Chapter 20 #2
I find her in the kitchen. It's late afternoon, and she is standing there, staring at the knife block.
Not moving. Just staring.
"Gemma?"
She doesn't respond.
I move closer. Slowly. Like approaching a wild animal.
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing." She turns, and I tense. There's a knife in her hand, and she's gripping it so tightly that her knuckles are white.
My blood runs cold.
"Gemma." I step between her and the knives and place my hand on her wrist. "Look at me."
She does. And what I see in her eyes terrifies me. They are a stormy gray, glassy, and unfocused. If I didn't know better, I'd think she was on something.
"Were you going to—" I can't even say it.
"Going to what?"
"Hurt yourself."
She tilts her head. Her eyes focus in on the knife, and she jumps. It clatters to the floor between us. "I wasn't—"
I'm tense. "Gemma, let me help you."
"Why?" The question is simple. Curious. "I'm just a liability. A traitor. Someone you had to give away to protect yourself. Why would you even care."
"Because you're my wife—"
"I'm your obligation." She moves past me, and I release a breath as she leaves the knives unscathed. "Don't worry. I won't do anything to embarrass you further."
She's walking away, and I grab her arm.
"Gemma, we need to talk about this."
She pulls free easily. Her arm is so thin, it slips through my grasp. "What would you like me to say? That I forgive you? Fine. I forgive you. That I understand? I understand. That I'll be the perfect, obedient wife? I will." She looks at me. "Is there anything else you need from me?"
"I need you to be alive!" The words explode out. "I need you to eat. To sleep. To be something other than this—this ghost!"
"Why?" She's shutting down again. I can see it. It's like that little bit of fire is slowly fading, and I'm searching for the words to keep her with me.
"Because I—" I stop. Can't finish the sentence.
Because I do care. Because I'm sorry.
"I don't want you to fade away."
"You should have considered that."
She leaves me standing in the kitchen.
And I realize she's right.
I broke her.
That night, I lie awake beside her listening to her breath.
It's shallow and quick, and I can't tell if she's asleep or not.
"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I'm so fucking sorry." I've never apologized for anything in my life, but I'd crawl on my knees if Gemma would just say something. Anything.
"I thought I was protecting us. I thought—" My voice cracks. "I thought you'd be angry. I can handle angry. I'm good at angry. But this—"
Silence.
"Come back." I turn toward her. "Please. Hate me. Hit me. Do something. Just come back."
She doesn't move.
"Gemma, please—"
"Go to sleep, Saint." Her voice is flat. Distant. "You have meetings tomorrow. You need your rest."
"I don't care about the meetings."
"You should."
The words twist like a knife.
"I was wrong."
"No, you weren't. You were right. Family comes first. Always." She still hasn't moved. "I should have known that. Should have been a better wife. That's what my mother trained me to be."
"Gemma, no—" I swallow. "I shouldn't have let it get this far."
"Goodnight, Saint."
The dismissal is clear.
I lie there, staring at the ceiling.
I wanted her compliant. Wanted her to stop fighting. Wanted her to fall in line and be the perfect Marini wife.
And I got exactly what I wanted.
Except I don't want this.
I want the woman who challenged me. Who made me think. Who looked at me like I was more than just a killer.
I want the woman who fell asleep on my chest at the beach house. Who told me she loved me even when I couldn't say it back. Who tried so hard to matter.
But that woman is gone.
I killed her when I gave her to Adrian.
And I don't know how to bring her back.
Or if I even can.
Marcello finds me in my study the next morning.
"You look like shit."
"Thanks."
"How's Gemma?"
I don't answer.
He sits down. Studies me. "That bad?"
"She's..." I struggle for words. "Compliant. Obedient. Everything I thought I wanted."
"But?"
"But she's not there. It's like looking at a photograph of her. The image is right, but there's nothing behind it."
"I heard Adrian disowned her."
The words hit like a punch. "He did."
"Guessing she didn't take it well."
I snort. "Fucking understatement."
He stands. "I told you it was a mistake. You didn't listen."
"You said to get rid of her—"
"I said she was a problem. I didn't say to fucking break her." He moves to the door. "Fix it, Saint. Before you lose her completely."
"How?"
He looks back at me. "I don't know. But figure it out fast. Because a woman with nothing to lose? She's the most dangerous thing in the world. And you just made your wife that woman."
He leaves.
I sit there, his words echoing.
A woman with nothing to lose.
She's the most dangerous thing in the world.
I think about Gemma staring at the knives.
About the empty look in her eyes.
About how she said she'd already faded away.
And for the first time since I brought her to Adrian, I'm truly afraid.
Not of her.
For her.
Because Marcello's right.
I broke her.
And I don't know how to fix what I've destroyed.
Or if it can even be fixed at all.