With a harsh growl, I lifted the hairbrush in my hand up high and brought it down onto the soft contents of the bag, over and over again until the pent-up rage seeped from my pores and ebbed away. Panting with exhaustion, I ran a hand through my long hair, fixing it with dainty fingers and looked in the mirror to find my cheeks pink and my soul broken. And for a single fleeting moment, I hated my family.

Everything I did, I did for them, grudgingly, and at Vincenza’s bequest. I sacrificed myself on an altar I didn’t even worship at. And where was she now?

Where was my sister?

My heart ached and my eyes burned. I closed them and attempted to steady my breathing.

It was all for nothing and cost me everything.

I didn’t want this. I wanted to be free, but that was less likely than Ettore coming back for me. My survival instinct was stronger than my ego. It always had been. And the slow realization of my situation came to light.

I didn’t have anyone else. Regardless of our history, of our circumstances, I didn’t have any other options here. An irrational part of me demanded to be with my husband. I needed money, and support. I needed a home.

The words were a timid whisper in my mind.

We need him.

Being with him for only two short days, Ettore had shown me I wasn’t as fragile as I’d been led to believe. He’d pushed me to see how strong I could be. I had been numb for so long that I forgot what it was to feel. I desperately craved it, craved him. The passion, the hunger and fury alike. He gave me back something I hadn’t even known I’d lost.

Myself.

I hadn’t even known I was crying again until I felt wetness bleed down my throat. I swiped at my eyes, held the bag, gave it a light shake then zipped it up.

It wasn’t fair. He’d taken so much from me already. My father, my family and now, my heart. It made no sense to want him back.

When I made it to the foyer, I peered around wistfully before heading to the front door. I swung the bag over my shoulder, put my hand to the knob, pulled the door open and took a single step forward before my heart jumped into my throat and I gasped loudly in fright.

I stumbled back as the hulking man turned to face me. Wide-eyed and shocked, I looked over him. He wore a tight black tee, black fatigues and scuffed black boots. The black leather gun holster draped over left shoulder linked in with his belt and my heart stammered when I saw he wore not one, or two, but three open carry pieces.