“I’m going to tell you something I’ve never told anyone.”
I can’t tell her that Amaya is CIA. Not because it could mean trouble for me if the people in my world found out I was talking with the Feds…though it would.
I’m not worried about me. But I’m worried about her. Bianca’s in this criminal world, too. If she knows about this, it could put her in danger. And I won’t have that.
Bianca looks up at me, her eyes darting over my face like she’s working up the courage to say something. Finally, she does.
“Do the two of you have a history?”
I nod.
“Oh,” she says quietly, her voice breaking a little as she looks away.
“It’s not what you think.”
“Kratos, it’s none of my—”
“My father liked to parade me around when I was a kid, like I was some sort of gladiatorial hero. His champion. Even when I was young, I was big and tough, and he liked showing me off to his buddies and business associates, like an attack dog that he kept on a short leash.”
I swallow, my jaw grinding.
“It worked, of course. I got dragged into mafia sit-downs way younger than I had any right to be. Dad thought it made him look tough to have me standing behind him, the whole room knowing I was only like ten and still so menacing.”
Bianca’s face collapses. She lowers her mouth, softly kissing my chest.
“As I got older, he pushed for me to do more than just stand behind him. I went to drops, stopped by the offices of people who owed him money, that sort of thing. I was a fucking twelve-year-old mafia enforcer…which is exactly what he wanted.”
My eyes close. A razor drags over my heart.
She needs to know this. I’ll keep Amaya’s CIA connection from Bianca, but she needs to know what made me the way I am. Why I’m the way I am. If that sends her running, so be it…
I want her to know.
“I met Amaya when I was thirteen,” I growl. “She worked for some influential people that my father wanted to curry favor with, and she had an ‘interest’ in me. They worked out a trade. He got in with the powerful people, and she got what she wanted from me.”
Bianca’s brows knit. “And what—”
Her face goes white as she visibly chokes.
“Oh my fucking God…!”
“I was thirteen,” I say quietly. “She was thirty.”
Bianca chokes on a sob, clinging to me as she presses her face tight to my chest. Her body hitches, her tears hot on my skin as she kisses my chest, my neck, my face.
My heart wrenches as my arms tighten around her. The razorblades of the past slash into me, slicing the skin and flaying me open. And yet, there’s a balm right in front of me.
A soothing, healing touch.
A cure.
“It went on for years,” I continue slowly. “It’s pretty much why I picked a college in London.”
“Kratos…”
“She…taught me things.”
Bianca’s face turns ashen. Her head shakes side to side, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Why are you telling—”
“Because I need you to know,” I growl, cupping her face as my eyes stab into hers. “If you’re going to stay—”
“Of course I’m going to stay.”
My eyes search hers. “Then you need to understand, Bianca. You need to know why I’m…” I look away. “What broke me.”
Her soft touch lands on my cheek. Small, delicate fingers stroke my skin, pulling my gaze back into hers.
“You’re not broken, Kratos,” she whispers in the dark.
I shake my head. “Yes, I—”
“Just because you’re made differently it doesn’t mean you’re broken. The scars you bear or the pain you’ve suffered don’t either.” Her eyes capture mine. “You’re just put together different.” Her mouth twists in a wry smile. “Like me.”
My lips press softly to hers, kissing her deeply as my arms encircle her small body. When she hitches out a small cry, I pull away sharply with a furrowed brow.
“Babygirl…”
“I…” Her eyes are blurry with tears. She wipes them with the back of her hand, looking away. “I have to tell you something, too.”
