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“Understood.”
The world tilts sideways again. The muffled sound fuzzes around the edges, like my ears are underwater. My chest tightens, and the air tastes metallic.
Every kiss. Every touch. Every promise in the dark. Was any of that real?
“Stop,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “Please…stop it.”
But Vincent doesn’t. He just lounges back, regarding me with quiet satisfaction as the recording plays on. My voice gets lost in the hum of betrayal.
Gabi… “Make it clean. No witnesses.”
Enzo… “Understood.”
He uses that same calm, flat tone from last night, when he traced circles on my back until I fell asleep and whispered promises to keep me safe and protected. I furiously blink back the tears blurring my vision, refusing to break. Not here. Not in front of Vincent, who would savor my pain like fine wine.
He stops the audio and swirls his glass of bourbon. “Efficient man, your Enzo. I almost admire him.”
“He wouldn’t…” The words nearly slip out before I can stop them. “He wouldn’t hurt me.”
“You think you’re special because he touched you?” He smiles like he’s been waiting to say this for years. “Because he made promises to you in the dark?”
“That’s not…”
“Oh, sweetheart.” His voice adopts a cruel, mocking tone. “You’re a means to an end. You always have been. He’s a Benedetti enforcer. He’s not a fairy tale.”
My stomach twists into knots. Little memories play through my mind like a slideshow.
The quiet look in Enzo’s eyes when he thought I wasn’t watching.
The way he left his hand on my back.
The way he said my name like it meant something to him, like it grounded him.
The way he made love to me like I was the only thing keeping him alive.
If Vincent’s right, it’s all fake. Wouldn’t that be just perfect? I’d essentially be trading one liar for another.
My chest feels hollow, carved out and scraped clean.
No, he’s not right…he can’t be, because if he is, then everything I’ve felt for Enzo, everything I’ve started to believe, is all just another con, and I’m the world’s most gullible mark.
“Context.” I point to the screen. “You cut something out. He…must’ve meant something else.”
“Context?” Vincent snorts. “You’re still defending him. Even after hearing that. Beautiful. Tragic. Ignorant.” His words slither out. “He’s done this before, you know. Women. He saves them, claims them, then discards them once they’ve served their purpose. He even pretended to marry Isabella Benedetti once. All part of an alliance. You should ask her sometime how that story ended.”
I can’t breathe. Every insecurity, every fear I’ve buried, starts clawing its way back up. The voice in my head—the one that always said I wasn’t enough, that no one could truly love me—shrieks.
My father’s lying. He has to be. But he’s planted a seed that roots fast.
Vincent watches my face change and smiles like an artist admiring his own work. “You see now? The Benedettis use loyalty as currency. Love is just another word they counterfeit.”
“You don’t know him,” I snap. “You don’t know what he’s done for me.”
His eyes sharpen. “He’s done for you what I planned for him to do. Do you really think I didn’t know you’d end up in his hands? I needed someone capable to keep you alive until I was ready.”
My heart stops beating.
“You set me up?”
