Cami’s question burns in my head. Are you capable of love?
What a fucking question. Am I? She wants to believe. And she hates herself for wanting that.
That conflict in her is obvious. It ignites in her eyes like bonfires.
Not just one conflict, either. There’s two. Because a part of her also wants to believe that Maxim is sincere. Another part of her wants to hate him. She’s trying to reconcile her feelings for him with her feelings for me.
My cousin and I are at war on multiple battlefields.
“I haven’t changed my mind,” she insists. “I still want to speak to him.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
She stiffens, but it’s clear she’s expected the answer. She turns her face to the window and as she does, I catch her profile. Her nose is small and delicate, her lips are full and pouty, but her eyes are heart-wrenchingly sad.
She looks lost. Confused. Close to being broken.
“He’s not worth it, Camila,” I tell her.
Her green eyes snap to me. “Of course you would say that. He’s your enemy, the man who killed your father. You need me to believe that. You’ve manipulated me into believing it. Or tried to, at least. Just like you’ve manipulated everything else.”
“I haven’t manipulated everything.”
“Haven’t you?” she asks. “I walked into the hall that day ready to marry Alex. And instead, I was forced to marry you. Since that day, I’ve never seen or spoken to Alex.”
“Alex is a fucking fiction,” I snarl. “He doesn’t exist.”
“Don’t you understand?” she whispers. “He does to me.”
The weight of those words falls between us. I’ve underestimated so much, and I’m not used to feeling like I’ve fallen short in some way.
The worry is only fleeting. I’m not about to waste time stewing. Taking control means pushing back the regret of past mistakes and focusing on fixing them when you can. Cowards dwell on the past. Dons burn it to ashes.
“I spent a year and a half of my life with him, Isaak. I let him into my world. I chose him.”
I lean in a little. “You chose a lie. You may as well have picked a character from one of your books.”
She shakes her head in defiance. “I’m not na?ve enough not to believe that. I know he lied to me. I know he manipulated me. I know he used me. But… it’s possible that somewhere in the middle of all that, he fell for me, too.”
It sounds like she’s waiting for me to agree with her.
She’d better be prepared to wait for a fucking century, in that case.
“You read the letter,” I say suddenly. “It’s only fair you hear the rest of it, too.”
Her brows furrow together. “The rest of it?”
“Remember the meeting Maxim and I had? The supposedly peaceful conversation we were meant to share?”
“Of course.”
“Well, I taped it.”
Her eyes go wide. “You taped the whole conversation?”
“Yes,” I reply with a nod. “And I think it’s time you hear what he said.”
She sits there frozen in place when I pull out the tiny recording device that’s been sitting in my pocket this whole time. She eyes it suspiciously.
I fire up the machine and fast forward to about midway through our conversation. It lands right where I want it to.
Camila’ eyes tense when she recognizes Maxim’s voice. “You’re offering me scraps and asking me to be grateful.”
My voice slices in. “That’s just fucking it, isn’t it? I shouldn’t be offering you anything. We are Bratva, Maxim. We don’t wait to be offered. We don’t wait to be given. We take what we want.”
“Then I will take it. I will take everything you’ve stolen from me.”
“For fuck’s sake, you are nothing but a spoiled little brat, whining about all the things you didn’t get. Come at me in any way you choose. But remember, you’re going to lose. And I will make it hurt.”
A pause. The audio feed crackles. Then:
“Have you fucked her?”
Cami doesn’t make a sound, but her eyes dart up to my face. Her spine is ramrod straight now and her fingers shiver.
I know her well enough now to read her like a book. She wants to hear all of it. But she’s terrified of what she’ll find out.
And once she learns… there is no going back.
The recording continues.
“Excuse me?”
“I asked if you fucked the whore.”
“What’s wrong, Maxim?” I taunt. “Did you fuck it all up? The plan was to make her fall for you. Did you go and make the mistake of falling for her?”
I know what’s coming next. I feel the slightest tug of uncertainty. Not because she doesn’t deserve to hear this—but because I don’t want her to be hurt any more than she needs to be.
I glance at her. Is this enough? But her eyes are steeled still.
Which means she’s left me with no choice.
“Fall for her?” Maxim sneers. “She was nothing but a mark. A way for me to hurt you.”
“And what purpose did it serve?” comes my voice from the audio device. “I have her now. So who’s hurting who?”
“I will get her back.”
“You just claimed she means nothing to you. Why fight for a woman you don’t give a fuck about?”
Maxim again: “The same reason you stole her from me: she’s a power play. The last move on the board before checkmate. And I plan to win.”
I stop the recording.
Camila just stares at the recording device as though it’s still playing. She doesn’t move for a full minute.
Finally, she takes a deep breath. Her eyes are dense with tears, but I know damn well she’ll die before she lets them fall in front of me.
“Did you enjoy that?” she asks, turning her gaze on me.
“No.”
She smiles, and there’s not an ounce of love in it. There’s anger and derisiveness and hatred. But no love. None. “Please,” she scoffs, “you kept that recording for a reason. You were waiting to throw it in my face at exactly the right moment.”
“I needed evidence.”
“Evidence of what?”
“His intentions.”
“How do you know for sure those are his intentions?” she asks. “You’re his enemy. You think he’s going to be honest with you about everything? You think he’s not exactly as full of shit as you are?”
“Are you really going to bat for him right now?”
“Rewind the tape.”
I raise my eyebrows. “You want to hear it again?”
“No, I mean rewind it back to the beginning. I want to hear the whole conversation.”
“Camila—”
“You took the time to record everything. I should hear everything.”
She’s determined. I can’t help but be impressed by that brilliantly controlled expression on her face. A part of me likes to think that I’ve had something to do with the slow burning confidence that’s slowly taking over her.
I rewind the tape back to the beginning. And of course, we stumble across the portion of the conversation I had hoped to avoid having her hear.
“How is she?” Maxim’s voice asks from the machine.
“Well-looked after.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Let’s just say that no woman likes being lied to.”
“Then why would she stay with you?”