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Her words released the tension in the room, and the others laughingly agreed af Giancarlo's misfortune. His abruptdeparture was all but forgotten, or at least it was except for Sheikh Nassif, whose amused smile effectively concealed his thoughts, and Giancarlo's wife herself, whose gaze turned calculating whenever it lingered on the doorway.
The time it took to drive from Cayed and back to the capital was cut in half with Giancarlo himself taking the wheel. But two steps into the room, and he knew right away he had walked into another trap. This time, her hunger strike was her bait of choice, and he had fallen for it again. Hook. Line. Sinker.
"Are you really married?"
Her face was pale, her gaze blank, her tone steady.
But even so.
He heard her heart crying out loud and clear, and while he had never intended her to know about his marriage—-
"Yes."
Hefelther shatter even when all she did was stare at him. Her gaze searched him wildly, and he knew she was begging him without words to say something else. Anything that would help her make sense of his marriage and allow her to stay.
Forgiveness wasn't even a question.
She had already forgiven him.
And continued to love him.
But when all he did was gaze back at her without any intention of saying anything else—-
"You win."
The quietly spoken words were an admission of defeat. So why did it feel like he was the one who had lost?
Giancarlo opened the door and stepped back. "You're free to go then."
Sarica didn't deign to answer.
Didn't even look his way as she walked past him.
He clenched his hands against the urge to pull her back and stop her from leaving.
Told himself that it was better this way as he watched her go.
This was for the best.
And if he repeated the words to himself often enough, maybe he would start believing it, too.
A call from security came in soon enough, and he gave them the green light to let Sarica walk free. "Have someone follow her," Giancarlo said curtly. "Discreetly."
He was still in his room when the first report landed in his box.
Subject booked a suite at the Desert Royale under the name of Dauphin Tueur.
The next thing he knew, his hands were bruised, his knuckles bloodied, and there were fist-sized holes in the wall. The last time he had blacked out like this, he had killed a lot of men without remembering anything. Because back then, he believed that vengeance was his, and never God's.
Giancarlo wanted to think tonight was a vast improvement.
Wanted to believe that it was better that he had hurt himself instead of others.
Those were the lies he wanted to believe.
But all he could hear was God's voice as he stared at his bloodied fists.
Hurting yourself hurts Me, too, son.