Page 118 of The Butcher's Wife

I’m so fucking sick of being patient.

They took my sister.

They tried to take my brother.

The Chiarellis want me so badly? They can have me, but I’m not waiting anymore. If I can take Marco or their mom with me, that’s one less person to go after the people I love.

The wheel locks. Power steering is engaged.

I’m out of time.

I push the car as far as I can, as if, through sheer force of will, I could drag it through the last leg of the trip. But my will must not be strong enough, because slowly, the SUV grinds to a stop. I guide it to the shoulder of the road at the last possible second and lean my head back against the back of the driver’s seat.

When the front door opens, letting in a rush of cool air and misty rain, I don’t react. I let my eyes fall shut. Exhaustion weighs down my shoulders. “You caught me.”

“I’ll always catch you,reginetta.” It feels like I haven’t been called that name in years.

“I was going ten over the speed limit.”

“I was going twenty.”

I blow out a stream of air and blink my eyes open.

Dom is wearing the same black suit from the party, but his hair is bound tightly in a bun. Even now, with a deep sense of unfairness sweeping through me, I itch to pull out his ponytail and bury my face in his hair. The suit strains against his broad, muscled chest as he shifts to lean one arm along the hood of the car.

“How far you plan to go with this?” His gaze flicks to the gun and knife in the cupholders before returning to me.

“As far as I could.”

He makes atsksound. “Then this is it. It’s time to come home.”

I don’t move. “I’m just going to try again.”

I can’t keep waiting in the penthouse for someone to kill me or hurt my family. I have to dosomething.

Dom cups my cheek and guides my face toward him with his big, rough hands. “I thought we were supposed to kiss before one of us leaves.”

My lower lip trembles. “I told Marisol to tell you?—”

“Marisol isn’t my fucking wife. You were supposed to tell me. I thought we were supposed to trust each other. You know, at the hospital, I was planning on doing the same thing you’re doing now.”

Wild panic thrashes in my chest. Dom’s never been to the Chiarelli homes. He doesn’t know where the guards willbe, where the secret hiding places are. He’d get himself killed.

He must see it in my face because he laughs. “Not so fun, is it? Imagining your partner dying under horrific torture because you didn’t sacrifice yourself first. You want to know why I didn’t? Because of you. I thought I needed to stay because I knew no one would protect you or take care of you like I would. I thought I was making the right choice, but you’d already left.”

A lump of emotion wedges in my throat as I meet his gaze. “I can’t keep putting my safety above my family’s. I’m just one?—”

His eyes flash with anger. “You are notjustanything. You are Annetta fucking Lombardi. You are my fucking wife. And you don’t get to decide to get yourself killed for anyone.”

“I’m not any more important than?—”

Dom snatches my shoulder and shakes me. “You are more important thaneveryone!”

He dives into the car, grabbing the back of my head, and presses our foreheads together. “If you’d done this, I would’ve killed everyone. The Chiarellis, your family, Salvatore.” His breath burns against my lips. “They’d have to put me down like a rabid dog. No one would’ve been safe. Don’t you ever forget the level of petty, ruthless cruelty I’m capable of.”

I suck in a breath and, at the same time, he crushes a kiss to my lips, lashing his tongue against mine. I wrap my arms around his neck and drive my nails into his scalp and let my anger pour into him.

When he finally pulls away, we’re both heaving.