Page 117 of Gamble with Me

“Let it be, my love,” I pleaded, trying to defuse him. He was a ticking bomb.

“Answer the fucking question,” he commanded with such a menace that if I didn’t know he would never hurt me, I would be hidden under the bed. “Who did this to you?”

“Chester,” I breathed. It was pointless to hide the answer when it hung between us like a sword.

“When?"

“A day before your birthday party." My voice was barely above a whisper. His deadly expression sucked the air out of my lungs.

"Are you fucking serious?" he hissed. "Why didn't you call me?”

“How could I?" The helplessness in my tone was palpable. "I didn't know that you and Zerafin were the same person, but I knew you were both crazy enough to kill Chester.”

“And?” He raised a brow as if it was completely normal to solve his problems with murder.

“You can’t run around killing people, Zyon!” I yelled, trying to get him to understand my point, but it felt like how it might feel to want a deaf person to appreciate Mozart.

“Can't I?” He smirked deviously.

“Oh, stop with this mafia bullshit!“ I shook my head angrily, which seemed to infuriate him even more.

"Or what?" he barked. "Will you stand in the way of the bullet?"

I exhaled heavily, overcoming an urge to roll my eyes at him. I understood he was angry, but this argument was absurd and absolutely unnecessary.

“Why are you acting like this, Zyon?” I asked, keeping my voice down because we were getting out of control.

“Because I could've taken you from him!" he retorted, his black eyes burning with madness. "If you just said the word!”

“Chester threatened to take my daughter away from me and to kill you if I asked you for help," I revealed, trying to explain my actions. If he just listened for a moment. "I couldn´t risk it. He has my sealed psychiatric records. I had to choose between life with Zara and my freedom. And don't forget, Mr. Mafia, that you were the one who hid your face from me in the first place.”

“To protect you!" Zyon shouted, surprising me with how much strength anger could fuel into an injured body. "To protect my family and people dependent on me! But knowing that fucker is beating you, I wouldn't have hesitated to throw common sense, safety, and business relationships out the window. I would have destroyed all ties with Italians. I would have gone to the war with them because of you without blinking!”

“Exactly,” I whispered. “You would’ve sacrificed innocent lives for me.”

“My people know what they signed up for, Valeria." He ran his hand through his tousled hair, shaking his head. "You had no right to conceal this from me.”

“You have no right to play god and murder people as you wish, and you're doing it anyway," I countered, holding his stern look. "What’s the difference between us?”

“It’s my job to protect you," he answered as if those words were carved in stone. "Whether you like it or not, you're mine. And I take care of what is mine. It was the last time you keep something so important from me.”

“Or what?” I challenged.

“Or you’ll discover the nastiest parts of me, Valeria," he replied, suddenly icily calm. It freaked me out slightly how quickly he changed from an enraged beast into a cold-blooded man. Only his scorching look showed his true feelings.

"Believe me, you won't be happy to meet the insanity that is buried deep within me, the crazy possessiveness that will tie you to the chair and won't allow you to go anywhere, or the raging temper that shoots first and asks questions later." His hand lifted, his fingers tenderly brushing the welt on my face. "Remember my words, Valeria. I won't repeat myself. You and Zara are mine. Whoever touches you is dead." My heart missed a beat at the intensity of his gaze and the severity of the promise in his voice. "I don't play God. In my world, I am God, and you're my heart, my love, my everything. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

“Can't you just buy me flowers and tell me you love me?” I asked in a hushed voice, drunk in the possessiveness and dominance he radiated.

"No," he whispered, taking my chin between his index finger and thumb. "It's not my style."

"Fine," I sighed, remembering too vividly the romantic gesture he hung before my window. "But first, you need to rest."

“I need to make you a widow, Valeria,” he replied, breaking the spell he had put me under. A gasp flew from my lips when he threw the duvet away. "I’m not wasting any more time.”

“What?” My voice jumped an octave, and my eyes widened as he slowly rose to his feet. “Where are you going?”

“I have work to do,” he replied, holding the freshly sewn wound. He must have been in extreme agony, but his stubbornness won.