“Are you starting your period? It’s not your time.”
The absurd question gave her pause in her act of tugging on the rope.
Of course, she didn’t start her period. Following his gaze, she bent her head down and saw it.
Blood.
Just a little, but there, between her thighs.
No.
No, no, no, no.
“No, no, no,” she started chanting, shaking her head, staring in horror at the little stain of red on her skin, panic cloying in her chest.
“Amara, what-”
“I haven’t had my period in weeks,” she whispered, her horrified eyes coming to see him.
She saw him absorb her words. He knew she was extremely regular, he knew her cycles. Hell, he used to time his visits according to them. The implication of the words dawned upon him. She could see it click in place, the last time they had been together, and a fire blazed in his eyes she had never, not in the entire time she’d known him, seen.
He didn’t say a word, just absorbed all the information his brain was processing, his eyes never moving from hers.
“Calm yourself,” he finally spoke, his voice a hard command. “Get out of your ropes and I will get us out of here. Not one motherfucker in this place is touching you or my child. But you need to stop stressing.”
Amara knew that too. She also knew he was pissed to be cursing like that. Dante Maroni didn’t curse in the company of ladies; he was too well-mannered for that.
She swallowed, closing her eyes, taking a deep breath, and nodding.
“Were you never going to tell me?” he asked after a few minutes of silence, his entire body still, on the edge.
“I probably would have in a while,” she admitted. “I just-”
“You just what?” he grit out.
“Excuse me for protecting my child while you were off playing dead without a word of warning to me, you bastard!” she burst out, her throat straining, her anger matching his, years of frustration bleeding out in her tone. “Do you think it’s easy, Dante? Living alone in a city on enemy territory, without friends, without protection, without anything but a promise for years – did you really think I’d let my child go through that?”
“Our child,” he growled. “And did you think it was easy for me, Amara?” he asked her, his voice calm, his eyes anything but. “Did you think I was having the time of my life ‘playing dead’? That I was having a blast all these years living like this? That I was not working and bleeding every damn day to make a future for us?”
Amara felt her lips tremble, her heart aching to reach out to him. “It wasn’t easy for either of us, Dante. That was exactly why I wanted it to be easy for our child. He or she shouldn’t have to pay for our choices. For years, you and I waited for each other, but I feel like somewhere, we lost our way. The goal became so much more important we forgot about the journey.”
Her honesty silenced him for a long minute.
“I had my father killed,” he told her quietly. “I watched him bleed out like a slaughtered pig, and I smoked. For years, that had been my goal. Turning the fringes of his empire in my favor, manipulating people, making a name for myself – all so one day, when he was gone, I could give you and our children everything you deserved.”
Her heart clenched at the sincerity of his words. That was one of the things she’d always loved about Dante – he never shied from his emotions. He felt what he felt and gave zero fucks if anyone called him anything, and nobody dared because Dante Maroni was a legend already, the most masculine of men in their toxic society, the most powerful because he knew exactly what he felt and didn’t lie to himself about it.
“As soon as we are out of here,” he told her, his voice firm, his eyes heated, “you and I are going to have a long due conversation about keeping shit from each other.”
Uh oh. Something in his tone prickled at the back of her neck, raising the hair there. She looked into his eyes closely, seeing the pain and rage there, but also an anguish she didn’t think had anything to do with their conversation. Heart stuttering, she inhaled deeply. “Dante-”
“You didn’t tell me, Amara,” he spoke, his jaw clenching.
He knew.
She didn’t know how, but he knew.
“For years,” he continued, the fury on his face matching the fire in her veins, “you took me inside your body, welcomed me to your bed, let me have you every way possible. But. You. Never. Told. Me.”
Tears escaped her eyes.
“And I suspected something. I should’ve fucking asked. You know why I didn’t? Because I trusted you. I trusted that you’d tell me if anything like that had happened. And you never did, so I never assumed, because I didn’t want to insult the memory of your experience.”
He was killing her. “Dante-”
“We both fucked up, Amara,” he told her, his eyes blazing. “And we’re both going to own up to it. And we’re both going to talk about this and forgive and move on. I’m not giving you a choice here. I didn’t work my ass off all these years for something trivial as lack of communication to break us.”
“It isn’t trivial,” Amara murmured.
“Yes, it is,” he told her. “We get out of here. We fucking reconnect. Did you really think I was going to let you go? After fighting for us for a decade, did you really think that, Amara?”
Amara fisted her hands. “You hurt me.”
“Yeah, well, I’m a dick.”
A reluctant chuckle escaped her at the way he said that.
His lips twitched before he sobered again. “Did you know,” he went on, searing her with his dark gaze, “that while Tristan and I killed the assholes who took you, I’ve been searching for the guy who gave the order for years? It’s been my side project and going undercover just made me realize I should have given it more time. Because it’s all connected and I was too focused on Bloodhound Maroni. Fucking dead bastard.”
God, she hurt. She hurt for him, for herself, for everything they had been through because of one man. For the second time in her life, Amara was glad of someone’s death.
“You couldn’t have known, Dante,” she told him softly, wanting to ease the pain she could feel emanating from him. “What he did isn’t on you. Who he was isn’t on you.”
“I am a Maroni, Amara,” he told her, and she realized the change in his demeanor taking over had already brought. He had been an heir, a prince, who now sat on the throne. “I am his blood.”
“Yes,” she nodded, holding his stare. “But it’s not what you’re given that makes you who are. It’s what you do with it. It’s not the weapon but the one who wields it that holds the power, and you, Dante Maroni are a powerful man.”
“Fuck, I want to kiss you right now,” he cursed out, his eyes fire on hers.
Amara felt her breath catch, and for the first time, felt her lips twitch. “Get yourself out of the chair first, badass.”
His lips mirrored hers for a second before he spoke again. “You really think they have me here against my will? That I’d be foolish enough to risk myself if this wasn’t my plan?”
Amara felt her heart begin to race, her eyes looking down at the ropes secured tightly around him. “What do you mean?”