Snapping Point

20.

This was the underlying cause of the tension between them—their secret relationship. I couldn't fathom it. I hadn't been negligent, no. And no one could blame me for not suspecting this earlier. The notion of Ottavio being involved with my sister should never have occurred to me, particularly within the confines of our bond as brothers. I had always kept my distance from the women in his social circle, so why did he cross into mine?

How long had this been going on?

What was Emilia thinking, encroaching on my own social circle? He was not the suitable match for her, and never would be. I wasn't here to select a husband for her or coerce her into marriage, but I would definitely scrutinize the men who came into her life. Given that I knew Ottavio inside out, he had long been deemed off-limits for any of my sisters since we were teenagers. And if this affair was merely sexual, it only made the situation infinitely worse.

The image I had just witnessed kept haunting me, replaying in my mind relentlessly. No matter how much I tried to rationalize it, I couldn't accept it. Ottavio and Emilia. Darkness and light. Betrayal. I had anticipated that Emilia would eventually begin dating—she was twenty-five, after all. But for it to be Ottavio, and for me to catch them in the act, I felt a profound loss of respect for him. I could feel my blood racing with unmatched heat.

My anger surged uncontrollably, and I didn't bother trying to rein it in. That bastard would typically confront me, meeting my gaze, fully aware that he had grassed me by sleeping with my sister. He would casually mention her name as if she were just another woman, when he knew exactly what he had been doing. We had taught her the right values at some point. We had protected her together, taken care of her, even packed her lunches. Good Lord. He was despicable.

The steering wheel of my car absorbed the force of my frustration as I pounded on it relentlessly, yet it only intensified my anger. I loosened my tie and tossed it onto the passenger seat, biting my lip in anxious frustration. The memory resurfaced, and I felt the urge to slap myself in the fucking face or deafen my ears to drown out her soft cries.

Heaven help me.

My hip flask lay empty, as did my pack of cigarettes. Nothing could soothe my anger—not even parking near the mansion and torturing myself by gazing up at Emilia's window, desperate to erase the haunting image from my mind.

With a heavy heart, I watched her silhouette glide toward the window, the curtains closing moments later. Suppressing a groan, I cursed myself for not intervening earlier when I caught them in the act. God knew I couldn't bear witnessing Ottavio hastily pulling up his pants while Emilia scrambled to find her clothes.

Embarrassment would mix with anger and create the most dramatic outburst. I could envision myself punching Ottavio right there in her room, with even Bianca in the secluded part of the house feeling the wrath—everyone would be drawn in. That's the thing, I didn't desire anyone else to discover this. My father would almost certainly finish Ottavio, and my mother would be profoundly disappointed in Emilia.  I didn't have the resolve to sell them out, yet I lacked the resolve to understand, let alone accept it.

What a horrible burden.

Finally, I spotted the bastard sneaking out of the house through the back—what a coward. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, and he wiped them away with a single swipe. As soon as he noticed my car, he froze in his tracks, and I flicked on the headlights, beckoning him to come closer. I never parked in this spot—of course, he knew something was amiss.

Giving himself a last glance to spot out the odd, he approached me. "Roe, why are you out here?"

Ignoring his question, I continued to stare straight ahead, pretending not to hear him as he approached. When he opened the door on my side, his fake smile only stoked my rage further.