Page 113 of Cara

A barely contained rage simmers beneath the surface of his gaze, evident in the way his jaw clenches tightly. His eyes shift,darkening with an intensity that courses a sharp chill down my spine. Instantly, I regret asking such a stupid question.

“You don’t want to know what I did to them,” he says, his voice deceptively soft, tinged with malice.

In a single instant, I know they’re dead. No, not just dead. In pieces. Incinerated or tossed to the bottom of a lake or buried in an unmarked grave. And I know these deaths don’t haunt him like the others.

He relished these.

And while it breaks my heart to think of him sinking so low, capable of inflicting such horror on another human being, in a twisted way, I’m grateful.

Rather than fear him, I beckon my Phantom closer, urging him into my open arms.

The mattress sinks under his weight as he cups my face, pressing his head to mine. His breathing times to my own.

I’m not sure how long we sit in that chilling silence.

“What are you thinking?” I ask, caressing him in the dark.

For such a large man capable of unspeakable atrocities, he’s incredibly tender with me, accepting any fraction of love I'm willing to bestow on him. His answer, spoken through a nervous smile, is one I hope to hear daily for the rest of my life.

“I already can’t wait to come home to you.”

After Xavier left, the pillows were too tempting to abandon right away. It’s nine by the time I escape the warm confines of the covers, stealing a quick glance at the gun on the nightstand before wrapping the sheet around myself.

The sun spotlights a picture frame that makes my mouth go dry, steals the breath right out of my body. My shock doesn’t end there; it doubles down as my eyes slowly scan the layout of this master bedroom.

Now I understand why those drapes looked familiar.

There’s an antique armoire overflowing with neatly arranged rows of hardcover books. Frames of art are stacked against the wall, items that once beautifully complemented our city apartment. My vanity hugs a corner of the room, housing my perfumes, hair clips, and brushes, all arranged with careful precision.

In the early hours, I couldn’t see it, but when touched by the light of day, everything around me transforms into a bittersweet journey into the past, bringing forth the crushing realization that Xavier could never bear to part with my things.

Disbelief leads me to the closet, throwing open the doors.

The sight of my wedding dress sets me back until my knees collide with the bed frame. All of my robes, sweatshirts, and nightgowns.

It’sallhere.

Boxes. That’s where I pictured all of this would be, if not ransacked and destroyed by his father. Not here, not in his home, all of these years later.

I'm not sure how long I remain frozen, staring at the only evidence left of our previous life together. Each article stores a different memory, a spectacle to my eyes. Time has now made all of our memories together—even our darkest moments—beautiful.

Walking into the bathroom, grazing the items that make it seem like I never left his side, I ready myself for the day with a rush in my veins and an insuppressible smile that always fights to free itself on my face.

I'm here. We’re together.

My wedding ring catches the light as I pull the bedroom door open, tucking the gun into the back of my jeans. Jeans that I wore on our honeymoon, paired with a blouse I bought during a shopping trip with Mimi and Courtney… months before…

No.I block the thought, especially as I take the staircase, scanning this eerily familiar home.

I can do this. I can be here.

Arturo is gone. Giulia isn’t coming around the corner.

No one’s out to get you.

No matter how many times I say it, repeat it like a mantra over and over again, a part of me still checks the empty halls, anticipating that every natural noise this creaky old mansion makes is someone sent to disrupt this dream. I’ve come to expect the worst. I'm not sure if I’ll ever feel as if the rug isn’t about to be pulled out from under me.

I find Dante on the terrace, a couple of brown paper bags on the patio table. The overwhelming scent of fresh bread and coffee replaces the unsettling nervousness of being outside on these grounds.