Page 406 of Rosetti Family New York
The silver coin lies on the table beside him, abandoned for once. That more than anything tells me something has shifted in the night. Seeing it motionless makes my chest tight with anxiety.
"Matteo?" My voice comes out smaller than I intended.
His head snaps up, and the look in his dark eyes confirms my worst fears. Whatever he's about to tell me, it's going to shatter something I thought was already broken.
"Hey, bella." He stands slowly, like he's afraid sudden movements might send me running. "We need to talk."
The words land like ice in my veins. Nothing good ever follows those four words. I wrap my arms around myself, the silk robe suddenly feeling inadequate against the chill spreading through my chest.
"About what?"
He crosses to me in three quick strides, his hands gentle as they frame my face. For a moment, he just looks at me, and I see something that makes my breath catch. Recognition. Like he's seeing pieces of me I didn't even know existed.
"My brother called in the middle of the night," he says quietly. "With information about your parents."
The world tilts. Those words hit me like a physical blow, stealing the breath from my lungs. I grip the silk of his shirt, needing something solid to hold onto.
"My parents?" I repeat stupidly. "What about them? They died in a car accident when I was nine."
The look that crosses his face tells me everything I need to know. Guilt. Rage. Protective fury. And underneath it all, the terrible weight of truth.
"It wasn't an accident," he says simply. "Chase ordered it. He killed them."
Something strange happens when he says it. Instead of shock or disbelief, there's a moment of absolute stillness. Like a puzzle piece clicking into place, filling a void I didn't know was there.
My knees buckle.
Images flash through my mind like fragments of a broken movie: Chase taking my hand at the funeral, his voice so gentle as he explained that my parents had died for business reasons I wouldn't understand. The way he always deflected when I asked questions. How he'd made sure I stayed away from anything that might trigger memories I didn't even know I had.
"No," I whisper, but the word has no conviction behind it. Because somewhere deep inside, past all the years of careful conditioning, a nine-year-old girl is nodding. Finally understanding why she always felt like she was living someone else's life.
"Isabella." His voice is rough with emotion. "I'm so fucking sorry."
The profanity, raw and real, cuts through the polite distance I've been trying to maintain. This is the truth, ugly and devastating, and he's not going to pretty it up for me.
"I need..." I can't finish the sentence. My breath is coming in short gasps, and the room feels like it's shrinking around me. "I can't..."
I bolt for the bathroom.
The marble floor is freezing against my bare feet as I stumble toward the shower. My hands shake as I reach for the faucets, needing the water, needing something to wash away the feeling of everything I thought I knew crumbling around me.
I strip off the robe with clumsy fingers, leaving it in a silk puddle as I step under the spray. The water hits my skin like needles, brutally cold, but I welcome the shock. Let it soakthrough my hair, run down my face, mix with the tears that are finally coming.
The sobs start small, just little hitches in my breathing. But they build and build until they're tearing out of me with devastating force. Full-body, silent-shaking sobs that feel like they're going to turn me inside out.
Chase was all I had. For fourteen years, he was my anchor, my family, my whole world. And it was all built on the blood of the people who should have raised me.
The cold water pounds down on me, and I can't stop shivering. My teeth chatter as the sobs wrack my body, and I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold the pieces together.
I don't hear the bathroom door open over the sound of water hitting stone. Don't notice I'm not alone until I see him through the glass, his dark eyes taking in my collapse with something that looks like physical pain.
"Isabella." His voice is strained, raw.
He doesn't hesitate. The shower door opens and suddenly he's stepping in with me, fully clothed. His white shirt immediately soaks through, clinging to his chest, his jeans heavy with water.
His hands find the shower controls first, and the water temperature shifts from freezing to blissfully warm. Steam immediately begins to rise around us, and the brutal edge of cold that was making me shake starts to ease.
"I've got you," he says simply, and then his arms are around me.
