Page 60 of Prince of Darkness

She lets out a long sigh. "No. But maybe I should've guessed it. I knew her father was highly controlling and was forcing her to marry somebody who was abusive."

I desperately want to reach out and touch her, to feel the warmth of a woman with so much kindness in her that she risks so much to help Elena. I don't because I have no right to touch her. Or perhaps it's that I'm afraid of the way she will recoil from me.

"Why do you think it was that Lou person?" she asks.

I definitely don't want to say this next bit, but I have no choice. "I don’t know for sure. Lou is dead so I can’t ask him. But Elena Fiori was Giovanni's golden goose. Especially after what happened to Lucy. But whereas Lucy was strong-willed and defiant, Elena was believed to be the perfect Mafia princess, groomed to be the perfect Mafia wife."

"That's sexist."

I shrug. "I'm not sure you've noticed, but the world we’re in is a patriarchy. I'll be honest, Lucy is the first woman I've ever seen to have open leadership in the Mafia. There have been times when the Don of a family is in prison and his wife or daughter will take the helm, but everything she does is at the direction of the Don, even though he's in prison."

"Is the Bratva the same? Is that why you're always ordering me around?"

I take a breath to think carefully about my next words. "The leader needs to be decisive, controlling. There can't be any room for doubt or question."

Her lips press together in a grim line, and she looks at me with disdain.

"My interactions with you… When I'm at my worst, Kate, it's because I'm scared shitless for you. It's not that I don't respect you or that I don't care about your feelings, but you don't know this world like I do. Sometimes, you need to do things or you die." I don’t mean to put it quite so bluntly, but her eyes widen, and I hope she’s understanding how important her obedience is to her safety.

I edge out onto the emotional ledge a little further. "I don't mind being an asshole in general. Almost everything I do, I can do it with very little emotional regard. I imagine that's why you hate me. But when it comes to you, I don't want to be an asshole."

She smirks. "You just can't help yourself, I guess?"

My teeth grind because it annoys me that she doesn't recognize the difference. "I'm not being an asshole right now. But if danger were to walk through the front door, I’d be the biggest asshole you’ve ever seen if that’s what it takes to keep you and your baby alive."

Her lips fuse together, and she turns away. I get the feeling she’s holding back tears. Shit. What did I say?

"My baby,” she says.

I feel like I'm walking on a landmine. I keep my mouth shut.

She glares at me. "You don't believe this baby is yours too?”

"I know it's mine.” Thinking of it makes the yearning in my chest expand. “But the only way that I can give you what you want most in the world—a regular life, one where you're not looking over your shoulder and fearing for you and the baby—is that I can’t be in the picture.”

"You can just do that? Just detach your emotions?" She gives her head a little shake. "Of course you can. You just told me so."

I have an urge to give her a slight shake to make her understand that what I'm doing is the hardest thing I've ever done in my life. But I can't.

I rise from the couch and pace, hoping to release the agitation coursing through my blood. "I thought you’d be grateful that I’m not going to try and use my power and influence to take the baby. At the very least, be glad I’m not going to try to be in the baby’s life, bringing all the ugliness of my life into your world.”

Her expression appears torn, like she absolutely wants me out of her life and yet feels bad about it.

“I get it. You think I'm the worst person in the world. And you know what? That’s good because if you hate me, when this is over, you’ll stay away from me." I look at her, my gaze searing into her, willing her to understand. "But it’s ripping me apart."

Immediately, I hate exposing so much of myself to her. I stalk into the kitchen wishing Robbie or Artyom would show up with the food and the booze.

Instead, I grab a glass of water and down it, taking a moment to get my shit together. When I return to the living area, Kate is still sitting on the couch. She is studying me in a way that suggests she’s reassessing the type of man I am. As much as I want that, I know that neither of us can afford for her to think or feel anything positive about me.

To move off the topic, I say, "As far as your father goes. I believe he was tasked with making sure you stopped spending time with Elena.”

"Why would it matter? Her father found her money and locked her up until her wedding day."

"Maybe Fiori wanted to know what Elena had told you. Or it was a test to see how loyal your father was."

She looks down into her tea. When she finally looks up at me, she says, "My father never asked me about my friendship with Elena."

"I think that's the point. He knew that he had to do something to protect you. He reached out to the FBI."