Page 28 of The Sicilian Billionaire's Disposable Wife

And when the door opened, and Dario suddenly joined her in the backseat—

It was too late.

She tried.

She really tried.

Just like how she had once beat Porter to reaching his phone out of sheer desperation, she was now doing it again, throwing herself toward the opposite door, fingers scrambling for the handle, because she needed out, she needed away—

She didn't care how.

She would throw herself into the highway if that was what it took.

She just wanted to leave.

But she couldn't.

Because Dario was no Porter. Even though he was taller and built like a wall, he was faster than either Porter or her, and he had already caught hold of her wrist before she could reach the handle—

"Drive."

Just one word to the driver, and the limo resumed its journey, and it was the last nail to her coffin. She was trapped in a moving car with the man who had just destroyed her after once promising he would never hurt her.

"I'm sorry."

She couldn't understand where the rawness in his voice was coming from. Didn't know what he was even saying sorry for. All she knew was that she was crying harder than ever, so hard her chest was heaving and her breath was coming in awful, gulping sobs that she couldn't control—

Dario saw his wife’s face start to crumple, and he could no longer control himself.

He hauled her into his arms and didn’t let go even as she fought to free herself. Her fists hit his chest, his shoulders, anywhere she could reach. She pushed and twisted and tried to wrench herself away, and he took every hit without flinching, without loosening his grip, without making a single sound.

Because he would never let her go.

Never.

"I'm so sorry," he said hoarsely. "I had it all wrong. I thought you believed him. And I thought you were coming back to leave me."

But his wife only cried harder and kept beating his chest with her fists, and every blow landed like something he deserved, and he held on.

"I couldn't bear hearing you tell me you believed all the things he said." His arms tightened around her shaking body. "So I decided to hurt you before you could hurt me."

And still she didn't say a word.

"Per favore, cara."

Which caused him such desperation and terror that he found himself forgetting his English entirely—

"Perdonami." Forgive me. "Per favo—"

"Just let me go."

Agonizing regret ravaged him at the way his wife said the words so brokenly. Like something inside her had been snapped in half and she was holding the two pieces and didn't know what to do with them.

"P-Please."

The way he had her begging.

It broke him, too, but the moment he loosened his hold on her, it was as if she couldn't move fast enough, couldn't get far enough away from him. She scrambled across the backseat to the opposite row, pressing herself against the far door, her arms wrapped around her body as if that was all that was keeping her together.