Page 149 of Dancing with the Devil

“So you’re willing to carry mentally insane children who will most likely escape a mental asylum in their near future?” he teased—with a serious face—and my jaw dropped.

“Hey. That was badass,” I crossed my arms over my chest and he smiled. With his hands on my waist, he lifted his thighs just a little so that I fell against his chest, our faces inches apart.

“As long as I’m having them with you, I don’t care what they are,” he softly said against my lips and I smiled. I leaned in, pecking his lips softly.

“Why did you believe me?” I hesitantly asked. “Wouldn’t it have been easier for you to accuse me of lying?” I fiddled with my fingers on my lap. Men rarely believed women, even if they’ve seen it with their own eyes.

“I always believe the victim,” he lifted my hands, gently kissing my knuckles.Oh?

I shifted a little, nodding my head. “And why is that?” I reluctantly asked.

He kissed my hands for a little, then met my gaze. “Because they’re strong. It takes a lot of courage to admit what happened to them. Their strength is admirable,” he continued kissing the back of my knuckles, and I smiled.

“The ones who keep quiet are strong too, you know?” I gently cupped his face with both hands.

His eyes held reluctance, and I noticed a flicker of tenderness. “Yeah?”

I nodded. “Most definitely. They have to live with it every day in silence, with no one to lean on or talk to. They heal, all by themselves,” I explained, and something soft bloomed behindhis eyes.You’re not weak, Antonio. And what happened to you, doesn’t take away from your strength either.

He only nodded, glancing away from me as though he was mentally gathering himself.

I sat on his lap as we talked for hours before heading up to his bedroom. He clearly didn’t want to talk about what happened, and I wouldn’t force him.

It was currently just after five in the morning, so we slipped back into bed, and I snuggled into his arms, listening to the rainfall. “Do they know?” I asked, resting my cheek on his bare chest. “That you killed him?”

Antonio spoke to his mother on the phone not too long ago. I heard Amelia’s voice, too. And their father’s. He spoke in Italian, so I couldn’t quite understand what was happening.

“Yes,” he answered, giving me gentle head scratches.

“They hate me now, don’t they? Amelia… your mother… I mean, I saw how happy she was when he got there.”

“They hate what he did to you. Alexander has always been the black sheep of the family. My father despised him, and Amelia couldn’t stand him after she found out what he did to women. My mother always tried to find the good in him, even though he didn’t have any in him. Her excuse was always that she was his mother and couldn’t disown him like the rest of us.”

“Oh…” I softly said. “And you? Did you hate him?” I asked, and there was momentary silence.

“No. I didn’t,” he said like he was thinking back. “Before I knew the real him, I looked up to him. He’d always been the successful older brother. I never knew what everyone else knew.” There was silence as guilt crept in. “He and I would spend more time together than Amelia and I would. He played his role well…”

“I’m sorry,” I said, looking up at him.

“Do me a favor and stop apologizing, yeah? You haven’t done anything wrong. I did what I had to do to keep you safe, and I don’t regret it.”

He kissed my lips softly. “I love you,” I gently took his face in my hand, rubbing my thumb along his cheek. “I love you so much it hurts,” I admitted against his lips.

I can’t live without him. He makes me feel happy and loved. He’s my safe space. I can’t lose him. Iwon’tlose him.

* * *

I woke up to the rain smacking against the windows.

The sky rumbled, and I sat up, feeling cold. He’s not here.

Getting up, I wrapped the blanket around my shoulders before leaving the room. I looked around and walked into the kitchen. Not here, either. I walked into the living room and saw him sitting on the sofa with his head thrown back. My eyes darted to his hand resting on the table beside the sofa, and I watched as his pointer finger tapped the table repeatedly.

I noticed the gun next to his hand and a glass of alcohol opposite it. Thunder clapped in the sky—twice—and a chill ran down my spine. His phone’s screen lit up as he got a notification. He turned his head to check it, and seconds later, he turned his phone off, flipping it over.

Something had upset him now.

Walking over, I hugged him from behind by wrapping my arms around his neck. The blanket hung in front of him, and he held onto my forearms with one hand.