Page 65 of The Scars We Keep
“Deal,” I say.
Lorenzo nods once, then extends his hand.I grasp it firmly.
For now, the deal stands, and we are allies.At least until one of us decides we are not.
Chapter Fifteen
Isabella
Rainalwaysknowswhento show up.That may sound dramatic as shit, but I don’t care.It starts just after noon, quiet at first, a soft tapping against the bedroom window that slips beneath my skin and smooths out the noise in my head.Then it builds, as it always does.By the time I cross the room and stop in front of the glass, the sky has opened wide and bled itself empty over the estate.
Sheets of rain pour over the gardens in thick streaks across the hedges and the stone balustrade, turning the world beyond the window into a blur of bruised gray and drowning green.The sky looks battered, swollen with clouds, blackened at the edges, as though even Mother Nature reaches a point where she cannot hold her shit together for another second and has to let it all fall.
I stand with my arms folded tightly over my chest and just breathe.
This room still smells of Lorenzo.
That’s why I am in here.His scent clings to everything.To the sheets tangled at the foot of the bed.To the pillow beside mine.I can still feel the ghost of him in the heat he left behind.In the dangerous comfort of knowing that when he is in this room, it no longer feels so fucking cold.
I press my fingertips against the cool glass and watch another violent stream of water race down the pane.
I don’t know when he’s coming back.
Tonight.Tomorrow.Three days from now.Maybe even longer.
No matter how cold Lorenzo tries to act, I see the truth hiding beneath all that control.The weight in his eyes.The tension pulled taut through his body.He doesn’t know if he can kill Matteo.Killing an enemy is easy, but killing your own blood is a different kind of violence.And something tells me Lorenzo knows that if he puts a bullet in Matteo’s head, it will take a piece of himself with it.
I close my eyes for a second and listen to the rain hammer harder against the glass, each hit sharp enough to sound personal.When I open them again, my gaze drifts to the garden below.
The roses bow beneath the weight of the water, their heads hanging as if even beauty grows tired of holding itself upright on this estate.The hedges have deepened to a darker, richer green, soaked through until they look almost black at the base.The marble glistens under the storm, slick, cold, and far too clean for a place built on blood.Everything outside shines with that polished kind of ruin, the sort that looks beautiful from a distance until you get close enough to see the cracks.
A knock sounds at the bedroom door.
I don’t turn around right away.“What?”
The door opens only a fraction, and Rafe steps into the doorway.
He doesn’t come in, just stands there at the threshold.His expression is carved from stone, the sort of face that never gives a single fucking thing away.He is one of Lorenzo’s quieter men, which only makes him more dangerous than the loud bastards swaggering around downstairs.Men who talk too much usually need the noise.Men such as Rafe do not.Silence is enough when everyone already knows what you are capable of.
“Mrs.De Luca.”
The title still catches in my ribs no matter how many times I hear it.
“What is it?”
Rafe hesitates.
It is no more than half a second, maybe less, but it is enough for dread to slide its cold fingers down my spine.Enough for my body to go still, as prey does when the forest suddenly falls quiet.
“You have a visitor.”
I step forward, already knowing there is not a single version of that sentence I will enjoy.
“Who?”
“Your brother.”
The room goes cold around me.
