MILLIE
As I contemplated revealing the news of the baby to Gio, a wave of uncertainty washed over me. He had always been clear about not being ready for children, yet I held onto the hope that he would eventually embrace the idea of my pregnancy. The most daunting challenge ahead of me was keeping this secret from Sienna and Harper until I had the chance to talk to Gio. However, the timing of his return from his business trip to New York remained uncertain, leaving me in a state of suspense.
As the taxi dropped me off at the estate’s entrance, I noticed a surprising absence of guards around the perimeter. With a perplexed demeanor, I punched in the gate code and entered, half-expecting to have to sneak around. To my surprise, there was an eerie silence in the mansion’s surroundings. Inside, the living area was shrouded in darkness as drawn curtains blocked the early morning light. A feeling of unease began to settle in the pit of my stomach.
“Sienna?” I called out tentatively. “Harper?”
A low, almost guttural growl resonated from the shadows, sending a shiver down my spine.
Gio.
There he was, sitting in the dimness of the room, an air of darkness enveloping him. I fumbled for the light switch, casting a gentle glow across the space. “Gio?”
My gaze swept over the scene- a fallen Christmas tree, shattered baubles strewn about, and his shattered mobile lying nearby. What had transpired here?
Had there been another attack by the Bratva, the criminal syndicate that always seemed to threaten our lives?
My attention was drawn back to Gio, who sat hunched over on the couch, his form outlined by the soft light. He wore a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his elbows resting heavily on his thighs. His focus was fixed on something before him, as if lost in a troubling reverie. He didn’t acknowledge my presence.
With caution, I moved closer, my heart pounding in my chest as I tried to decipher his enigmatic behavior. His shoulders rose and fell with each labored breath, resembling someone who had exerted himself intensely. I reached his side, my concern growing by the second. Following his gaze, I found it directed at the dark screen of his iPad.
“Informed by a contact in the press,” he began, his voice devoid of its usual warmth, “they sent me these images intended for the headlines.”
His tone was as icy as the air around us.
“Images?” I echoed, my voice barely more than a whisper.
A touch to the iPad’s screen brought it to life, revealing a snapshot taken through the windows of the restaurant where I had met Kaye. Yet Kaye was nowhere in the frame.
The image captured me, with Mathias positioned close behind, his hands resting on my shoulders. His face was turned toward mine, his lips dangerously close to my ear, as though sharing secrets, though in reality, he had merely cautioned me against fleeing.
The subsequent picture portrayed Mathias and me exiting the restaurant hand in hand, my head bowed-indicative of the tension I had felt in that moment.
Gio advanced to the next image, and my heart sank like a stone.
Displayed was a photo of Mathias and me inside a car. The angle insinuated that his hand was between my legs-though that couldn’t have been farther from the truth.
A surge of nausea rose within me.
The implications were grave, devastating. For anyone with a modicum of trust in people, these images would spell trouble. Yet Gio’s inherent mistrust, his ever-present suspicion, and carefulness magnified the severity of the situation. In his eyes, these images could lead to but one damning conclusion.
Could he genuinely believe I had betrayed him with Mathias? My thoughts were a whirlwind, a desperate plea for him to know me better than that. After all, he knew me, didn’t he?
In a hushed tone that barely escaped my lips, I called out his name, “Gio,” my fingers reaching out tentatively to brush his shoulder. But a wave of fear swept over me when his gaze met mine. It was a look I’d never seen before, a storm of anger raging within his eyes.
My instincts urged me to flee, to put as much distance as possible between us.
My eyes shifted to the discarded whisky bottle at his feet, its contents mostly drained. Amber liquid had spilled, marring the beige carpet, intermingling with darker stains that told a different story. My gaze drifted lower, to his hands, which gripped a knife tightly. Blood flowed from his hand, dripping onto the floor, a macabre dance with the spilled liquor.
An impulse to run surged within me, but that would be an admission of guilt for a transgression I hadn’t committed. I hadn’t betrayed Gio, would never even consider it. Yet, his words from our wedding night echoed in my mind, a haunting reminder: “Did your father never teach you to hide your fear from monsters? They give chase if you run.”
Concern gripped me as I mustered a soothing voice, trying to breach the fortress of his anger. I needed to navigate past the malevolent forces summoned by alcohol and incriminating photos.
His face contorted, consumed by a rage so potent that I involuntarily flinched. He released the blade, and fresh blood painted a macabre scene as he rose from the sofa.
Unconsciously, I stepped back, my body acting on its own.
The hand that clutched the knife hung lifelessly by his side.
Summoning my courage, I met his gaze once more. Somewhere beneath the anger and pain, my Gio still existed. He was there.
“Gio, please, listen to me. It’s not what it seems.”
A furious roar escaped his lips, and suddenly, he was before me, his bleeding hand clamping onto my forearm, the knife still within his grip.
“You’re bleeding, you’ve hurt yourself,” I murmured gently, striving to reach him. I had to pierce through the veil of alcohol and the specter of those damning images.
His eyes, fierce yet haunted, drilled into mine. The sea of emotions within them was treacherous, the agony more unsettling than the anger.
“Gio, could you put down the knife? It’s making me uneasy.”
His gaze descended to the blade, now a canvas of blood, and he released it. Without a second thought, it clanged against the floor, further splattering the evidence of his inner turmoil. Then, his eyes ascended, locking onto mine. He pulled me close, a kiss that was both fervent and brutal, a manifestation of his anger and despair.
In that desperate moment, I understood his needs, his wants. Yet, circumstances had shifted; the test result had altered everything. I wanted to give him what he craved, but I needed to safeguard our child and Gio. The memory of his past fervor during such moments was etched in my mind, and I couldn’t risk harm coming to our baby.
His touch, though urgent and searching, met resistance as I tore myself away. “No,” I asserted firmly, even as he tried to reclaim me in his embrace. “Gio, stop. I don’t want this.”
His lips hovered inches from mine, his breath ragged, his eyes like molten steel. “You deny me?”
Suppressing a retort, I remembered instances where I had refused him when unwell or simply not in the mood. He had always respected my wishes. I knew he was intoxicated, wounded, teetering on the precipice of control. He hadn’t yet shown how much he loved me. He was a man who had dealt in violence, who had embraced his monstrous side. But with others.
“It’s curious,” he hissed, “you claim innocence with Mathias, yet you flinch from my touch.”
Did he truly believe my refusal was an admission of guilt?
“Don’t let tonight lead to remorse,” I implored, my voice a mere murmur, my eyes a plea.
A cruel smile curved his lips, a cruel twist of fate. “What makes you think I would regret anything?”
But I knew him better than he knew himself. I knew his regrets would follow, claw at his conscience.
“Our love is worth more than this.”
“Love,” he spat the word, disdain evident. “Loving you was my gravest error. One I won’t repeat.”
Loved? The word was a dagger to my heart, his menacing countenance splintering my soul.
“Gio, please,” I stretched my hand out to him, but he shrugged me off, the icy fire of anger consuming his eyes.
“Because you’re my wife, you’ll survive. But don’t expect more. It’s over.”
His words, like a gavel, pounded my comprehension. I stared, throat tightening, heart pounding. He hesitated for a heartbeat, then turned away, leaving me stranded, bereft.
Collapsing onto the sofa, still warm from his presence, I pressed my trembling hands to my belly and wept. The fragile tapestry of our love, woven against all odds, had been torn asunder. The miracle that Gio had let himself love me had been shattered. And now, the looming question remained: had I lost him forever?