. Before he starts asking too many questions about where I’ve been.”
Vincenzo closes his eyes briefly, then opens them with visible effort. “Be careful. Please.”
“I’ll handle it. I’ll come back to you. I promise.”
“You better.” His voice is rough. “Because if you don’t, I’m coming to get you. Injuries and all.”
“I believe you.” I smile despite everything, and then wince as my clotting lip splits afresh.
I stand, smoothing down my clothes and checking my reflection one more time. The bruise and cut look absolutely real. My father will believe I’ve been hit. And that belief will be my weapon.
I’m halfway to the door when Vincenzo speaks.
“Adora.”
Not doe. My name. The one he never uses.
“I’ve killed many people.” His voice is edged with darkness. “I remember every single one. Their faces. The exact moment the light left their eyes. I’m the thing people pray doesn’t come for them in the night.”
Slowly, I turn back to him.
“I don’t feel many things,” he continues, each word precise as a blade. “I don’t get attached. I complete contracts and move on. That’s survival in my world.”
My heart is hammering in my chest.
“But I’ll never move on from you. You’ve gotten under my skin, into my blood, and found the parts of me I thought died with my family. And it terrifies me, because everyone I’ve ever loved has died screaming.”
He sits up, despite the pain it must cost him, bare-chested and bandaged, his damaged hands gripping the sheets.
“I love you.” The words are harsh, dragged up from somewhere deep inside him.
“I love you, and you’re about to walk back into that house, to that monster, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
If this all goes wrong, I need you to know you were loved by someone who thought he would never feel anything good again. ”
I’m across the room before I make the decision to move. I sink onto the bed, careful of his injuries, and take his face in both hands. This is the worst possible time for a love confession, but when is it ever a good time for us?
“And I love you too.” The words come out fierce. “I love you, and I refuse to die. I refuse to let Dad win. Do you understand me? I’m Adora fucking Montoni, and I’m coming back to you.”
“You can’t promise that,” he says, his voice echoing with loss.
“Watch me.”
His expression shifts. Surprise. Pride. Heat.
“That’s my girl,” he says roughly.
I open the door and look back one last time.
He’s watching me like he’s memorizing me for when I’m gone. Like he’s already planning how to burn down the world if I don’t come back to him.
I walk out, carrying his love like a weapon, ready to destroy anyone who tries to take him from me.
I sit in my car outside the mansion, staring at the lit windows. My hands grip the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles ache.
Just a moment. I just need one moment to prepare.
I’ve always been good at pretending, hiding bruises under long sleeves and smiling when friends asked how I was doing. Pretending to be the perfect, obedient daughter even when I was screaming inside. Now it’s time to make it really count.
I touch my lip gently, feeling the sting of the cut Sofia made. The blood on my shirt is dry now, stiff against my skin.
The fear is real. The tears, when they come, won’t be fake. I just have to direct them at the right target.
Taking a deep breath, I park my car in the garage and walk toward the house. My legs feel unsteady, but that will help sell it.
Inside, the mansion is quiet. The housekeeper must have already gone home for the evening. I hear the clink of ice in a glass from the living room.
I find Dad in his favorite leather chair, a whisky in one hand and a book in the other. He looks up when I enter, his expression neutral.
Then he sees my face. His eyes track from the bruise, to the cut on my lip, to the blood staining my white shirt.
“You were right, Dad.” My voice comes out broken, shaking. “He’s a monster. The Vicis are monsters.”
Before he can respond, I stumble forward and collapse onto my knees before him. The sobs come easily, and they’re for Vincenzo, for the danger we’re both in. But my father doesn’t need to know that.
He catches me but doesn’t quite hold me. His body is rigid with suspicion, or perhaps calculation.
“Adora. What happened?”
“I just wanted to spend time with Lucy.” The words tumble out between sobs. “Before the wedding. Just a few days with my best friend. But he found me. He was so angry. Said I shouldn’t be spending time with anyone but him. That I belong to him now.”
I sit up, letting him see the tears and my injury so he can draw his own conclusions.
Agnello is silent. I can feel him thinking. How can he use this? What advantage does this give him?
“You were right,” I sob again. “You warned me. You told me the Vicis couldn’t be trusted. I should have listened.”
“Shh.” His hand comes up, patting my back mechanically.
“He has to die,” I say, making sure he sees the conviction in my eyes through the tears. “Dad, he has to die.”
“Of course he has to die.” Dad’s voice is smooth and pleased. “That was always the plan, wasn’t it?”
I nod, wiping at my eyes. “I know. I thought maybe the arrangement could work, but you were right.”
Satisfaction crosses his face. He stands up and guides me to the couch, sitting beside me with his whisky glass still in hand.
“Poor Adora.” His voice is fatherly, like he’s never once raised his hand to me. “I warned you about the Vicis. They’re animals. All of them.”
The hypocrisy makes my stomach turn, but I nod, dabbing at my bleeding lip with the back of my hand.
“The Vicis have no honor. No restraint,” he continues, his tone so sincere it’s obscene. “This is exactly what I expected from him.”
I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming at him. This man who beat my mother. Who’s hit me more times than I can count. Sitting here acting like he’s a paragon of virtue.
But this is what I need. His guard down.
“I know when I want to do it.” I turn fierce. “The poison. I know exactly when.”
Dad’s eyes sharpen. “When?”
“During the wedding toast. I want to see him suffer in front of everyone for what he’s done to me. I want everyone important in Malus to watch him die choking on champagne.”
A slow smile spreads across my father’s face. It’s the most genuine expression I’ve seen from him in years.
“That’s my girl.” He pats my knee. “I knew you had it in you. You’re a Montoni, after all. We don’t forgive. We don’t forget.”
The praise makes my skin crawl, but I force myself to smile back through my tears.
“You’ll help me plan the wedding?” I ask. “Make sure everything is perfect?”
“Of course.” He drains his whisky glass, setting it on the side table. “We’ll start tomorrow. The wedding, the toast, every detail.”
I look at his empty glass, and an idea strikes me. An opportunity.
“Let me get you another drink.” I stand quickly, moving toward the bar. “We should celebrate our plan.”
If I can get him drinking, get him talking, maybe he’ll let something slip about Lira Dervishi.
But Dad waves me off, already standing. “Not tonight. I’m tired.” He stretches, looking more relaxed than I’ve seen him in months. “Maybe tomorrow, Adora.”
He walks past me toward the stairs, pausing to touch my uninjured cheek with unexpected gentleness.
“My daughter,” he says softly. “Finally on the right side where you belong.”
Then he’s gone, climbing the stairs to his bedroom.
I stand frozen by the whisky bottle, my hand hovering over it uselessly.
Bitter disappointment floods through me. If he’d just stayed for one more drink. If we’d just talked a little longer.
I’ll have to try again tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that. However long it takes to get him drunk enough, comfortable enough, arrogant enough to brag about murdering Lira Dervishi.
Somewhere across the city, Dashamir is waiting. And his patience won’t last forever.