Page 79 of The Beast's Broken Beauty

His words hit me and images of the auction, of those months stuck in my jail, of those years longing for him only to be burned by him float back to my mind. "I've had a lot of time to think," I tell him "Sleepless nights wondering about our pasts. What's the one thing that could have changed our present?"

Antonio's laugh is dry, but I hear the pain behind it. It's a sound I know too well, the sound of regret and what-ifs. Even Cerberus picks up on it, lifting his head for a moment before deciding we're not going anywhere and flopping back down.

I watch Antonio, this man who's hurt me, saved me, confused me. And I realize, with a clarity that takes my breath away, that our dance isn't over yet. It's just changing tempo.

As if sensing my realization, Antonio breaks the silence. "And...?" he asks, his voice strained. His eyes search mine, desperate for answers. It's like he thinks I'm holding the key to his redemption in my hands.

I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of his gaze. "And I don't know. We can't know. But I wonder if without that thirst for revenge, you wouldn't have disappeared."

Antonio flinches at my words, a muscle ticking in his jaw. His hand tightens on mine, almost painfully. But then he brings my wrist to his lips, kissing it so softly that my heart does a little forgotten pirouette in my chest.

"The Antonio I knew," I continue, my voice wavering slightly, "the one who played the piano for me, who was trying so hard to be liked by my father... he's still there."

His eyes close at my words, pain etched across his features. When he opens them again, there's a vulnerability there that takes my breath away. His lips brush my knuckles, lingering on my wedding ring. The touch sends shivers down my spine, reminding me of all the ways he can unravel me.

"But he's no longer bound to trying so hard he forgets himself," I murmur, barely audible over the crashing waves.

Antonio's breath catches, his body tensing beside me. For a moment, I think he might pull away. Instead, he leans in, resting his forehead against mine. The gesture is so intimate, so raw, that it makes my chest ache.

"But what if I still would burn the world for you?" Antonio whispers, his voice raw. "Scorch everything not to hurt you, but to make sure you're safe? What if I still hate myself for what I've done to you? There aren't enough sorrys, not enough roses, not enough time..."

I've waited so long to hear him say these things, and now that he has, I'm not sure how to react.

I struggle to swallow past the lump in my throat. "You need to let me go," I manage, my voice barely above a whisper. "You need to believe me when I say I'll be back. I'm not the only reason you're who you are."

Antonio leans back slightly, his eyes searching mine. "It's dangerous. Your mother... the Greeks." He pauses, and I can see the internal battle raging behind his eyes. "You're strong. You're you..."

"You didn't break me," I say, surprised by the steel in my own voice. "Not totally. And you tried your hardest. They won't break me either."

"They could make you whole," he says, and the pain in his voice makes my entire body ache. “I know Alexandros is dreaming about it.” His jaw clenches.

"They won't," I insist, grabbing his hand. "Antonio, my Beast, my husband, listen to me again. I'll be back."

He inhales deeply, and I can almost see the gears turning in his mind. "I'm thinking about having Franco go with you. And I need three days. Three days to make sure I have what I need inplace. A team in Greece, including a doctor for you. A secure way to communicate."

And just like that, I know. I know with a certainty that he's going to let me go. The realization sends my heart fluttering in my chest, like standing on the edge of a stage, ready to perform the most important dance of my life.

"Okay," I breathe, hardly daring to believe it. "Okay."

Chapter forty-six

Antonio

Twofuckingdaysgone,and I'm nowhere near done. Time's slipping through my fingers like blood, and there's not enough of it in this godforsaken world to keep Bella safe. Not by a long shot.

The punching bag swings wildly as I lay into it, each hit reverberating through my bones. My knuckles scream beneath the wrap, blood seeping through the fabric, but I don't give a shit.

Sweat pours down my back, soaking my shirt, the salt stinging the fresh cuts on my hands. The sea salt air doesn’t do anything to calm my thumping heart in this room that’s more open air than any other place in this fortress.

"Listen Boss, I got it under control," Franco says, his voice barely audible over the thunderous pounding of my fists.

I bark out a laugh, harsh and humorless. "It's not enough," I snarl, slamming my fist into the leather again. The impact joltsup my arm, a welcome distraction from the storm raging in my head. If I don't get this rage out here, those Greek assholes are going to be picking their teeth out of orbit.

Franco holds the bag steady, his face a mask of calm that only pisses me off more. "We've got a team there. I've got a list of ways to contact you. And that doc in Greece? He owes you more than his life. He owes you his family's life. Remember how the Fixer found 'em before Isabella’s father could?"

I pause, chest heaving, and let the memory wash over me. Rafe, the Fixer, his efficiency helped me more than once. The satisfaction of watching the Moretti's plans crumble, of keeping my word and setting Rafe's sister free. For a moment, I can almost taste the whiskey we drank that night, feel the weight of gratitude in Rafe's handshake.

He's in some small-town in the US now. We keep tab on each other. He knows he can ask for my help. Anytime.

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