Page 24 of Pocketful of Us

"What did I tell you? All you have to do is –"

"This room is out of bounds to you!"

Raffaele's furious snarl reverberated through the room, causing me to snap out of my daydream. Those were the first words he had spoken to me in weeks. This was the first time he'd come close enough to speak to me.

The watery mirage I had dreamt up of Sketch slipped away and I snapped my eyes open, feeling genuinely bereft.

Tearful and forlorn, I crawled out of the tent, not realizing that I was still clutching the shawl in my hand.

Raffaele was standing in the doorway when I climbed to my feet.

When his gaze landed on the shawl in my hand, his face took on a shade of anger I'd never seen him wear before. "Where did you get that?"

Confused, I glanced down at the tattered silk and shrugged. "It was in the tent."

His eyes were wild and full of undiluted hatred as he held his hand out. "Give it to me now."

I didn’t think twice about it. Stumbling towards him, I quickly thrust the old shawl into his hands, feeling more frightened of my captor in this moment than any other time I'd been in his company.

There was something very off about him now.

Something very dark.

"I'm sorry." I wasn't sure what I was apologizing for, but it felt like it needed to be said. "I didn’t mean to upset you."

Raffaele snatched the fabric up in his big hand and I watched as a deep shudder rolled through his body. Just like I had, he put it to his nose and inhaled deeply.

"It's gone," he said, voice deathly cold.

"Wh-what's gone?" I managed to whisper.

"Her scent." Fisting the fabric tightly in his hand, he glowered at me. "It's gone." His blue eyes flashed with temper. "It smells ofyounow."

Like a switch had flicked off in his brain, Raffaele lunged for me. Before this moment, he had never put a hand on me, not one finger in all of the weeks I had been at his mercy, but I knew my presence in this room had detonated whatever patience he had for me.

Terror coursed through my veins.

This was bad.

This was so fucking bad.

"It was not enough for your father to take her from me," he roared, gripping me by the scruff of the neck and steering me towards the doorway. "But you had to steal all I had left of her!" I could feel the tension emanating off him in waves as he marched me down the hallway. "That room is a shrine to my wife and son and you sullied it with your presence," he continued to snarl, tightening his grip on my neck. "You had no business stepping foot inside there, Ramona! You had no right to take that from me!"

"I'm sorry," I strangled out, scrambling to keep up with him. "I didn’t mean to… Please don’t hurt me."

"Why do you think I have stayed away all this time?" he demanded, furious, as he kicked a door at the end of the hallway open and marched me inside. "I didn’twantto hurt you." We were in his bedroom, I realized.Oh no. My body coiled tight with terror. "I was trying to be a fair man. I was trying to separate the hatred I feel for your father from my lack of hatred for you." Dragging me further into the room, he kept a death grip on my neck. "I tried to show you the mercy I wish had been shown to my boy, but I cannot do it. My hatred is too strong."

"I’m sorry," I cried, falling to my knees when he roughly shoved me to the floor. Gasping for air, I watched him turn back to lock the door before storming into the adjoining bathroom.

Moments later, the sound of running water filled my ears.

On my hands and knees, I scrambled to my feet, knocking several picture frames off a dressing table as I went.

Ignoring the sound of glass shattering against the marble floor, I rushed for the bedroom door, knowing I could never escape this man, but needing to try anyway.

For Sketch.

For our baby.

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