Page 21 of Pretty Pink Poison
When I turned to look at him, my stomach did another flip.Tall and broad-shouldered, with that perfect jawline that could cut glass. His dark hair, always a little messy but somehow perfect, fell just over his forehead in a way that made him look both dangerous and untouchable. The tattoos on his arms peeked from under his sleeves, and though I’d seen them a thousand times, they never lost their impact.
And though I’d stared into those icy blue eyes time and time again, they still stole my breath as they caught my gaze, like they were piercing quickly through all my shit. A million words unsaid passed between us. I couldn’t breathe during that silent conversation, couldn’t look away, couldn’t fathom getting through it. I saw how he read my every thought, how heconsidered why I’d closed him off these past couple months, why I hadn’t let him into my room.
It was at that moment, I saw the trust we had between one another drain from his gaze.
His hand dropped away, and I realized then I lost him before I even got a chance to explain.
The ache in my chest and the one in my womb amplified simultaneously, like some cruel symphony.
“No one here then? I want to be sure before I ask everyone else at the party,” my dad prompted again. It was like a ripple effect, growing louder and more insistent.
The Russians, the Italians, the Irish, the cartels—they all had their hands in the syndicate’s deals, from money laundering to smuggling and the occasionalother businessthat was less than legal. I had been raised to care only about this world. My parents had made sure of it.
The Diamond Syndicate wasn’t just about keeping the glittering façade of wealth—it was about real power. We did business with the Russian oligarchs, cutting deals on everything from black-market tech to smuggling rings. The Italians? Well, their operations were in extortion, money laundering, and, occasionally, a littlefamily businesson the side. The Irish, cartels, even the damn government. And here we were, all gathered in this plush study like we were putting the finishing touches on some high-profile deal. Except, instead of talking stock prices, we were talking aboutme.
I caught my mother’s eye again, but there was nothing there. No sympathy, no apology. Just the same old void. She wasn’t going to speak up.
I sighed before I straightened my spine and said, “Father, please.” I tried to stop the trajectory of the evening. “Let’s talk about this at a later time.”
“Bianca, Icouldask you at a later time,” my dad replied, his bushy eyebrows slamming down, “but you’ve already asked your mother to keep it from me. So help me God, if it isn’t a man in this room… if it’s not Rafe—”
As if on cue, Rafe stepped forward. “Stefano, forgive me.” He took a moment to rub his finger across his bottom lip. “We’ve known we were to be married since we were kids,” he announced with the kind of certainty that only someone who practiced a line in front of the mirror could muster. He placed his hand on my shoulder, just like we were a perfectly happy couple in a perfectly functional world. “She’s beautiful, and inhibitions had been lost over her birthday weekend. When we woke the next morning, well, we thought it was best to keep it quiet. Right?”
He dragged out the word and looked to me with a brow lifted. He wanted me to chime in now? I was just supposed to corroborate and accept it. Accept what he’d just confessed to everyone in that room.
They didn’t know the night, didn’t know I’d been barely coherent or that he’d masked up to impersonate his brother. Yet, I’d been a part of it. I’d been in his room. I’d let him that close after drinking so much, and now I was just supposed to take it. I was a Diamond after all. “Right.”
The room felt like it exhaled. The tension eased, just a bit. But the twisting in my gut intensified. Rafe’s words were met with nods and murmurs of approval. Our families seemed satisfied with his claim and turned away as if my father’s outburst was way too ridiculous. To them, I’d been promised to Rafe, and he could do what he wanted with me either way. The math was simple.
But Bane …
I caught it—the smallest flinch, the tightness in his jaw, the flicker of something deeper in his eyes.
And my little stupid heart shattered more than it had even after the night of my birthday because more than worrying about what had transpired that night, I’d been worried about what he’d think of me.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His silence spoke louder than any words ever could. And I knew he would carry that betrayal with him forever, believing that I had gone to his brother over him. Even though I hadn’t. Even though it wasn’t what it looked like.
But it didn’t matter now.
And of course, Rafe didn’t care. To most men of the syndicate, of the mob, of cartels women were disposable anyway. Plus Rafe was never faithful. He’d made it known time and time again we were both to play around before marriage anyway. Commitment wasn’t a word a future Don would live by.
And maybe, to him, I’d always been the girl he could fuck even if I was passed out in his bed.
“I realize we should have followed etiquette, but testing the waters every now and then is healthier than not, right? Especially considering howcloseour families will be once we marry.”
Maybe I should have seen it that way too, but I didn’t. Not when I’d woke in his bed broken. He’d taken advantage of me and now every single person in that room was nodding like it was allowed, like it was acceptable.
I shrugged his hand off my shoulder, not wanting to make him feel as though I’d ever accept it again. I’d already avoided the Blacks for weeks after that night. I’d kept the situation to myself. I’d made up a whole damn plan to run away with my baby.
Maybe they’d make a movie about me—young mother escapes the confines of her hellish family and raises a perfect baby on her own.
That was until the miscarriage started.
My father went to his cabinet for whiskey. When he turned to Rafe and his family, he held up the decanter, “Who needs a drink?”
Their mother immediately declined, but Mr. Black was quick to take my father up on the offer. “Seems our children have caused quite a stir tonight.” Not my father. Us. Somehow, we were to blame. “Guessing it means we need to rush a wedding along?”
“What?” Rafe recoiled as his father’s words sank in. Then he looked at me in bewilderment, “Are you pregnant?”
