Page 53 of My Sunfall

She lifts her hand as if to trace the lines, but her trembling fingers stop an inch from my skin. I catch her hand and put it there, willing her to understand that this belongs to her.

She inhales sharply and looks up at me with confusion in her eyes.

“You didn’t have this before… When did you get this?”

“When you disappeared,” I confess.

She frowns and takes her hand away to have a closer look. I can’t suppress a shudder when she lightly traces the letter with her fingertip. My heart thunders under her touch.

She shakes her head, still frowning. “But… Why?” The question is a mere whisper.

I catch her jaw to tilt her face up, willing her, no, forcing her to see what she’s done to me.

“Because, love,” I reply in a rough voice. “The sun has fallen. And you made it fall, you were my sunfall when you left, leaving only this black void.” I tap the tattoo carved over my heart.

Shock and understanding creep into her gaze. She shakes her head in denial. “No…” she whispers.

“Yes,” I say forcefully, almost viciously, pressing my thumb harder into her jaw. “You left me in darkness, you hollowed me out. You obliterated my reality and reshaped it into a purgatory. And the only thought tethering me to sanity was the certainty that I’d find you again.”

Tears gather in her eyes as she looks up at me, still shaking her head. When I see that she still refuses to see the truth, I cite the quote that had been my damnation during the dark months of her absence. “If you but knew what my love for you is! ’Tis fire, melted lead, a thousand daggers in my heart.”

She breathes in audibly and her eyes widen in understanding. “Frollo,” she whispers, voice filled with dread.

I chuckle darkly. Now she gets it. Her precious sun god Phoebus is no more, he has been ripped from the sky. Crushed to dust and cinder. And what rose from the ashes is not a god, not a hero, but something forged in loss and obsession. Something that doesn’t shine, but burns. And I would scorch the world to ashes before I let her escape me again.

“Now eat, cara mia,” I say lightly as I hold up another strawberry to her lips.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Lucas

“Chiara Bianchi should be my wife,” Lorenzo barks as he leans over D’s desk. He had requested this meeting, and D granted him audience in one of the first-floor conference rooms of his office building before the day’s rush began.

“Take a seat,” comes D’s curt and unimpressed reply.

Lorenzo narrows his eyes and looks over to Teo who is nonchalantly leaning against the window jamb, then his eyes snap to me. I am sitting in a chair on the side of the desk, leaning back, with my ankle casually resting over my knee. I am outwardly calm and composed. Inwardly, I am a breath away from drawing my gun and ending it all right here, consequences be damned.

Lorenzo finally sits down with a thunderous look and slides a sheet of paper over the desk. “Here is the written agreement. You will see, it was signed by her mother two years ago. It clearly states that Chiara is to be wed to me.”

“Then why didn’t you come forward sooner?” I drawl.

He glares at me. “Because I was busy abroad, then her mother passed. When I contacted her father, he assured me he knew nothing and he began stalling.”

I frown. Her father knew about this and never told her, or anyone? I file this information away for later. I retrieve our marriage certificate from the inside pocket of my jacket and slide it toward D. “This is our marriage certificate. It was signed and concluded last month. Chiara married me without knowing about the agreement, making it void.”

D’s eyes snap to my face but his features remain impassive, showing nothing from the bomb I just dropped on him. Fucker’s a hell of an actor. I nearly smirk at him, but I refrain since the air is volatile from barely suppressed animosity. D slowly takes the contract and unfolds it to read. Then his eyes lift to Lorenzo who is sitting opposite him.

“This contract is legal, signed by a judge and countersigned by witnesses. Luc is right, your agreement is void since no one knew about it.”

“Her father knew!” Lorenzo snarls, spittle flying on the desk.

“That’s your word against his,” D replies calmly, the very image of the composed Mafia boss. “And since he passed away very recently as you know, he won’t be able to speak up, I’m afraid.”

“That cheating bastard, he stalled and even told me that she was away. The agreement is valid, a signature is a vow,” Lorenzo insists.

“Careful,” comes D’s low warning, “the man you are talking about is also my wife’s father.”

That placates Lorenzo. “The marriage certificate has to be fake.” He tries from another angle. “No one, not even her own father seemed to know she got married.” He sends me a venomous look.