Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 51733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
Her words released the tension in the room, and the others laughingly agreed af Giancarlo's misfortune. His abrupt departure was all but forgotten, or at least it was except for Sheikh Nassif, whose amused smile effectively concealed his thoughts, and Giancarlo's wife herself, whose gaze turned calculating whenever it lingered on the doorway.
The time it took to drive from Cayed and back to the capital was cut in half with Giancarlo himself taking the wheel. But two steps into the room, and he knew right away he had walked into another trap. This time, her hunger strike was her bait of choice, and he had fallen for it again. Hook. Line. Sinker.
"Are you really married?"
Her face was pale, her gaze blank, her tone steady.
But even so.
He heard her heart crying out loud and clear, and while he had never intended her to know about his marriage—-
"Yes."
He felt her shatter even when all she did was stare at him. Her gaze searched him wildly, and he knew she was begging him without words to say something else. Anything that would help her make sense of his marriage and allow her to stay.
Forgiveness wasn't even a question.
She had already forgiven him.
And continued to love him.
But when all he did was gaze back at her without any intention of saying anything else—-
"You win."
The quietly spoken words were an admission of defeat. So why did it feel like he was the one who had lost?
Giancarlo opened the door and stepped back. "You're free to go then."
Sarica didn't deign to answer.
Didn't even look his way as she walked past him.
He clenched his hands against the urge to pull her back and stop her from leaving.
Told himself that it was better this way as he watched her go.
This was for the best.
And if he repeated the words to himself often enough, maybe he would start believing it, too.
A call from security came in soon enough, and he gave them the green light to let Sarica walk free. "Have someone follow her," Giancarlo said curtly. "Discreetly."
He was still in his room when the first report landed in his box.
Subject booked a suite at the Desert Royale under the name of Dauphin Tueur.
The next thing he knew, his hands were bruised, his knuckles bloodied, and there were fist-sized holes in the wall. The last time he had blacked out like this, he had killed a lot of men without remembering anything. Because back then, he believed that vengeance was his, and never God's.
Giancarlo wanted to think tonight was a vast improvement.
Wanted to believe that it was better that he had hurt himself instead of others.
Those were the lies he wanted to believe.
But all he could hear was God's voice as he stared at his bloodied fists.
Hurting yourself hurts Me, too, son.
This is not the way.
This is not My way.
Giancarlo knew what God was asking of Him.
I'm sorry.
But the past sixteen months had changed him.
And it was as if he was back in square one.
Giancarlo was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders again.
And even though he knew this wasn't true—-
The hell he was in felt so damn deep...it just didn't seem possible that even God could save him.
Chapter Eight
EVERY HOUR BROUGHT a new report to Giancarlo's desk.
Guest manifests.
Security footage.
Staff interviews.
Credit card transactions.
Room service orders.
Elevator usage logs.
With Sheif Nassif's royal clearance to back him up, there was nothing Sarica could do that Giancarlo wouldn't know.
But even though he had yet to come across any indication of Sarica being in contact with Dauphin Tueur in any way—-
The total silence only grated on him and set Giancarlo on edge. Ezio, his youngest brother, was the only one who usually managed to get past his security measures. But perhaps Tueur was just as good as staying invisible?
Jealousy clawed at his chest as sickening images from Giancarlo's nightmares started playing back in his mind.
Sarica in a shower with Tueur—-
Sarica moaning the other man's name—-
And Tueur smiling at him as he made Giancarlo's girl come.
He wanted to smash his fist against the desk.
Punch another hole in the wall.
Anything to unleash the violence inside of him.
But this time...Giancarlo did none of it.
This time, even though despair and hopelessness still held him back—-
He was able to hear God's voice a little more clearly this time.
And it was enough to help Giancarlo hold back and stay still.
One day at a time.
That was the only kind of hope Giancarlo could give himself.
One day, he would learn to forget her again.
And then he could go back to simply...existing.
"Sir?"
His security chief had entered his office.
"Should we continue surveillance?"
"Yes."
Because it would always be Giancarlo's responsibility to keep Sarica safe...even when she was no longer his.
His security chief left, and he was alone again in his office. He rose to his feet and gazed out of his window. The earthy splendor of Kivr's capital was impossible to deny, but it was the wintry beauty of Boston that his heart bled for. The people of this kingdom had been good to him, but it was his people—-his famiglia—-that his soul longed for.