Chapter 51 Nicolo
NICOLO
The door clicks shut behind her, the soft smell of her perfume lingering in the room. Taunting me. Her last words replay in my head, blunt and final.
If you ever want me to forgive you…you’re going to have to give me back the choice you stole.
My jaw locks. For the first time in my entire existence, I…don’t know what to do. If only I had a time machine, then maybe I’d be able to shoot myself in the foot rather than make the mistake of letting her go.
This isn’t a threat I can solve. No amount of money in the world will fix this. I need to prove myself to her.
I compose myself before walking out into the reception hall, and I instantly spot her. She’s across the hall talking with Valentina and Alessia. She’s smiling, but there’s a slight quiver at the corners of her mouth, which tells me it’s not genuine.
I move toward her, not able to help myself. People shift out of my way as I reach my new bride.
“Mara.”
But she doesn’t look at me. She’s ignoring me.
I clear my throat. “Mara.” When she ignores it again, I add, “Look at me.”
She lifts her chin, her gaze shifting to look in my direction but not directly at me. “What?”
Everything in her posture screams stay back. Shoulders angled away, hand smoothing her dress, body small and closed.
“We need to talk.”
“No, we don’t.” Her voice shakes once. Not with fear, but with rage at the fact that I didn’t listen to what she asked of me.
Valentina steps closer to her, like I’m a threat. I ignore her.
“Mara—”
“I said no.”
She turns her back to me and walks off with Valentina and Alessia trailing her.
She sits pressed against the door, as far from me as she can get. Small. Quiet. Her fingers rub at the fabric over her arm.
She’s regulating. Or trying to.
“Mara,” I say, keeping my tone even. “We’re not ending the night like this.”
She doesn’t answer. She just moves—fast. Cleaner than I expected.
My gun is in her hand before I even register the shift of weight. She lifts it. Steady. No hesitation.
My driver jolts. “Sir—”
“Keep driving,” I say, eyes locked on my wife.
She finally looks at me. But it’s not the usual fire. It’s blank. Emotionless. A kind of quiet I don’t know how to fix.
“Talk again and I’ll shoot you.” She means it.
I lean forward until the barrel touches my chest. Hard. If this is the only way to get something real from her, I’ll take it.
“If that’s what you want, go ahead.”
Her breath catches—not fear, disgust. With me.
“You think dying fixes anything?” she asks.
“Mara—”
“Don’t.” Her voice cracks on the word. “Don’t say my name. You don’t get to anymore.”
She lowers the gun, but not because she’s softened. Because she’s done. I can see it in the way her shoulders drop, the way she won’t look at me again.
“You’re pathetic,” she whispers. “And nothing you say will undo what you broke.”
She turns to the window, fixing her hair like that’s something she can control. Straightening her dress. Shutting me out piece by piece.
My fingers tap once against my thigh before I stop them. A tell.
I watch her in the reflection of the glass. She’s breathing. She’s alive. She’s within reach. And for the first time, it hits me clean and sharp.
She’s no longer mine to protect. Not because someone took her from me, but because I pushed her so far that she walked away on her own.