Filed to story: Sold to The Possessive Mafia Boss Book (Xavier & Jane) Free Online >>
I listen, the parallels between the tapestry’s ancient feud and our own modern vendetta striking me. Caught in a cycle of vengeance and pain, just like the figures woven into the tapestry.
Lucas meets my gaze, a spark of respect in his eyes. “Xavier wants to end it, for good. Once Garibaldi’s dead, it’s over. Up to now he was afraid of sparking a war that would burn the city but now you’re threatened, he doesn’t give a shit. The world could burn as far as he’s concerned, as long as you’re safe.”
I think about what my father told me. Xavier said he married me to keep me safe. From what these two are saying, being his bride puts me in more danger. What is the truth?
The weight of their story, of my role in this ongoing saga, settles on my shoulders. But with it comes a sense of purpose, a determination to be more than a figure caught in the weave of someone else’s battle. Like the characters in the tapestry, I have my own role to play, a chance to influence the outcome.
Impulsively, I pull out my phone and dial Xavier’s number again, craving the sound of his voice. The line rings, and for a moment, I’m afraid he won’t answer. But then he does, and the relief is palpable.
“Xavier,” I begin, my voice trembling slightly with a mix of excitement and nerves. “I’m at the Bayeux Tapestry. It’s more incredible than I imagined.”
There’s a pause on the other end, and when he speaks, his voice is distant, a cold shadow of the warmth I’d hoped for. “Are you in danger? Where are Matteo and Lucas?”
I push on, desperate for a connection, for any sign that he’s still the man I fell in love with. “I’m fine. It’s just, I wish you could see it with me. There’s so much history here, so much life. It makes me miss you even more.”
Again, there’s a pause, a hesitance that’s unlike him. “I’m busy right now. We’ll talk later.” His tone is dismissive, the finality in his voice a stark contrast to the openness we’ve always shared.
“Why? What are you doing?”
“In a meeting.”
“Is everything okay?” I ask, a knot of worry forming in my stomach. “You sound different.”
“I said I’m busy,” he snaps, the sharpness of his tone cutting through me. “I’ll call you back when I can.”
And just like that, the line goes dead. I stand there, phone in hand, the sounds of the museum fading into a distant hum. The weight of his indifference, so at odds with the love and passion that have defined our relationship, settles over me like a shroud.
Is this what my life has become? A series of disconnected moments, waiting for scraps of affection from a man who may not truly care for me? The doubt, a seed planted by my father’s warnings, begins to sprout, fed by Xavier’s cold dismissal.
I can’t shake the heaviness in my heart, the swirling maelstrom of doubt and fear that threatens to consume me. In a moment of desperation, I dial Emma, needing to hear a voice that isn’t shrouded in the complexities of my current life.
“Hey, Jane, what’s up?” Emma’s voice is a balm, instantly grounding me.
I take a deep breath, the words tumbling out. “I’m at the tapestry.”
“Oh, wow. You always wanted to see that. Is it as cool as it looks online?”
“Amazing but listen. I called Xavier just now. He was so cold, so distant. I don’t know what to think anymore.” I move away from the guards, lowering my voice. “You know when Dad called? He said that Xavier’s using me to get to him.”
“You believe him?”
“I don’t know. He said he had intel that could put Xavier behind bars for life. Said my husband’s only using me to get to him.”
Emma’s sigh is heavy with empathy. “That’s bullshit. Jane. Xavier, he loves you. I could tell by how he looked at you in the church. Don’t let one cold conversation cloud everything. Don’t listen to your father. Listen to your heart.”
Her encouragement warms me, offering a flicker of hope in the darkness. “Thanks, Emma. I needed to hear that.”
“You should call him though, tell him your father spoke to you.”
“I’ll do that now.”
As I hang up, the fear and doubt haven’t entirely dissipated, but Emma’s words have fortified me, reminding me of the strength I’ve found within myself since meeting Xavier. I’m not the same woman who fell in love with him; I’ve grown, faced challenges I never imagined, and through it all, I’ve found a resilience I didn’t know I possessed.
The urge to connect with Xavier once more is overpowering, driven by a mix of desperation and dwindling hope.
I dial his number again, my heart hammering against my ribcage, yearning for a sign that the coldness was just a momentary lapse, an aberration.
But the call ends abruptly, the line going dead before a single word is exchanged, and with it, the last vestiges of hope dissipate like smoke.
The stark, unyielding reality of my existence as a mafia wife, bound to a man whose life is steeped in danger and impenetrable shadows, presses down on me with unbearable weight.
The shrill ring of my phone slices through the silence, a jarring intrusion. My breath catches, anticipation and dread mingling in equal measure as I reach for it, expecting—hoping—it’s Xavier.
But the voice that greets me isn’t his; it’s my father’s. His words, laden with a grim satisfaction, send a cold shiver down my spine. “Look at the screen,” he instructs, his tone chillingly calm.
Reluctantly, my gaze drops to the phone, and the scene that unfolds before me is one of unbridled violence. Xavier, the man I love, the man with whom I’ve shared moments of tenderness and vulnerability, is unrecognizable.
He’s an avatar of rage, his fists raining down on a bound figure, the impact of each blow punctuated by the sickening sound of flesh meeting flesh. The man beneath him is a broken, bloodied mess, his identity obscured by the brutality of the assault.
“This is happening right now,” my father says. “This is the real man you married. The man he’s beating won’t tell him where I am. This is what your husband will do to stay out of prison. This is the man you love. Now do you see why he has to die?”
“Where is he?” Xavier is roaring at the top of his voice. I gasp in shock. Xavier doesn’t look like a man anymore. He looks like the devil.
He pulls out a knife, pressing it to his victim’s face, screaming at him. “Talk or I cut your fucking eyes out.”
Overwhelmed, I stagger, my father’s voice fading into a distant, meaningless drone.