Page 19

Danny

NO! This wasn’t happening. My vision fractured, a kaleidoscope of crimson and blinding white, and the air was thick with the coppery tang of blood—my blood, I realized with a sickening lurch. My world tilted, a grotesque parody of reality, its edges blurring as a maelstrom of images, insidious weeds choking the garden of my memories, ripped through me. My skull roared, a pressure cooker about to explode. I stumbled back, the cold wood of the floor scraping my skin as I collapsed, my world a dizzying spin.

Her laughter—a high-pitched, venomous shriek—pierced the cacophony, a triumphant fanfare celebrating my defeat. Her victory. Because in that moment, I was already broken.

I couldn’t meet Dante’s gaze. The sight of him—his eyes, twin pools of anguish reflecting a betrayal so profound it threatened to swallow me whole—was a physical violation. The disgust was palpable. My shame clung to him, a testament to my failure. I saw the fissure of hurt splitting his face, a chasm I’d carved with my own hands.

I had done this. Me. The realization hammered at my soul, a brutal, relentless percussion.

“Oh, Dante,” the bitch purred, the sound like nails on a chalkboard, a symphony of cruelty. She rose, a viper in human skin, casually wiping the slick residue of my degradation from her thighs, then brought her fingers to her lips, her tongue tracing the obscene path. “Mmm. He tastes so good. Did you honestly think you could win? Against me?” Her words dripped with venomous satisfaction and an icy contempt that chilled me to the bone.

My memories crashed over me, a tidal wave of bittersweet joy and searing betrayal. Our life together—a tapestry woven with laughter, shared dreams, whispered secrets, the raw, exquisite tenderness of our love—unraveled thread by thread, each lost moment a fresh wound ripping open. The scent of his cologne, once a comfort, now a torment, a constant reminder of what I had lost. The feel of his hand in mine, now a phantom limb, an unbearable absence. My head throbbed, a relentless drumbeat echoing the frantic rhythm of my heart, threatening to burst from my chest. I clawed at my hair in a desperate attempt to silence the screaming symphony of regret and self-loathing. It was too much. Too much pain, too much loss, too much betrayal.

I gasped for air, my lungs burning as my body wracked with sobs.

And still that cunt laughed; her chilling, triumphant laughter, a constant, mocking reminder of the destruction she’d wrought, while Dante, shattered and broken, remained her captive.

Her captive and mine.

“I told you he was mine. Now, do you fucking believe me?”

Her words, slick with the bitter residue of betrayal, clung to my tongue.

The ground was cold and unforgiving and pressed into my skin, mirroring the icy grip of despair that clenched my heart.

My soul wasn’t just crying; it was screaming, a silent, gut-wrenching howl trapped within the confines of my shattered being. Memories, raw and visceral, exploded in my mind—a kaleidoscope of stolen moments, vibrant then fading, like a blood-soaked sunset. The humid Tennessee air, thick with the scent of honeysuckle and the ghosts of my brothers’ laughter. The chilling memory of my parents’ deaths, the suffocating weight of their absence. The clubhouse—a haven with its smoky haze and the insistent thrum of bass echoing of my brothers’ laughter.

And then him. Dante.

The first touch of his lips—the electric shock, the sweetness turning to bitter regret. The raw vulnerability of our first time, a sacred memory now defiled. His patience, a balm against my wounds, now a cruel mockery of my stupidity. His understanding, his unwavering love—a beacon extinguished by my own hand. He was my sturdy oak, my refuge in the storm, the steadfast hand that held me upright when the weight of the world threatened to crush me. He’d been my rock, my anchor, my everything... and I’d tossed him aside like a broken toy.

Oh God, forgive me. A burning, bitter taste, accompanied my confession. The stench of my infidelity hung heavier than the Tennessee humidity, a suffocating cloud of self-loathing. That fucking cunt, that vile, insidious bitch—her face, her grin, seared into my retinas.

I’d thrown away a love so profound, so unshakeable, for a moment of... what? Desperation? Weakness? Self-destruction?

I had lost everything.

Not just Dante.

But myself.

The room spun in a chaotic blur as I grappled with the magnitude of my betrayal.

Dante, my steadfast love, my husband, was now a victim of my self-destructive tendencies. I had fallen into her trap, letting her poison my thoughts and cloud my judgment. That bitch, with her serpentine charm and venomous words, had known my weaknesses and exploited them without mercy.

I had been a fool, blinded by my own insecurities, and now I was paying the price. The price of losing Dante, the one person who had seen through my flaws and loved me, regardless. The weight of my actions pressed down on me, suffocating me.

I wanted to scream, to rage against the unfairness of it all, but my voice failed me. I was trapped in my own personal hell, a prisoner of my mistakes. The sweet memories of our love, now tainted, flashed before my eyes—stolen kisses in the moonlight, whispered promises of forever, and the feel of his hand in mine, strong and reassuring. It was all gone now, replaced by the bitter taste of regret.

The cold, damp floor bit into my bare skin as I huddled, like a broken doll, my arms a cage around my shuddering legs. The memories weren’t just rushing; they were a tidal wave, each crashing surge a fresh wound, ripping open the scabs of grief.

My breath hitched, and a ragged sob tore from my throat. “I’m sorry,” I choked out, my words tasting foul. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby.” My last word was a desperate plea lost in the torrent of my tears. The salt stung my raw cheeks, a bitter counterpoint to the taste of blood blooming on my lip.

A hand, rough yet gentle, settled on my shoulder, the warmth a jarring contrast to the icy despair that had claimed me. I looked up, my vision blurry through the haze of tears, into Dante’s eyes—pools of molten fire, flecked with the dark storm clouds of his soul. Those eyes, usually so full of warmth, now held a chilling intensity that sent a shiver down my spine.

“Do you know who I am?” His voice, a low rumble that vibrated through the floor, was edged with something dangerous, something primal.

I nodded, my voice barely a whisper, each syllable a testament to the love that was fracturing before my very eyes. “You... you are my husband. The love of my life.”

And then the inferno.

Dante’s face, usually so sculpted and serene, twisted into a mask of terrifying rage. A fire, not just in his eyes, but emanating from his very core, ignited a hellish conflagration that burned away any trace of the man I loved. He straightened, his full height a looming shadow, before unleashing the storm.

In a blur of motion, faster than any human should be capable of, he moved.

The impact echoed in my ears—a sickening thud that stole the breath from my lungs—as his fist connected with the smug, painted face of that bitch. The sound of cracking bone was brutally clear, a symphony of destruction that left me breathless and horrified, yet strangely, terrifyingly satisfied.

But he wasn’t finished.

Not by a long shot.

Before the guttural scream could even form on her lips, a tremor—a seismic shift in the very air—announced his next action. The man I thought I knew, this polished facade I’d swallowed whole, snaked a hand inside his impeccably tailored jacket. The cool, slick weight of the steel against his palm was palpable, even from across the room. The metallic scent of gun oil, sharp and acrid, cut through the cloying perfume clinging to the air, a brutal counterpoint to the sudden, sickening silence that followed.

Then the shot.

A deafening crack that ripped through the fragile quiet, followed by the sickening thud of her skull meeting the polished wood floor. Her lifeblood blossomed, a crimson stain against the expensive Persian rug, a grotesque mockery of the elegant setting. Carrie, once a desperate and conniving woman, was now just... gone. Reduced to a pool of spreading crimson.

And Dante, the man I knew, the man I thought I knew, stood there, the smoke curling from the barrel of his gun, as a chilling smile played on his lips, a smile that spoke of a darkness far deeper than I could ever have imagined, and it was at that moment I realized the love of my life was the Devil in Disguise.