Chapter 15 Gemma #2
His words hit me right in the gut. He's right. I knew it the moment I went to Alexei. No good could come from siding with him, and yet…I did it anyway.
"I wasn't thinking—"
"No shit you weren't thinking!" He's breathing hard, eyes wild. "You were feeling. Hurt. Angry. Scared. So, you made the worst possible decision because that's what you do when you're emotional! It's why I can't fucking trust you."
"Fuck you!"
"Fuck you back!" His hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back.
"You want to know what I promised Antonio?
I promised I'd keep this family together.
I promised I'd secure the succession. And I promised I'd do whatever it takes to make that happen.
Which includes keeping my impulsive, reckless wife from getting us all fucking killed. "
"Then why didn't you just say that?" My voice is raw. "Why didn't you tell me—"
"Because I don't fucking answer to you!"
He lets go of me and I stumble. "You do fucking answer to me!" I snap.
We're both breathing hard. Staring at each other. The air between us is electric, crackling with rage and fear and something darker.
"What were you going to say?" My voice drops. "At the beach. When you said 'I—' what were you going to say?"
His jaw tightens. "It doesn't matter."
"It matters to me."
"Yeah? Well, it's too late now, isn't it?" His grip in my hair tightens. "You made your choice. You chose Alexei over me."
"I chose survival!"
"You chose wrong!"
He kisses me.
It's not gentle. Not tender. It's rage and desperation and possession all rolled into one brutal claiming.
I kiss him back just as hard, biting his lip until I taste blood.
His hand leaves my hair, grabs my thigh, yanks it up around his hip. "Is this what you want? You want me to treat you like you're mine?"
"Yes!"
"Even after you betrayed me?"
"I didn't—"
"Shut up." His other hand is at my jeans, yanking them open. "Just shut the fuck up."
He shoves my jeans down, spins me to face the wall. I hear his belt buckle, the rasp of his zipper.
"This doesn't change anything," he growls in my ear. "You're still going home. You're still going to be my perfect little wife. And you're going to smile and nod and do exactly what I say."
"Like hell—"
He enters me in one brutal thrust.
I cry out, hands bracing against the wall. He's not gentle. Doesn't wait for me to adjust. Just fucks me with punishing intensity.
"You're mine," he snarls. "My wife. My responsibility. And you don't get to run to Alexei Morozov when things get hard."
"I hate you—"
"No, you don't." His hand wraps around my throat, not squeezing, just holding. "You love me. That's the problem. You love me and you don't know what to do with it."
The truth of it crashes through me.
I do. God help me, I do.
"Say it," he demands. "Tell me."
"No—"
"Say it, Gemma."
His angle changes, hitting that spot that makes me see stars. I'm climbing, spiraling, losing control.
"I—" I can't. Can't give him this. Can't give him ammunition when he's already won.
"Say it or I stop."
"You wouldn't—"
He stills. Completely. Buried inside me but not moving.
"Saint!"
"Say it."
Tears are streaming down my face. "I love you."
The words break something in both of us.
He starts moving again, faster, harder, one hand still on my throat, the other between my legs finding my clit.
"Again."
"I love you," I sob. "I love you. I love you—"
We come together, violent and desperate. I'm screaming his name, and he's groaning mine, and for a moment the world narrows to just this—us, connected, destroyed, remade.
Afterward, we stay pressed together. His forehead against my shoulder blade. Both of us shaking.
"Don't fucking push me to choose between you and the family," he says finally, pulling out of me. "Antonio's dying. The family's falling apart. Everyone questions whether I can lead. I need you to fall in line."
I want to scratch his eyes out, but I don't. There's something in his eyes that holds me back.
His eyes are exhausted. Not angry. His face is open. Vulnerable. Raw in a way I've never seen.
"I can help you," I say. "I can—"
"You gave intel to Alexei."
"I know." I feel guilty. Really guilty for the first time. "I was wrong. I was hurt and scared, and I made a terrible decision. But Saint, you have to understand—"
His phone rings.
We both freeze.
He pulls it out, checks the screen. His face goes white. "Yeah?"
I watch his expression change. Crumple. Reform into something blank.
"When?" a pause. "I understand. I'll be there in twenty minutes."
He hangs up.
Looks at me.
"Antonio's dead."
The words hang between us.
All the fight, all the anger, all the passion—gone. Replaced with grief so raw I feel it in my chest.
"Saint—"
"We need to go." His voice is mechanical now. Distant. Hard. He reminds me of the Saint I knew when we first got married, and I feel a sort of desperation clawing its way up my throat.
"Saint, I'm sorry—"
"Later." He's already pulling away, fixing his clothes. "We deal with this later. Right now, we go home. We mourn. We present a united front."
"And then?"
He looks at me. Really looks at me. "Then we figure out if this marriage can survive what you did."
The words cut deeper than any of the cruel things he said during sex.
Because he's right.
I betrayed him. Betrayed both our families. And the fact that I love him doesn't change that.
It might make it worse.
We leave through the back exit. Emmanuel is waiting with the car. If he notices our disheveled appearance, he doesn't comment.
The drive back is silent.
Saint stares out the window. I watch his profile, trying to read him.
His uncle is dead. His father figure. The man who raised him. And instead of being there, instead of holding Antonio's hand as he passed, Saint was in an alley with me.
Because I ran. Because I couldn't trust him.
Because I'm exactly the curse Antonio said I was.
When we pull up to the compound, Saint turns to me. "When we go inside, you're grieving. You're supportive. You're the perfect Marini wife. Can you do that?"
"Yes."
"No more running to Alexei. No more deals. No more betrayals." His eyes are hard. "You're mine, Gemma. For better or worse. And you don't get to choose someone else just because things get hard."
"I know."
"Do you? Because from where I'm sitting, you've made every wrong choice possible."
The words sting because they're true.
"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I'm so sorry."
"Sorry doesn't fix this." He opens the car door. "Be good."
We walk into the house together. His hand finds mine. To anyone watching, we look united.
Only I can feel how tightly he's gripping me. Like if he lets go, I'll disappear.
Or maybe like he's holding on to the last piece of solid ground before everything collapses.
Marcello meets us in the foyer. His eyes are red. "He went peacefully. Just... stopped breathing."
Saint nods. Releases my hand. Pulls his cousin into a hug.
Over Marcello's shoulder, his eyes meet mine.
And in them, I see everything: grief, rage, love, betrayal, desperation.
We're broken.
Both of us.
And I don't know if we can be fixed.
But as I watch Saint comfort his family, as I step forward to play my role, I make a promise to myself:
I'll try.
Even if it kills me, I'll try.
Because losing him would be worse than any curse Antonio could have named.