Page 118 of Unholy Union
I jab the button to reopen the doors, my pulse thundering in my ears.
But Cato’s hand moves faster.
He hits the close button, and the elevator jolts as it begins its descent. My chest squeezes with panic. I turn to press the button a third time, but his hand shoots out and clamps around my wrist.
“Don’t touch me!” I shout, wrenching it back like he’s burned me.
“I’ll touch you if I want. You’re my wife.”
I laugh in his face. “I’m not your wife. Face it, Cato. We’ve been acting this entire time. This marriage was never real. It was a fucking sham from the start.”
My voice cracks at the end, the truth carving fissures into my pride.
“Didn’t you and your father plan it that way?” I demand, glaring at him.
His lips twitch into a dark, unapologetic grin. “You have no clue what you’re talking about.”
The elevator dings as we finally reach the ground floor, the doors gliding open to lobby. It’s a wide open space with high ceilings, panoramic windows, and polished granite, filled with distant clatter of footsteps and the low murmur of passersby.
I bolt as soon as the path’s clear, taking off toward the revolving glass doors.
“Sabrina!” Cato calls after me. “You don’t know what’s going on.”
“Fuck off!” I snap, turning back toward him. “Iknowwhat I’m talking about, because I know what you did!”
We’re garnering stares in the lobby as people take notice of the argument. Heads swivel in our direction, like they’re aware of the car crash they’re watching in real time.
Cato storms toward me, his jaw clenched so tight he might grind his teeth to dust. “Sabrina?—”
“Don’t!” I set off again, slipping through the tall revolving doors that lead out of the building.
The scorching July air hits me instantly, signaling we’re already in the thick of summer.
The street outside the headquarters building for Corsini Construction is busy to put it mildly. Horns blare from the bumper-to-bumper traffic while jackhammers rattle away from the construction site across the street. Pedestrians shoulder past me like I’m any other obstacle in their daily commute.
But I’m too pissed to even give a damn about anything other than making sure Cato Valente understands where we stand.
We’re done.I’mdone.
“I’m going home. My real home,” I spit over my shoulder. “I’m done with this whole farce of a marriage. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
“The hell there isn’t,” Cato says. “You’re my wife, Sabrina. Your home is with me.”
I whirl around to face him again, my blood boiling as the chaotic street roars around us. But things are so toxic between us, we’re matching the energy.
“Don’t youdarecall me that,” I hiss. “You don’t get to claim me like that anymore.”
He steps forward again, his hand gripping my arm. “There are too many people around. Just come with me before?—”
“I told you not to touch me!” I shout, yanking my arm free so violently I nearly lose my balance.
Cato sighs, dragging a hand down his face, the muscles in his neck straining. Beside him, Lazaro looks equally as frustrated.
“This is causing a scene,” he warns. “This is a public street. We need to get off it.”
Cato turns on him. “Then get the fucking car and bring it around.Now.”
Lazaro hesitates a beat, then nods and disappears into the crowd.
