Chapter Eight
KENDRA DIDN'T MEAN to cry.
But the moment she was inside the backseat of his car, the tears just started falling, and after that, there seemed to be no end to them.
Even when her eyes were stinging so painfully, and her heart felt as if someone had torn it into shreds, she just couldn't stop crying, and that was why by the time she realized the driver had slowed to a stop—
Her mind couldn't make sense of it at first.
And when the door opened, and Dario suddenly joined her in the backseat—
It was too late.
She tried.
She really tried.
Just like how she had once beat Porter to reaching his phone out of sheer desperation, she was now doing it again, throwing herself toward the opposite door, fingers scrambling for the handle, because she needed out, she needed away—
She didn't care how.
She would throw herself into the highway if that was what it took.
She just wanted to leave.
But she couldn't.
Because Dario was no Porter. Even though he was taller and built like a wall, he was faster than either Porter or her, and he had already caught hold of her wrist before she could reach the handle—
"Drive."
Just one word to the driver, and the limo resumed its journey, and it was the last nail to her coffin. She was trapped in a moving car with the man who had just destroyed her after once promising he would never hurt her.
"I'm sorry."
She couldn't understand where the rawness in his voice was coming from. Didn't know what he was even saying sorry for. All she knew was that she was crying harder than ever, so hard her chest was heaving and her breath was coming in awful, gulping sobs that she couldn't control—
Dario saw his wife’s face start to crumple, and he could no longer control himself.
He hauled her into his arms and didn’t let go even as she fought to free herself.
Her fists hit his chest, his shoulders, anywhere she could reach.
She pushed and twisted and tried to wrench herself away, and he took every hit without flinching, without loosening his grip, without making a single sound.
Because he would never let her go.
Never.
"I'm so sorry," he said hoarsely. "I had it all wrong. I thought you believed him. And I thought you were coming back to leave me."
But his wife only cried harder and kept beating his chest with her fists, and every blow landed like something he deserved, and he held on.
"I couldn't bear hearing you tell me you believed all the things he said." His arms tightened around her shaking body. "So I decided to hurt you before you could hurt me."
And still she didn't say a word.
"Per favore, cara."
Which caused him such desperation and terror that he found himself forgetting his English entirely—
"Perdonami." Forgive me. "Per favo—"
"Just let me go."
Agonizing regret ravaged him at the way his wife said the words so brokenly. Like something inside her had been snapped in half and she was holding the two pieces and didn't know what to do with them.
"P-Please."
The way he had her begging.
It broke him, too, but the moment he loosened his hold on her, it was as if she couldn't move fast enough, couldn't get far enough away from him.
She scrambled across the backseat to the opposite row, pressing herself against the far door, her arms wrapped around her body as if that was all that was keeping her together.
He turned around to see his wife huddled against the window, making herself as small as possible, and the sight of it nearly killed him, because Kendra had spent her entire life making herself small for men who didn't deserve her, and now he had made her do it again.
"Please just let me go,” she said brokenly. “I c-can't bear it if you throw me away again—"
"I was lying, cara."
"Just please—"
Her words stuttered to a stop.
W-What was he doing?
“Dario, no—”
This wasn't what she wanted.
She just needed him to let her go so she would stop hurting.
So why—
"Forgive me. Please give me another chance."
Why was her powerful husband on his knees before her?
On the floor of the car, in his suit, his hands gripping the edge of the seat she was pressed against, looking up at her with eyes that were red and desperate and terrified in a way she had never seen on any human being, let alone a man whose name made people cross streets—
"Please."
"Dario—"
Terror seized him when he heard her say his name as if she was about to say goodbye.
Dio Mio.
He had never prayed.
Not even when he had faced death countless times in the world his father had left him.
Not even when Marjorie had made him feel like a sick bastard who didn't deserve to touch another person for the rest of his life.
But now—
Aiutami. Help me. Ho bisogno di lei. I need her. Per favore.
And after that, Dario somehow found himself telling the truth.
"Six months ago, I saw you running in the rain." His voice was wrecked. Stripped down to something he had never let anyone hear. "And that was it. I fell in love with you."
Kendra's hand flew to her chest. Her heart was hurting so, so badly at the way he seemed to be grasping for words when he had always been so eloquent in whichever language he spoke.
This man who commanded rooms and dismantled companies and made people flinch with a glance was kneeling on the floor of a car, struggling to form a sentence.
"But I knew you might think I was...pazzo."
She pressed her fist harder against her chest, as if she could hold her heart together by force.
"So I thought I would take it slow. But the next day, you married him."
His jaw clenched, and she watched the muscles in his throat work as he swallowed.
"And I could not forgive myself for it when I found out he was cheating on you. That both of them were hurting you."
Dario forced himself to continue even though the way Kendra was looking at him with wide, frightened eyes reminded him of how another girl used to look at him—
No. Stop thinking that, La Rocca.
"The next six months, I stalked you."
Kendra's heart kept hurting. She was so, so tempted to cover her ears just to stop herself from hurting more.
"I had my security tail you. Him. Everyone."
She just couldn't stop thinking this was all a lie. That maybe he found her amusing again, and that was why he wanted her back—
"Because of you, I realized that I was never even in love with Marjorie. And what happened between us was my fault."
His hands were gripping the seat so hard his knuckles had gone white.
"I know that now, too, because you...you're the opposite."
Dark eyes caught hers, and even his gaze was saying the same thing his broken words were trying to say.
"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, Kendra."
Because I love you.
"You make me believe in the goodness of people."
Because I love you.
"What once seemed stupid to me now seems wise."
And it scared her so, so badly that she found herself praying.
"And me, a person who has never tasted fear even in all the battles I fought..."
Please, please, please give me a sign.
"The thought of never seeing you again terrifies me," Dario said hoarsely, "but if I have truly hurt you so much, and if losing you is what God wills—"
He couldn't finish.
She had thrown herself into his arms so hard that he fell backward onto the floor of the car, his back hitting the carpet, and she was on top of him, and she was crying, and her hands were on his face—
"I love you."
He couldn't believe what she had just said. Couldn't believe that she was truly gazing down at him with eyes that were full of tears while saying those words with a voice that was shaking.
"And I forgive you."
Was this truly—
She cupped his face, her lips pressing against his, and he finally believed.
His wife loved him.
His wife had forgiven him.
And God had answered his prayer, even though a man like Dario La Rocca was undeserving of such kindness.