Loved Wrong

The eighth time I caught Matteo with another woman, it was in the master bedroom of the Falcone penthouse.

I smashed everything on the vanity that could be smashed. Crystal perfume bottles shattered across the floor, and the whole room choked on the smell of roses. The woman fled wrapped in a bedsheet. Matteo didn't even glance at her.

He just opened the nightstand drawer and took out the revolver.

He swung out the cylinder, tipped five bullets into his palm, and left one. A flick of his thumb sent the cylinder spinning. It clicked shut.

Then he pressed the muzzle to his own temple.

"Matteo—"

——

Chapter One (Celia)

He pulled the trigger.

Click.

He tossed the gun onto the bed. His face had gone frighteningly white. He looked up at me the way you'd look at a madwoman.

"Is that enough?"

I stood in the wreckage with a shard of glass in my fist, and for a moment I couldn't say a word.

Ten years. It had always been like this between us.

The worst time, I looped the pin of a grenade around my finger and that woman's, and made him choose. He didn't say a thing. He turned, slid open the door of a helicopter, and hung by one hand over the Chicago River, smiling. "Still want me to choose?"

Neither of us would ever let go first. We both used our own lives as chips.

But tonight, his eyes were different.

"Leave Ivy alone." His voice was rough. "She's not like us."

"If you need to take it out on someone, take it out on me. This time, I'll take it."

I stared at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

The corner of his mouth lifted. The smile didn't come anywhere near his eyes.

"It means I fold. Isn't that what you've always wanted?"

Yes. He folded.

And I knew exactly who he'd folded for.

In that moment, the last ten years looked like a game of cards where I was the only one who'd ever thought the stakes were real. I was suddenly so tired I could barely hold on to the glass.

I thought, Enough.

Let him go. Let myself go.

The shard slipped through my fingers and opened my palm. Blood ran down my wrist.

A familiar flicker of irritation crossed Matteo's face. Here we go again. That was what he was thinking. I'd have bet my life on it.

He crossed the room, grabbed my arm, dragged me into the bathroom, and turned the cold water on full.

Ice water poured over my head. I shuddered and shoved at him in a panic.

"Matteo, I'm pregn—"

"Shut up."

He pinned my wrists to the tile and stared down at me with nothing in his eyes but disgust.

"Last month you drugged my drink. Wasn't this the whole point? I slept with you. What more do you want?"

I went cold all over. I couldn't tell if it was the water or the words.

I don't know where the strength came from. I tore free and started throwing whatever my hands could reach.

"Get out! Get out of here!"

He didn't duck. A bottle of shampoo split his forehead, and he just wiped the blood away with the back of his hand.

At the door he stopped, his back to me.

"The videos you had your people take. I've recovered all of them. They're on the desk in the study. Every account of mine you've been digging into for the last two years is on the flash drive. Hand it to the FBI or mail it to my rivals. Your call."

He'd laid out in front of me every single thing that could destroy him.

Because compared to me going after Ivy, he could survive all of it.

He was guarding himself against me.

I laughed until tears came. "Matteo, then why don't you just divorce me?"

He looked at me like I'd told a joke. "Would you sign?"

"Celia, I got stuck with you for life. I've made my peace with it."

"All I'm asking is that you leave her alone."

The door slammed.

It was the third time I'd heard Matteo beg.

The first time, we were eighteen. He knelt in the Falcone family's private chapel while his father took a belt to him for three days, until there wasn't an unbroken inch of skin on his back. He spat out a mouthful of blood, raised his head, and said, "I'm marrying the Moretti girl. Throw me out of the family or kill me. Those are your choices."

The second time was after we lost our first baby. I was standing at the edge of the roof. He was the one who ran up and pulled me back into his arms. He was shaking all over. "Please don't leave me. If you go, I go with you."

And this time, he was begging me to let him go.

For another woman.

I sat in the freezing water and fumbled for my phone with shaking hands, meaning to call a doctor for my hand. I hit the wrong button. It dialed my emergency contact.

Matteo.

I assumed he'd hang up like he always did.

Instead, the call connected. I heard water running, and then a soft female voice.

"Matteo, you'll catch a cold in a cold shower... Want me to help?"

Ivy.

Then Matteo's voice, low:

"No. I'm afraid of hurting you. Or our baby."

Our baby.

Ivy gave a small laugh, like she wanted someone else to hear it.

"Then why don't you go back to Celia?"

I didn't wait for his answer. I hung up.

The bathroom was silent except for the water.

I looked down and pressed my hand flat against my stomach. There was a baby in there, just four months along. The one thing left between us, from the night I drugged him.

The doctor had told me my body would have a hard time getting pregnant again. This might be the last chance.

I'd been naïve enough to believe that with this baby, maybe we could go back to the way we were.

Looking back, it was laughable.

I braced myself on the edge of the tub, stood, dried my hands, and texted my lawyer:

Draft divorce papers. I want them by tomorrow morning.

When it was sent, I put my hand back on my stomach.

I was keeping the baby.

But its father, I was done with.

I wasn't playing this game with him anymore.