Page 10 of The Lies We Tell

He’d missed this place and these people every single day he’d been away from them. In seven years, he’d never settled anywhere very long until Dublin. And even Dublin, as vibrant and busy as it was, couldn’t hold a candle to Italy. To Sicily.

And yet nothing was as he wanted it to be. Some wounds were too deep to be healed. But if he couldn’t give them unity, he would give them strength and power. And getting rid of Drago would bring them one step closer.

Chapter Four

She gave up on sleep in the hour just before dawn, sliding out of bed and pulling a robe on over her pajamas. Stuffing her feet into slippers, she crossed to the balcony doors and threw them open to a blast of frigid air.

Her breath fanned out from her lips in white puffs, and goosebumps pebbled her chest and forearms, but any lingering fogginess dissipated. The sky was just beginning to lighten at the horizon, winking out the stars as it faded to shades of purple and then the vast stretch of inky black that curved overhead.

It was the last day of the year. She’d be getting married today if not for the Bianchis taking out the Gallos only a few weeks ago. She felt a sense of relief that she wouldn’t have to be a bride today. Like she’d slipped the hangman’s noose for the thousandth time.

But her father still meant to use her. There was only one way to truly be free of that. And death was no longer an option. Not until she was reunited with her mother, anyway.

Salvatore Antonetti was up to something. Because the man Matteo Bianchi threatened to come back and retrieve when he visited the other day was currently sleeping in a bedroom just down the hall. He’d been under heavy guard since he showed up on their doorstep weeks ago, demanding to see her father.

She didn’t understand the game at play, but she knew she wanted no part of it beyond getting her mother back. If there was a chance her mother was alive, no matter how small, Tessa would do whatever she could to be reunited with her. It was the first ray of hope she’d had in such a long time. It was all she had left.

Turning to go back inside, she shut out the cold and sank onto the edge of her bed. The sky continued to lighten, shifting from purples to pinks and then the faintest line of blue and gold as the sun’s rays peeked over the horizon.

The house began to wake on the other side of the door, the soft shuffle of footsteps drifting through the wood. Slipping out of her pajamas, she pulled on the first outfit she’d been instructed to wear today for breakfast. Her father’s parties were never just a party. They were spectacles, and she was meant to be on full display.

Of the outfits that had been chosen for her, she liked this one the best. A pair of tailored white pants with a billowy navy blue blouse trimmed in lace. There was jewelry she was supposed to wear with it. More understated than what had been selected for the party, but still expensive enough to show off her father’s wealth.

Pulling the velvet pouch from her jewelry box, she eyed the bridal gown hanging at the far end of the closet. It was nothing but mountains of tulle stacked layer after layer until it looked like a cupcake, even without a body in it.

She hated everything about it, from how heavy it was to how constricting the high neckline felt. Maybe she could get away with burning it now that Dante Gallo was dead.

Fastening the simple sapphire studs in her ears and twining the bracelet around her wrist, she slid her feet into the flat shoes dyed to perfectly match the top and turned off the closet light. Sidestepping the impossibly large dress, she stood before the full-length mirror and studied herself.

She’d need makeup to cover the bruises on her throat that had gone an ugly purple, but if she styled her hair just right, she could hide the cut on her cheek from where her father had backhanded her. It wouldn’t be perfect, but she’d had plenty of practice hiding the marks he’d inflicted over the years.

The door handle rattled, startling her, and she moved to open it. The maids usually knocked instead of just trying to get in without an invitation, but it seemed too early for it to be anyone else. She’d only opened it a fraction of an inch before someone shoved at it from the other side, knocking her back into the room so hard she nearly fell.

Drago. Breathing hard and covered in—was that blood?—he barely spared her a glance before immediately turning and putting his full weight against the door. But someone was on the other side of it, forcing it open.

Tessa backed away, quickly rounding the bed to put distance between her and whoever the hell Drago was fighting with. If she were a stupid romantic, she might assume Drago had come in here to protect her from the person trying to kill him right now. But she knew better. He’d hoped for a convenient place to hide. And now he was probably going to get them both killed.

With one last violent shove, Drago flew back from the door, and the man who stalked in after him made her gasp. Matteo Bianchi. He held a knife low at his side, and his shirt sleeve was ripped open, blood oozing down his arm and onto the carpet.

When Matteo caught sight of her across the room, he halted his advance toward Drago, his eyes widening before he glared, lip curling back over his teeth in a snarl. But the look wasn’t for her. It was for Drago.

“You ran to a woman’s room to get away from me?”

“To protect her,” Drago lied, not even bothering to glance in her direction.

“And who’s going to protect you from me?”

Matteo lunged for Drago, swiping the blade across his shoulder and making him cry out. They circled each other, Drago’s hand pressed to the gash in his shoulder but unable to contain the blood.

Matteo looked cool, determined, focused, but Drago’s eyes darted around the room, looking for the cleanest and best escape. Not through the door, Matteo was blocking that exit for both of them, shifting his broad frame to act as a barrier.

She hadn’t climbed down the trellis outside her window since she was a little girl. She doubted the aged wood could hold her weight now, not that she wanted to try. Being stabbed to death seemed better than voluntarily jumping off the balcony. Maybe if she asked nicely, Matteo would kill her quickly.

“Fucking do something,” Drago snarled at her. “Don’t just stand there. Get me something I can use as a weapon.”

Matteo looked at her, a wicked grin crossing his lips as he scanned her from head to toe, not a hint of disdain in his gaze. It was all heat and desire and victory, and despite the knife dripping blood in his hand, it made her shiver.

“You think she’s going to come to your rescue? Maybe she’ll enjoy watching your death as much as I’ll enjoy inflicting it.”

---