Page 60 of Fallen Prince
“Yes, I am!” he thundered. “You’re a naïve little girl, and you just want to stay ignorant. You don’t know the first thing about me.”
“That’s bullshit,” I seethed, my eyes burning. “You’re just being cruel to push me away for some reason. It won’t work. They did something to hurt you. Talk to me,” I begged.
He went utterly still. “You think I’m not a monster? My family killed your mother. I knew, and I didn’t tell you because I wanted you.”
“What?” The word was breathless, as though he’d punched me in the chest.
“For once in your goddamn life, listen to me, Bambi. I’ll speak slowly so you understand.” He sneered, and something withered inside me. “You’ve never wanted to hear this, but your father is corrupt. When he brought down the indictments against my family, they punished him for it. They murdered your mom, and he covered it up to make it look like an accident.”
Something was crumbling inside my chest. I shook my head weakly. “My mother died in afire.”
“You think it’s your fault that she died because you didn’t run back into that fire to save her. But there was nothing you could’ve done. She was already dead,” he replied, cold as ice. “Your father started the fire to cover up her murder. He didn’t want anyone asking uncomfortable questions. There was the election to think about.” The words dripped from his sensual lips like poison. “And then, his Russian friends killed my mom in retribution.”
Before I could even begin to process the awful things that he was saying, he landed the final blow. “You’re lucky my family reminded me who I really am. The blood of your mother’s murderers runs in my veins, and I would’ve taken everything you offered me without saying a word about it. I am a monster, Allie.” His voice rasped on my name.
Tears fell down my cheeks in hot streams, and I reeled back from him. His hands tightened on my shoulders, clasping me to him reflexively.
I couldn’t take this. I’d shared my deepest pain, my worst vulnerability with him, and he was using it to shred me. I’d been able to handle it when he’d spoken his insane lies about my father’s involvement with the Bratva, but this was too much. He’d located my most painful secret—that I felt responsible for my mother’s death—and he was punching it withwords that were more brutal than his fists could ever be.
“I trusted you!” I shoved his chest, recoiling from him. “Let me go,” I choked out, my demand hitching on a sob.
He tugged me closer, and his beautiful face twisted into something desperate and hungry. “Allie…”
“You’re right.” My voice shook with tears. “You are a monster, Max.” I wrenched myself free from his grip.
He let me go, and I stumbled back, throwing a hand against the wall in my foyer to catch myself.
He reached out as though to steady me.
“Don’t touch me!” I shrieked.
His hand clenched to a fist and slowly dropped to his side. His dark eyes burned, twin white flames flickering over the bottomless black expanses.
“We’re done.” His voice was heavy with absolute truth. He turned sharply on his heel and stalked away.
He didn’t demand that I lock my door before he left. He didn’t promise to protect me from anyone who might be lurking in the shadows.
He abandoned me.
Something at the center of my chest shatteredinto a thousand sharp slivers. They pierced my lungs, robbing my breath and lancing me with unendurable pain.
I had put my heart in Max Ferrara’s hands, and he had crushed it.
CHAPTER 23
Nikolai
Irritation pricked the back of my neck like hot needles, my father’s control chafing my pride. His latest attempt to govern my life set my teeth on edge. It was one thing for the head of the Bratva to command our organization. Interfering in my personal life was going too far.
“Did you have to force me to date Alexandra Fitzgerald?” I tried to keep the heat of my rage from my tone, but some of my resentment bled into the accusatory words. My father’s dark eyes flashed with warning, but I barreled on, fueled by my fury. “The girl is anxious around me, and she can barely string two words together.”
Objectively, Alexandra was beautiful, but shewasn’t at all my type. I had no patience for shy, quiet women.
My father’s head canted to the side, and his sharp gaze skewered my chest. I barely prevented my breath from faltering.
I was a man now, not the scared kid who’d been beaten into submission during my formative years. I hated the flutter of fear at the back of my mind, and I resolutely ignored it. I tipped my chin back, challenging Mikhail Ivanov: something few would dare to try.
What was he going to do, kill his only son?
