Page 98 of Stolen By the Don

She knew he was dead. I didn’t even have to tell her.

“Yeah,” I confirm quietly. “He’s gone.”

“Come,” she says, taking my hand and, for the first time, taking the lead without a stumble in her step. I let her lead me to the couch, where she brings me into her embrace, guiding her head to my chest. “Thank you.” She kisses my hair. “For saving me.”

“No,” I refute gently, lifting my head. “I didn’t save you. It was revenge. He said that if I killed him, you’d die too. And I killed him because he spoke about my father.”

I allowed my rage to take over. Not because it was the only way to protect Isabella, but for selfish reasons. The reality of my action slams into my chest like a freight train, and the truth has me pulling away in guilt. “I—” I shake my head. “I almost had you killed.”

“But you didn’t.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I rasp. “You protected yourself, Isabella. I took every form of defense that I could trust with me, underestimating the danger I exposed you to.”

Oh.

Oh.

It was all for me. Leaving when I got the call, even though I knew something was wrong with her. Taking that shot without hesitation…I was thinking about myself.

“Roman?” She calls my name as her brows furrow.

I might not be as despicable as Marco was, but I’m not good for her either. Not good for her loving gaze and her forgiving arms. I might promise the world, but when it comes down to it, I’m no better than the lessons my father instilled in me.

“It’s over,” I say flatly.

“What’s over?”

“This,” I explain, turning away from her. “Us.”

“What do you mean?” Her voice rings with impatience as she steps in front of me, not willing to be dismissed. “You can’t just sayuslike it’s a contract you’re voiding. We’re married.”

My jaw grinds so hard it almost shatters, and my fingernails dig into my skin. “I can,” I say coldly. “Because you were part of a revenge plan. Now that it’s over, I have no need for you.

She stares, blinking like I slapped her. “Of course,” I add, my voice now deliberately cruel, “I’ll provide for the child. As much as you need.”

“Stop,” she says, voice cracking. “That’s impossible. You can’t say that and expect me to believe it. You don’t get to push me away like this.”

“You should,” I reply quietly. “You should remember who I am, Isabella. A brute,” I say, reminding her ofherwords.“Ruthless. Cruel. Whatever you saw the past couple weeks was all a lie.”

She folds her arms. “It’s a lie. I refuse to believe it.”

I see. “Then I’ll tell you this.”Don’t. Don’t say it, Roman.“Your father killed your mother. I knew about it, and I hid it from you.”

That does it.

I twist the knife so hard it brings a gasp from her lips. Isabella staggers back. “No.” She shakes her head, tears streaming down her face. “You’re just saying that to hurt me. You’re lying.”

Yes, I am.I want to take back my words, but this is the only way I know to stop myself from hurting her any further. She’ll get overme. It might take a while, but I’ll become a memory. She’ll meet someone else and live the life she dreamed of as a child.

And I?—

I’ll carry the memories and the guilt for as long as I breathe.

EPILOGUE

ISABELLA

Two Weeks Later

---