Page 52 of Where the Wind Whispers

Truthfully, she didn’t belong there.

She was always meant to be with someone else.

“And that,” Caesar said with a laugh, “is why this sham will never happen.”

Alberto’s mouth opened; he tried to speak.

Nothing came out.

Violet wasn’t sure how to take that.

Carmine, on the other hand, didn’t look the least bit surprised. In fact, that asshole just seemed smug. “I told you. I fucking told you that the Russian wouldn’t just send her back because he was done with her. It was too much effort, Dad. He did too much for—”

“Cazzo, be quiet!” Alberto roared.

Her brother flinched at their father’s rage.

Violet didn’t even twitch.

She was too calm for fear, as strange as that was.

She only felt the faintest flicker of fear when Alberto moved around the table slowly, coming toward her. Violet stood from her seat and took a couple of steps back, just enough to move away from the table and not much more.

“Say it again,” her father demanded.

Violet didn’t hesitate. “I’m pregnant. Eight weeks when he sent me here. Almost twelve weeks now.”

Alberto’s lips curled at the edges in a sneer, but a sound thick with disbelief escaped him all the same. Violet didn’t think she had ever seen her father look so … entirely out of control.

He didn’t know what to do or say, she realized.

He’d never considered this.

Violet had another realization that came on much heavier and faster than the first. It kicked her in the stomach at the same time her father came to stand in front of her.

He couldn’t hide this.

Alberto could do many things where Violet was concerned. He could wipe away the things she had done, set her up in a good marriage that would eventually mask her behavior and actions.

What he could never do, though, was fix a pregnancy.

He couldn’t kill the baby, or force her to do it, not being a God-fearing man like he was. He was a bad man, to be sure, but was he that horrible?

She was already three months along, and whatever plans he had for the marriage wouldn’t have happened for at least another month or more. There would be no passing the child off as someone else’s.

Alberto was backed into a corner.

Nothing he could do would correct this.

Maybe it was that understanding—more than anything—that finally scared Violet.

As fast as lightning, Alberto’s hand came up from his side and grabbed Violet’s face in a stinging, hard grip. His fingers dug into her jaw, holding her in place as he forced her to look up at him.

There was hatred there …

In his gaze, the same hue as hers, she saw hatred.

She had never seen that before.