Page 59 of Hunted to the Altar
I still wanted and needed him.
And I hated myself for it.
The realization settled in my chest like lead. Heavy. Permanent. Unforgiving.
Tears slid silently down my cheeks, but I made no sound. He had won. And somewhere, deep inside the parts of me I didn’t dare to examine, I knew that I had never truly stood a chance.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Samuel
I satin the living room, my elbows resting on my knees, watching as the doctor—Antonio Caputo, my cousin, and one of the famiglia’s most trusted physicians—carefully examined Nina’s leg.
Antonio’s sharp features and piercing green eyes were a stark contrast to the brutal world we inhabited. He was calm, methodical, and disgustingly handsome, always immaculately dressed even while patching up bullet wounds or setting broken bones. His white button-up shirt and tailored slacks looked out of place against the grim backdrop of this moment. His arrival from Italy had been unexpected but necessary. The Picone threat wasn’t confined to borders, and Antonio’s presence was a reminder of just how far this war stretched.
Nina refused to look at me, her jaw tight, her hands clenched into fists against the armrests of the wheelchair I had brought in for her. Her silence wasn’t peace; it was rage simmering underthe surface, ready to boil over. Every inch of her was taut, her shoulders stiff with unspoken fury. The fire in her eyes, even when she tried to avoid mine, scorched me in ways I hadn’t expected. She was a storm in fragile flesh, but I knew that beneath her fury was a foundation I had fractured.
Because when her rage finally waned, she would ultimately see this act as betrayal. True betrayal.
If I were a better man, I would let Nina go, especially after this.
But I was not a better man. I had never been her hero. Only her villain.
Antonio glanced at me briefly before straightening. “The fracture is clean. She’ll heal with time and physical therapy, but she needs rest. No weight on her leg for at least eight weeks.” His tone was professional, but there was a flicker of judgment in his eyes—a silent rebuke he didn’t dare voice.
I nodded curtly, barely hearing the words. My eyes were on Nina. She still refused to meet my gaze, her lip trembling with the effort of holding herself together. Antonio packed his bag, but as he moved toward the door, he paused, his hand on the frame.
“Samuel,” he said quietly, his voice low enough that Nina wouldn’t hear. “You’re walking a dangerous line. Be careful you don’t break something that can’t be fixed.”
I didn’t respond. I didn’t need to. Antonio’s warnings were unnecessary. I wasn’t worried about breaking Nina; I was worried about the pieces of myself that might shatter.
Antonio gave me one last look—a mix of pity and disappointment—before continuing. “And Samuel…maybe it’s time to consider coming back to Italy. The Picones aren’t afraid of borders. You’re stronger at home.”
“This is home now,” I replied, my tone leaving no room for argument.
Antonio sighed, shaking his head. “Don Caputo will want tohear about this. Your rebellion and…attachment are risks. You’re not seeing clearly. But I’ll make my report.” He cast one last glance at Nina before leaving the room. The soft click of the door reverberated through the tension in the room. The silence that followed was deafening.
Nina’s hands tightened on the wheelchair’s armrests, the creak of the leather faint but telling. Her knuckles were pale from the pressure, and her lips pressed into a thin, trembling line.
“You’re going to make a full recovery,” I said, my voice low, measured. “I’ve arranged for the best care.”
She snapped her head toward me, her eyes blazing with fury. “The best care?” Her voice was sharp, venomous. “I’m pregnant. And you shot my kneecap, Samuel! Do you think a wheelchair and a doctor make up for that?”
I could’ve cut them off; she should be grateful.
The venom in her tone cut through me, a sharper pain than any physical blow I’d ever endured. I had expected anger, but the depth of her hatred was like a dagger twisting in my chest. Still, I couldn’t falter. My resolve was the only thing keeping her and the child she carried safe, whether she understood it or not.
I flinched internally, but my exterior remained calm. Instead of answering her, I leaned back in my chair, draping an arm over the backrest. I couldn’t give her an opening. Not now.
“It was necessary,” I said simply, my tone as cold and unyielding as steel.
Her laugh was harsh, and it echoed in the cavernous room like a warning. “Necessary? You’re insane.”
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, pinning her with a stare that had broken men twice her size. “I’m keeping you safe,” I countered, my voice low and hard. “If I’d let you run, you would have been caught. Killed. Is that what you wanted?”
Her face twisted, a mixture of pain and resistance. “Anything would be better than being your prisoner.”
The words hit like a punch to the gut, but I didn’t let it show. I rose from the chair, my movements slow and deliberate. The tension between us thickened, coiling like a living thing. I walked to the window, gripping the edge of the sill so tightly my knuckles turned white.
