by Kiera Silver
For the first time, she could focus solely on the way Patrick had betrayed her, and what he had done to his friend. She didn’t want to think about it, but she couldn’t help doing so. How was she supposed to even look at her husband again? Every time she saw him, she would be reminded of what he had done, and what he hadn’t told her.
Slowly, she pushed back from the table and went up to the room she shared with Patrick. Laying the ice packs on the vanity table, she moved the closet. Her luggage was stacked neatly on the top shelf, and she stretched to reach the largest case. As she unzipped it and put it on the luggage stand, she didn’t know what she should take or how much. Was she leaving for just a few days, or was she leaving him forever? She didn’t know, but she felt the urgent need to escape him and this house. Lauren needed time to think, and she couldn’t do that with him here.
Her case was half-filled when Patrick entered the closet a few moments later. She didn’t even look up at him as she continued pulling pants from the hanger and folding them neatly into the bag. “I’m leaving you for a while.”
“Lauren, let’s talk about this.”
She still couldn’t bring herself to look at him. “What’s there to talk about? You killed my father because Sal Peretti just assumed his niece had been kidnapped, and you had to maintain the peace. I get it from an intellectual perspective. But I don’t understand why the hell you never told me the truth.”
She shook her head, no longer worrying about neatly putting her things in the suitcase. She blindly grabbed a few more garments and shoved them in on top before zipping the bag. “How could you make love to me, make me fall in love with you, and marry me knowing what you had done?”
“I wanted to protect you.”
Anger spurred her to meet his gaze. “That’s a lie. You wanted to protect you. At any point, you could have told me the truth, but you were determined not to, weren’t you? You waited until I was your wife, figuring it would be safe enough if I ever found out then.”
He scowled at her, though he didn’t move any closer. “You were just as eager to take my name. You wanted me, Lauren, and you pushed me until I took you. I didn’t tell you the truth, but what was the point? It couldn’t change the outcome of what had happened.”
She gasped. “The point was you left this huge deception between us, not to mention you took my only family in the world away from me. My dad did nothing wrong. He was trying to save the woman he loved from some god-awful arranged marriage she didn’t want. Instead of giving him a chance to explain, you just did what Sal told you to.”
His eyes narrowed, and the air crackled with anger. “I didn’t do what Sal told me to do, Lauren. I did what had to be done. Alessandra Peretti was dead, and it looked like your father had kidnapped her. He never told me or anyone else that they had been in love, or he was rescuing her. There’s no proof to support your theory.”
“There’s more proof for my theory than yours. Just because they were together, and she was killed during her so-called rescue attempt, doesn’t mean my father was trying to hurt her or hold her for ransom. You killed your friend to keep Peretti happy.”
“And how did you behave any differently today? You let Peretti get away with kidnapping you for the sake of maintaining the truce.”
She shook her head, trying to blink back tears that she refused to let fall. “It’s different, and you know it. This was my choice, and I did it for the good of everyone. My father never had a choice.”
Patrick straightened his shoulders, his expression growing distant. “He could have told me. He had enough time, and if he had asked for a moment to explain, I certainly would have let him. Instead, he never said much of anything, and he never tried to defend his actions. He did ask me not to do it, but only because he didn’t want you alone in the world. He never mentioned there were mitigating circumstances for why he was with Alessandra.”
He took a step toward her. “Howie had long enough to ask me to be your guardian, so if he hated me, or he felt ill-used, surely there’s no way he would have asked me to take on responsibility for caring for you?”
She shrugged, unable to understand that herself. How could her father have asked his murderer to be her guardian? “Maybe he wanted you to have a constant reminder of your guilt.”
Patrick shook his head. “Howie wasn’t like that, and you know it. I can only assume, if your theory is correct, that he realized how it was going to play out. Alessandra was dead, and she couldn’t verify anything he said. There was no one to back up his claim that they were in a relationship, if he had chosen to make it. I guess you met her, but he wouldn’t have dragged you into it as a witness. Peretti still would have demanded revenge and still would’ve believed what he wanted to believe. Surely, your father realized that. Do you have any idea why I was the one to shoot him?”
She pursed her lips as she stared her husband, willing him not to come any closer. She needed the distance to keep herself strong and resolved. “I gather from something Gio said that since he was your man, and appeared to go against the truce, you had to be the one to deal with him.”
Patrick nodded. “That’s partially correct. In the circumstances, since he was my man, but not acting under my orders, that put him firmly under my jurisdiction. I was ultimately responsible for his behavior. He was my problem to handle, but I could have handed him off to Peretti as a courtesy to the old man. Do you know what Peretti would have done to your father?”
She flinched, remembering the bite of plastic into her arms and legs. That had been a mild taste of what Sal Peretti probably would have unleashed on her father. “I can imagine.”
He took another step toward her. “Can you really? He would have gone to work on your dad with a box cutter, tin snips—basically anything that would have caused a slow, painful death. When I shot your dad, I saved him hours of torture before that death.
“It was either an instant, almost painless death from me, or a long and drawn-out tortured one from Sal Peretti. At the time when I shot your father, I truly believed he had kidnapped Alessandra Peretti. I didn’t know his motivations, but he was my friend, and despite what I thought his actions were, and how they reflected on me and endangered our truce, I didn’t want him to suffer that. He died with dignity, which is a lot more than he would’ve had at Peretti’s mercy.”
She swallowed a lump of moisture in her throat. “Surely there was some other way? Some way he could have walked out of there alive?”
Patrick sighed, his expression looking vulnerable for a moment. “I couldn’t see a way out for him, honey. At the time, he made no assertion of innocence, and he made no attempt to counter Sal’s claims that he had kidnapped his daughter. Even if we had known the truth, if you’re right about that, as I said earlier, Peretti wouldn’t have believed it. He still would have demanded Howie’s blood.”
Reluctantly, she nodded. She couldn’t doubt that, based on her own experience with the old fool. He had been determined to kill her and start a turf war, even in light of the new information she had posited. “I guess I understand how it happened, but I can’t look at you without seeing what happened. You killed my father. He was the only person in the world who ever loved me, the only family I had. My mom walked out on me when I was just a few months old. I had no one else in the world. You took the only person who mattered to me.”
Patrick took in a harsh breath, pain contorting his features. “You have me. I know…at least I can imagine how you’re feeling, and I understand you feel angry and betrayed by me. I know I should have told you long before we got married, or before I ever took you to bed, but I just wanted you and loved you so much that I couldn’t make myself do the right thing. I couldn’t risk losing you, so I waited until you were bound to me.”
She sighed softly, unable to blink back all the tears. A few streamed down her cheeks, and she was moved by his words even though she wasn’t ready to accept them. “I just need some time. I’ll be back if and when I can process everything.”
She glared at him. “Do you really think this macho display of bullshit will do anything to help resolve the situation? I don’t belong to you, Patrick. I belong with you because I choose to be, not because you’re keeping me here.”
His scowl matched her own. “You married me for life. Accept it and move on.”
Straightening her shoulders, she lifted her bag from the luggage stand and strode toward him, veering around him at the last moment. “You can’t keep me here.”
“Watch me,” he growled. His hand clamped on her upper arm, and he pulled her from the closet. Her suitcase fell by the wayside, and she was unable to pick it up as he pulled her roughly across the room. She tried digging in her heels, but he wouldn’t be deterred. He pulled her from their room and down the hall, urging her up a flight of stairs.
When she wouldn’t climb voluntarily, Patrick picked her up and slung her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry before he ran up the flight of stairs. The next floor wasn’t as bright and welcoming as the floor with the main living quarters. He strode down the hallway, past several doors, before stopping in front of a green one.
She struggled to escape as he held her clamped with one hand on her buttocks, his arm wrapped around her. The other was doing something in his pants, and she heard the jingle of keys previous to a lock clicking. He opened the door before setting her down on her feet.
Before she had a chance to process where she was or what was happening, Patrick had slammed the door in her face. She walked a few steps forward, grasping the knob in time to feel him lock it from the other side. She wiggled the handle and pounded on the wood, calling his name and cursing him. “Let me out of here.”
“Not until you calm down and can discuss this like a rational adult,” he snapped back, his voice muffled by the thick wooden door. “When you promise not to leave, then I’ll open the door.”
“As soon as you open the door, I’m gone for good.” Perhaps it wasn’t the wisest thing to say, but he had pushed her to the edge of endurance. How dare he grab her and carry her to another room to lock her in like a damned prisoner? She was his wife, not his captive.
She fumbled on the wall, finally finding a light switch. Pressing her ear against the door, she was certain she heard his feet moving farther away down the hall. Outrage burned through her. How dare he just leave her like this? How could he ever think this would resolve the problems in their marriage? He couldn’t keep her like this forever, and she would be gone the first chance she had.
Chapter Eleven
Patrick’s blood felt like it was boiling in his veins, and even two shots of the finest Jameson Irish whiskey had failed to calm him. He winced as his bruised knuckles brushed against the bottle when he reached for another before hesitating. Looking down at the damage to his hands, inflicted from his fists colliding with Gio’s body a few times, brought a moment of clarity.
He wasn’t going to find an answer to this at the bottom of a bottle of whiskey. Was there even an answer to find? She was planning to leave him. Anger spiked all over again at the thought, along with a strong dose of panic. She couldn’t do that. She just couldn’t. Didn’t Lauren understand she was his whole world? None of this would mean anything without her.
“So, your solution was to lock her in her damn room instead of telling her that.” He uttered the words aloud, and they were rich with self-mockery. With precise motions, he set down the crystal tumbler before he gave in to the urge to hurl it across the room and smash it on the fireplace. It would do no good, and it certainly wouldn’t help him let go of the anger and the fear pulsing in him.
As he walked away from the alcohol and the temptation of breaking everything at the bar, he found himself staring out the window instead. Patrick took several deep breaths, forcing himself to calm down. As he did so, it became crystal clear that the anger was directed toward himself, not her. She was justified to feel betrayed, and he couldn’t blame her for wanting to get away from him.
Fear was completely generated by the idea of losing her. He didn’t know how he would bother to go on if he didn’t have her. Life would lose all meaning, and he would sit and become a hermit in this very room until he either withered away, or one of his frenemies took him out of the picture permanently.
And again, he chastised himself for overreacting and locking her in the green room, where they held prisoners who didn’t quite warrant the cell in the basement. Instead of talking to her, trying to be rational and get through to her to explain his point-of-view, he had locked her away like a princess in a tower. In that scenario, he was clearly the fire-breathing dragon, the one who had slaughtered her father and was now intent on hoarding her like gold. No wonder she wanted to get away from him.
Reluctance made each footfall heavy, and he moved slower than usual as he turned from the window and crossed his study. It seemed to take twice as long to climb the stairs and return to the room where he’d left her. His hands fumbled with the keys, no longer smooth and confident as dread filled him. He struggled to hide his sense of desperation when he unlocked the door and pushed it open. Patrick stood back, expecting her to come barreling out of the room.
Instead, there was no response. Bracing himself, he stepped inside. The room was dimly lit from a lamp on one of the tables, but it was the farthest one from the bed. His wife was sprawled out across it, sleeping deeply.
He walked closer, feasting on the sight of her, and trying to commit it to memory. Once he woke her, she would no doubt walk away. Even if she’d been willing to listen to him before, locking her in this room must have cinched her resolve to leave. He couldn’t doubt that at all. He couldn’t blame her either. He had been horrible to her, and she had good reason to fear him. He would never knowingly hurt her, but this latest action had done just that. Coupled with how betrayed she must feel to know he had been the one to kill her father, it was amazing she could sleep at all.
She’d been here about two hours, he estimated, and he imagined she had fought the need to sleep for a long time. Knowing his stubborn bride, she would have done her best to escape first. There was no escape from this room, so perhaps she had finally given in to the exhaustion she must feel after the day she’d had, and he could easily picture her throwing herself on the bed and crying herself to sleep.
As he leaned closer, he was relieved to find there were no tear tracks on her face. A second later, relief disappeared as he pondered if maybe she didn’t feel anything strongly enough to cry over him or the mess that was between them.
His gaze moved over her, soaking in every detail, and he longed to climb into the bed with her and take her in his arms. He didn’t want to make love to her, or at least, not only make love to her. He just wanted to hold her and reassure himself she was his and always would be. That seemed like a foolish, gossamer hope now.
His eyes narrowed when they reached her waist, and he saw the protective way she had her hands folded over her stomach. It didn’t mean anything necessarily, but something about her posture and the way she had fallen asleep in that position suggested she was protective of something. With her hands on her stomach, the obvious conclusion was she was protective of a baby. His baby.
He exhaled sharply at the thought, torn between blinding joy and crippling agony. That there could be a baby with her made him happy enough that he might have cried if he’d been a different man. Knowing she would still want to leave him, and he might never have any part in their child’s life, which would be her right to insist upon, made his eyes burn, and he couldn’t seem to take in a deep breath.
His shoulders slumped as he accepted the baby changed nothing. If she was determined to leave him, he had to let her. It was the only way he might ever get her to come back. If he let her walk out—and he didn’t see a way around doing so—he also had to ac
cept the very real possibility she would never walk back in again. If she left, it might be for good, but he couldn’t force her to stay.
Taking a deep breath for fortification, he bent over the bed and touched her shoulder. Shaking gently, he waited until her eyes fluttered open before speaking. “I’m sorry. I had no right to lock you in here. The door’s open now. You can leave if that’s what you want to do.”
Her eyes had been soft and hazy with confusion for a moment, but that rapidly cleared, giving way to the cool expression he couldn’t read. “Is that what you want?”
He shook his head, unable to be more eloquent. “It’s what you want.” His heart stuttered slightly, and he asked, “Isn’t it?”
She hesitated, licking her lips in that motion that always drove him wild. Even now, in the midst of the tension and drama, his dick started to harden for her. He schooled his features to hide the reaction as he stared down at her.
“I don’t know what I want, Patrick. At first, I thought I needed space. In a way, you gave me that by locking me in here. I had a lot of time to think.”
He stood up to his full height as she scooted up the bed to sit against the headboard. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I had no right to do this to you. I can’t blame you for being afraid of me and wanting to leave, and I won’t stand in your way. God knows I don’t want you to go, and I don’t know what to do without you, but I need to not be a selfish bastard this time. You have to do what’s best for you and our baby.”
She drew in a ragged breath, audible even from the distance separating them. “How do you know?” She shook her head. “I don’t even know for sure. I haven’t even taken a test yet.”
His gaze flicked to her abdomen before returning to her eyes. “You were holding your stomach protectively in your sleep. I think you already know, don’t you? With or without a test, I mean.”
At her hesitant nod, he struggled to hide his fierce joy. He didn’t want to influence her, and he sure didn’t want her to stay because she felt sorry for him. “Your posture said it all, my love. You’re already thinking of him or her, and that includes figuring out what to do about me. You owe it to our baby to protect it, and if you think it’s a safer away from me, I’ll respect your wishes.”