Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 125243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
She’s safe.
I can’t offer the same guarantee for myself.
“She wasn’t a whore. She was so strong!” Azra screams while beating the living fucking hell out of me. “She begged them to stop, and they wouldn’t. She held on for as long as she could, but he didn’t tell them to stop even after they broke her soul! He watched them hurt his wife time and time again while snickering as if she deserved it.”
Her voice breaks, and that’s when I swoop in.
Wrapping my arms around her shuddering torso, I pull her into my chest before attempting to Band-Aid the hurt I caused. I fucking hate myself for how I’ve hurt her, but that’s how blinding my fear was. I would have given anything to save her—even my last chance to see my mother again.
“He won’t get away with what he did to Hattie. I promise you he will pay,” I whisper into her hair. “But I need you here, with me, to do that. I need you at my side. I can’t do this without my little tiger. I can’t make him pay unless you’re there with me.”
As our brothers disperse in all directions, confident I’ve got this, Azra collapses against me. She sobs, shakes, and clings to my shirt like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. “You called the kindest person I know a whore.”
“I didn’t mean anything I said. I just needed you here, fighting me.”
Her wet eyes bounce between mine before she whispers more in confirmation than confusion. “You don’t hate her.”
She’s not asking a question, but I still answer as if she is. “No. Never.” I wipe at her cheeks, each tear scarring my heart. “I said what I needed to say to make you react. If there is one thing I know about my wife, it is that she comes out swinging when she knows someone is wrong.”
I don’t know what I did to deserve this level of loyalty and faith, but she believes me without default.
Hiccupping, she drags the sleeve of her long-sleeved dress under her nose. “It hurts.”
“Where?”
“Everywhere. It hurts everywhere,” she whispers.
I stop searching her body for injuries my panic may have made me miss. I realize she means she’s emotionally hurt, not physically, when she rubs her knuckles over her chest.
“It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you.” I sink to the ground, taking her with me. “Let it out. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, and I won’t let you go.”
She trembles violently as her tears soak my shirt. “Promise?”
“On my fucking life.”
As I rock her gently, I repeat over and over, “I’ve got you. You’re safe. I swear to you, Azra, you are safe with me.”
Chapter 49
Azra
It’s been days since Antonio tore me apart and poured every nightmare I’ve ever had into the cracks. Days since the footage he made me watch on repeat for hours charred my soul. Days since the world went dark and I thought it would stay that way.
But here, in a small wooden cabin nestled in the mountains, Matteo’s actions have shown otherwise.
He’s been my anchor through it all. He bathed me when I couldn’t lift my arms, fed me when I forgot how to answer the hungry pleas of my stomach, and held me when I cried so hard I couldn’t breathe.
I can’t tell if he’s slept at all since we arrived. Anytime I woke, choking on the despair of my grief, he was at the foot of the bed, holding the bucket I purged the pain into. He carried me when my legs wouldn’t work and set up a makeshift camp on the floor when the thought of being touched gave me hives.
He’s been my rock and is the sole reason I finally feel like I can take a breath without drowning.
The air feels clean again, and my skin is just as pristine.
I blink against the soft morning light filtering through the curtains as the smell of coffee and something warm and buttery drifts into the bedroom.
Instead of waiting for Matteo to bring breakfast to me—like he has every day since we arrived at the cabin—I slip out of bed.
My legs tremble as I cross the room, but they hold. When I exit the bedroom, I spot Matteo in the kitchen. He’s barefoot and shirtless, wearing low-riding dark-gray sweatpants, cooking as if he’s been doing it his whole life. His hair is messy, his shoulders are broad, and his strong, muscular back already registers as familiar.
Over the past five days, he proved he would crawl over glass to reach me, and it’s made me fall for him more than I ever thought possible.
Matteo turns when he hears me, and his eyes soften instantly. “Morning, la mia tigrotta.”
I swallow, my throat suddenly hot from the husky delivery of my nickname. It reminds me so much of how often he woke me with greedy licks and hungry sucks before Antonio tried to taunt me to my death.