Chapter 5

Kylie Pov

I leaned against the cold brick wall, pressing my hands to my mouth like that would somehow stop my brain from spinning. I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was all just gonna come back to haunt me. Kahlo... his death was supposed to be the end of the nightmare, right? So why the hell did I feel like I was trapped in another one? My fingers were trembling, and I closed my eyes, trying to calm the storm inside me.

"I don’t think I can do it again," I muttered to myself, barely above a whisper. "I’m gonna have nightmares for the rest of my damn life about what happened to Kahlo."

And, of course, the only person who should've been giving me a heads-up on what was going on today? My dear ol' dad. He spent the entire day with me, going over the restaurant finances, like everything was business as usual. Not one word about this new arrangement with Roberto. Nope. Not a single goddamn word.

"He didn’t say a thing. Not one goddamn thing."

I wanted to scream. Hell, I wanted to break something, throw a chair, punch a wall—anything to let out the frustration bubbling under my skin. But instead, I stood there like an idiot, trying to tell myself that somehow, things were gonna work out. Somehow, this wasn’t going to be as bad as it seemed.

"It’s gonna be okay. It has to be."

Who was I kidding? I didn’t know jack about Roberto Connolly. For all I knew, he could be just as much of a monster as Kahlo was. Maybe worse. I bit my lip, pleading silently with whatever force of the universe might be listening.

"Please, God. Don’t make me go through that again. There’s gotta be another way. There has to be."

And then, like a bad joke, a rough voice cut through my thoughts.

“Want a smoke?”

I blinked, snapping back to reality, and there he was—Roberto Connolly in the flesh. He had one of those crumpled cigarettes between his fingers, half-smoked, like he wasn’t even trying to look cool. He just didn’t give a damn. His cheekbones were sharp enough to cut glass, and those broad shoulders looked like they could take down a wall. He held out a cigarette to me, an eyebrow raised.

“Now’s as good a time as any to start.”

I stared at the cigarette like it was some kind of alien object. "I don’t smoke."

“Maybe you should. Might help.” He lit another one and took a slow drag, letting the smoke curl around his face.

I don’t know why, but I reached out and took the damn thing. “Ah… thanks.”

Maybe I just needed to feel like I had a tiny bit of control over something, even if it was just this stupid cigarette. I brought it to my lips, inhaling way too hard, and nearly choked on the smoke. Great. Real smooth, Kylie.

Roberto chuckled, low and rough. “Inhaling’s probably not the best idea, sweetheart.”

I shot him a glare but didn’t say anything, trying to play it cool while my lungs screamed at me. He seemed amused, though, like he was enjoying watching me flail. Asshole.

Then he dropped the bomb. As casually as if he was commenting on the weather, he said, “I hear we’re gonna be married.”

My heart nearly stopped. I froze, cigarette halfway to my mouth, as the realization hit me like a freight train. This was him. This was the guy my father had decided was my next groom. I glanced at him, trying to size him up without being obvious about it. Dark hair, tanned skin—classic Connolly traits. His father’s looks, no doubt about that. But his eyes… they weren’t as cold. Not yet, anyway.

“Doesn’t matter what either of us thinks, right?” He shrugged like we were talking about choosing a sandwich, not spending the rest of our lives together.

“No, I suppose it doesn’t,” I muttered, my voice hollow. Because, of course, it didn’t. My life wasn’t my own, and this wasn’t the first time I’d been passed off like a pawn in someone else’s game.

We stood there in shared silence, the tension thick between us, but it wasn’t exactly uncomfortable. Weirdly enough, it almost felt like a truce. I took another drag, slower this time, and the smoke wasn’t as harsh. The dizziness from before settled into something more bearable, almost comforting. Out of the corner of my eye, I kept watching him, half-expecting him to say something else, but he just kept puffing away on his cigarette.

For a second, I wondered, Can we really be strangers if we’re already engaged? It was a stupid thought. Didn’t matter. We were practically strangers, whether we were getting hitched or not. I crushed the cigarette under my heel and decided it was time to get back inside before my head started spinning again.

But just as I turned to leave, Roberto stepped in front of me, blocking my way. He was even taller up close, broader, his presence damn near suffocating. I looked up at him, heart racing, unsure of what the hell he wanted now.

“What are you doing?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached for my scarf. My entire body tensed as he gently, but firmly, tugged it down, exposing my neck. Panic shot through me. I tried to pull away, but his grip tightened—not painfully, just... unyielding.

“Leave me alone,” I snapped, my voice shaking despite my best effort to sound tough.

Roberto didn’t budge. He stepped closer, so close I could feel the heat from his body. His hand cupped my chin, tilting my head back, and his eyes zeroed in on the bruises I knew were still faintly visible on my neck. His expression darkened, dangerous in a way that made my stomach flip.

“Who hurt you?” His voice was low, but there was an edge to it, like he was already planning whatever hell he was going to rain down on whoever had touched it, me.

I frozen, my heart pounding in my chest. This was not what I expected. Not from him. The concern in his voice, the way his eyes flickered with something more than just anger—it was unsettling.

“Get out of my way,” I whispered, barely holding it together.

But Roberto didn’t move. His hand lingered on my chin for a moment longer. My mind was racing. I couldn’t decide if this marriage was going to be just another nightmare or if Roberto Connolly might be different.

"WHO HURT YOU??" Every contour of his physique hinted at an underlying threat of violence.

“No one.” Kylie’s voice is barely a whisper, the weight of the truth heavy on her tongue.

Roberto leans closer, his intense gaze locking onto hers. “Now, I may not be the smartest man in the world, Kylie, but I know what the imprint of a man’s hands on a woman’s neck looks like.” As he speaks, his thumb glides over her skin, tracing the spot where Brendan’s grip still lingers like a bad dream. Strangely enough, Roberto’s touch doesn’t hurt—it feels... almost good.

She swallows hard, the movement pressing her throat against his thumb. “I—”

“Don’t lie to me.” His voice drops to a low growl, sending a shiver down her spine. Kylie licks her lips, acutely aware of his eyes following every movement, like he’s trying to read her soul.

“It won’t happen again,” she manages, but there’s a quiver in her voice that betrays her confidence.

Roberto’s expression darkens, a flicker of something dangerous lighting up his eyes. “You’re right. Because I’m going to kill the bastard.” His fingers continue their slow, unsettling caress along her neck, stirring feelings she hasn’t felt in a long time—feelings that shouldn’t be happening right now.

She gasps, caught between fear and an odd thrill. “Wait, you can’t just—”

“Tell me his name,” he demands, the urgency in his tone making her heart race.

But she won’t do it. Not for Brendan, not for anyone. Even in their twisted world, murder isn’t a simple answer—it’s a line she won’t let him cross for a woman he barely knows. “No.”

Roberto’s grip tightens slightly, and she feels the heat radiating from him. “Why not?” The question hangs in the air, thick with tension.

“Because... it’s not that simple,” she says, her voice steadier now. She meets his gaze, defiance mingling with a flicker of fear. He needs to understand: some things are better left unsaid.

“But it could be,” he replies, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “If you just let me handle it.”

Kylie shakes her head, a rush of adrenaline fueling her resolve. “You don’t get to decide that for me.” The challenge in her eyes surprises them both.

Roberto's jaw clenches, his eyes narrowing as he studies Kylie's defiant expression. The tension between them crackles like electricity, dangerous and unpredictable.

"You're protecting him," he growls, his grip on her neck loosening slightly. "After everything he's done to you."

Kylie takes a shaky breath, steeling herself. "I'm protecting you, Roberto. From crossing a line you can't come back from."

His laugh is bitter, sardonic. "You think I haven't crossed that line before?"

"Not for me," she insists, her voice gaining strength. "And not like this. This isn't some calculated move in your world of power plays and vendettas. This is raw, unplanned vengeance. It's messy. And it will destroy you."

Roberto's hand drops away from her neck, but he doesn't step back. His presence looms over her, conflicted emotions warring in his dark eyes.

"You don't know what I'm capable of," he says, his tone a mix of threat and... something else. Pride? Desperation?

Kylie meets his gaze unflinchingly. "Maybe not. But I know what I'm capable of. And I won't be the reason you throw everything away."

For a long moment, they stand there, locked in a silent battle of wills. The air feels charged, heavy with unspoken words and barely restrained violence.

Finally, Roberto takes a step back, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Fine," he spits out. "Have it your way. But this isn't over."

Kylie's shoulders sag with relief, but she knows better than to relax completely. In their world, nothing is ever truly over.

"Thank you," she says softly, meaning it despite everything.

Roberto turns away, his posture rigid with barely contained

fury. "Don't thank me yet," he mutters. "I still intend to find out who did this to you. And when I do…”