Her expression hardened, but not before he glimpsed her despair. “So you have brought Montebianco along on your journey. I should have guessed as much.”
“Perhaps you should have. It benefits both our nations to have Monteverde return to a free market system. There will be no more kidnapping of royal family members or attempts at blackmail.”
Her eyes gleamed with unshed tears. “Blackmail,” she snorted. “And what do you call this?”
“I will do whatever is necessary for an end to this madness. Monteverde cannot continue the way it has been. It’s past time for change.”
Antonella tossed her dark mane of hair. “Why are you even asking my opinion? My cooperation? Go to Dante and force him to agree with your scheme. See how far you get then.”
Cristiano bit back a growl. “You will agree to do this, Antonella, or when the loans come due, I will make certain that Monteverde is destroyed forever.”
Her breath caught. And then her brows drew down. Fury saturated her voice. “I thought you wanted stability. Or do you simply want revenge? Make up your mind, Cristiano.”
He refused to acknowledge that she’d scored a hit. Yes, on some level he wanted to punish Monteverde for Julianne’s death. Perhaps he would finally be free of this guilt once he had. But in punishing them, he would make the world better for them as well. Ironic. “Stability is preferable. But I will take my chances if you do not cooperate.”
He knew she couldn’t doubt he was serious; his tone was colder and more brutal than an Arctic winter. Part of him disliked being so remote and cruel. But a lasting peace was more important than her feelings. More important than his.
She remained very still, her grey eyes fixed on him—and then her chest heaved. Once, twice. A third time. He expected tears to flow at any moment. Prepared to deal with a tantrum.
She’d caught him off guard in the taxi. But not again. She would not manipulate him with her tears this time. He would not relent.
She wrenched her gaze away and pinched the bridge of her nose. Her chest continued to heave.
And then she looked at him once more. Speared him with a glare so full of hatred that he felt the icy blast down to his toes. Oddly, his admiration for her increased. And his desire.
“I will speak with Dante, but I cannot guarantee he will agree to any part of your plan. He may prefer annihilation to a devil’s bargain with Monterosso.”
Satisfaction settled over him like a warm blanket in winter. “I’m glad you see it my way.”
“I don’t, but you’ve given me no choice,” she bit out. “Why didn’t you save us both the trouble and simply tell me what you wanted hours ago?”
It was his turn to laugh in derision. “Would it have made any difference? Perhaps you would have fled into the storm instead of another room. We both know how that worked out.” He shook his head. “No, I need you alive, Antonella, not running away like a spoiled child.”
Her chin quivered, but still she did not cry. Amazing.
“Not all children who run are spoiled. Have you ever thought of that? Sometimes they run for self-preservation. Not that you would know anything about that, of course.”
“I know about self-preservation, Principessa. I’ve sat in a bunker on the border while Monterverde lobbed shells at us. And I’ve rescued our soldiers from your torture chambers—”
“Stop,” she hissed. “You chose to do those things. A child can’t choose her parents.”
Cristiano blinked. What the hell was she talking about? With a growl, she turned away from him and punched her pillow into a ball. Then she slid down onto her side and curled herself toward the wall.
He wanted to ask what she meant, wanted to probe and question until she spilled all her secrets to him.
But he would not. He’d gotten what he wanted. He was another step closer to victory now. Soon, Monteverde would belong to the di Savarés. It was what he’d wanted for the last four years, what he’d worked for.
So why wasn’t he feeling triumphant? And why was he more interested in what she’d just said about children and their parents?
The scream that woke her was long and agonizing. So wrenching it made her throat hurt. Antonella bolted upright, but she couldn’t see in the inky blackness surrounding her. It was hot, and darker than any night she’d ever experienced before.
Panic clawed at her, grabbed her around the throat; another scream pierced the blackness.
“Antonella!”
Hands settled on her, dragged her against a large, warm body. She fought, twisting and kicking, until something heavy settled over her legs, clamped her against the body that was so overwhelmingly strong and solid.
“Antonella,” he hissed in her ear. “Wake up! You’re safe here…you’re safe.”
Something in the voice pricked the bubble of her panic, deflated it—
And then she was crying, shaking, remembering.
She’d been dreaming. Oh, God.
“You’re safe,” he repeated, one hand stroking up her arm, back down again.
A trail of fire followed in his wake—and she just couldn’t take the sensation right now. Not on top of the agony of her nightmare.
Her father, the lifeless gerbil, Bruno taking its place. Begging for her dog’s life, her face bruised and bloody…
“It’s okay, Cristiano,” she forced out. “You can let me go. I’m fine.”
She wasn’t, but she couldn’t let him keep touching her. He might want to soothe her, but he didn’t care about her. He needed her as a pawn in his game, nothing more. He needed her alive and whole, but he didn’t care if she was happy or sad or depressed or traumatized. Nothing mattered except his revenge.
Had she really agreed to marry him?
She hadn’t actually said the words, but it was implicit in the bargain. Cristiano might intend to marry her in order to gain advantage, but she had no illusions about what a union between them would be like. There was no love, no hope. There was only suspicion and hate. It was a worse fate, in some respects, than a marriage to Raúl would have been.
“I’ll light another candle,” Cristiano said, his voice strangely disembodied as he let her go.
She took the opportunity to scoot away from him. “You don’t have to. I’ll be fine.”
But she heard the flicker of a lighter a split second before she saw the flame. The metallic odor of sulfur and flint was followed by the waxy scent of a candle flaring. Cristiano’s face was the first thing she saw.
Light spilled across his cheekbones, his nose, illuminated his eyes. Eyes fixed intently upon her.
“What were you dreaming about?” he asked.
She wrapped her arms around herself. “It’s nothing I wish to share with you.”
“Sometimes it helps,” he said. “I know this from experience.”
She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. “Stop pretending that you care, Cristiano. You don’t, and I won’t share the things that haunt me with you. It will only make it more difficult.”
“How do you know it won’t help to talk about it until you try?”
“If you’re so into the idea, tell me about your life,” she shot back. “Tell me what happened when your wife died.”