“How could you let me go?” I asked.
He didn’t react or move; he simply stared with his cold, dark eyes.
“Answer me, goddamn it!” I screamed.
“You know why,” he replied in a low, quiet voice, “and my saying it won’t change anything.”
“I’m not talking about the fact that you thought you were following orders. I’m talking about you letting me go when I begged you not to!”
“I know.” His gaze was cold and distant, but I knew there was more going on inside that head of his, and I needed to know what it was.
“I want to hear you say it,” I seethed.
“Say what?” he said in that deep, slow, thickly accented voice. “That I’m sorry? That I should’ve known? I don’t need to waste my time stating the obvious.”
“Not that. I want to hear you say it was a mistake to care more about that job of yours and pleasing my father than you did about me. I want to hear you promise you’ll never do it again. That you understand some things are more important than following orders. Or are you too much of a coward? Too afraid to break the rules, even when it’s the right thing to do? Huh? Tell me. I’d like to know.”
He opened his mouth, but didn’t say anything.
“I see,” I said. “Then you get what you deserve. I just hope that hollow, dark hole you call a life doesn’t swallow you up in your sleep.”
He stood and walked over to me, that same look of turmoil I’d seen earlier percolating in the depths of his eyes. “It already did. The moment I let you go.” He cupped my face with both hands. “I knew it was a mistake. Even before I found out it was a trap. But I let you go because I believed you were better off. I failed to keep my mother alive. I failed to keep my ex alive. I couldn’t stop thinking you’d be next. And when I got the call from your father, telling me they’d taken you, I knew I was being punished for being such a coward, for being unable to let go of the past. I shouldn’t have let you go.”
He kissed me with desperation, holding me to his body. I didn’t kiss him back. I don’t know why. Maybe I was waiting for something to happen inside my chest. That warm, gooey, melting feeling that I’d experienced when he’d kissed me before. Instead, nothing happened. I felt numb and empty inside.
Sensing his kiss wasn’t welcome, he pulled back and sighed. “Just know, I would have sold my soul to get you back.”
“Bullshit! You were more pissed about being tricked. You and your badass ego couldn’t stand knowing someone beat you. You’re just like my father—can’t stand to fail.”
Paolo had a frustrated, wounded look on his face. “I didn’t give a fuck about that. I wanted you back. That was the only thing that mattered.”
I sat down on the bed and closed my eyes. I realized I was lashing out at him. “I need a moment.”
“Take all the time you need. I’ll be sleeping in the other room.” He left with heavy footsteps.
Exhausted, I lay back on the bed. Calm down. Calm down. You’re safe now. You’re safe…But was I? Before, when I first met Paolo, I felt like my sanity was at stake. Then it evolved into a question of my physical well-being. Now, everything felt at risk. Mind, body, and soul. There wasn’t one single piece left unscathed.
You can get through this, Dakota. You’ll find a way.
I could only hope I was right.
I don’t recall falling asleep, but when I heard Paolo scream, I landed on the floor.
Shit. I held my breath and listened, expecting to hear a struggle. There was nothing but an eerie silence blanketing the house.
I unplugged the lamp on the nightstand—a square, stainless steel thing with sharp corners—and tiptoed into the hallway. Paolo’s bedroom door was wide open. With the orange glow of the clock on the nightstand, I saw him lying there in his boxer briefs, blankets and sheets tossed to the floor. He grumbled and twitched his arms.
I released a breath. He must’ve been having a nightmare.
I sat down next to him and looked at the troubled expression, creased brow and lids pushed tightly together.
“Paolo?” I whispered. “Paolo?” I shook him gently by the shoulder. “Wake up. You’re having a bad dream.”
His eyes flew open, and I found myself pinned beneath his large body, his fist raised in the air.
“It’s me!” I screamed and turned my head to the side, expecting to get pummeled.
He froze. “Christ, Dakota. What are you doing?”
“I…I…heard you scream,” I said.
“So you came to rescue me?”
“I guess.”
He rolled off onto his back, panting. “Shit. I could’ve killed you.”
“With your fist? No. But it would’ve hurt.”