She’d suffered while he’d walked away.
That left her with a single, logical and thoroughly devastating conclusion. He didn’t love her. Not really. And that forced her to face an agonizing realization. If she surrendered to him now, he’d own her body and soul. But what would she possess? A man capable of picking her up and setting her aside whenever he wished. She couldn’t live like that. She refused to live like that.
For her, for whatever reason, the burn of The Inferno only went one way. Otherwise, Constantine wouldn’t have left her. Otherwise, he couldn’t have stayed away for so long or curtailed all communication. Well, if he could turn off The Inferno, so could she, though she’d never learned that portion of the secret. Somehow. Someway. Even if it killed her, she’d put an end to it. She closed her eyes against the tears pressing for release.
God, she loved him.
Figlio di puttana! Constantine watched Gianna walk away. Bitter frustration ate at him. Nineteen damn months. For nineteen months, five days, eight hours and a handful of minutes he’d fought and clawed to get his fledgling business, Romano Restoration, off the ground and soaring so that he could emigrate to the United States and establish a stronghold in San Francisco. All to provide Gianna with more than a name when he asked her to marry him. And now that his company had taken off and he was in a position to support a wife, the only woman he wanted was walking away with a hip-swinging stride that knocked every last brain cell off-line.
Another man! His hands collapsed into fists. How could she? He’d promised he’d return the instant he could provide for her, and she’d agreed to wait. For nearly two years he’d worked endless days and nights to make that happen. How could she turn her back on what they had? What they could have? Didn’t she feel it, that ferocious wildfire that exploded into flames whenever they were in the same room together?
He stared down at his balled hands and it took every ounce of resolve to ignore the relentless itch centered in the palm of his right hand. It was an itch that had flared to life the first moment Gianna Dante had slipped her fine-boned hand into his, and it had continued over the course of the ensuing months, no matter how much distance separated them.
Constantine knew what it was. Though Gianna had neglected to explain what she’d done to him—a lengthy and pointed discussion for another time—his sister, Ariana, had described it in graphic detail after her husband, Lazz, had Infernoed her when they’d first joined hands at the altar on their wedding day. Those damned Dantes and their damnable Inferno. It wasn’t enough that they’d used it to overpower his sister. That wasn’t good enough for them. Hell, no. For some reason, the sole Dante female had chosen him for her mate, had used The Inferno to steal every last crumb of his own self-control. Ever since that day he’d been trapped with no hope of escape other than to surrender to its demands.
And now, he couldn’t even do that because Gianna had “moved on.” He wanted to roar in outrage. Not a chance in hell would he let her get away with it. She’d soon discover that she couldn’t move on, up, down, or sideways without his being right there waiting for her. Whoever she’d chosen to infect with The Inferno this time around was out of luck.
No matter what it took, no matter whether she faced her fate willingly or otherwise, he intended to claim Gianna Dante for his own. The Inferno might have caused him to lose his legendary control, but marriage to her would allow him to regain it. Once he had his ring on her finger and her delightful curves in his bed, this hideous need would ease and he’d be able to wield it as he saw fit. Until then… He stared at her broodingly.
God, he wanted her.
“Did you hear the news?” Elia Dante asked. She lounged in a chair outside the dressing rooms of a snazzy little boutique called Sinfully Delicious. “No, Gianna. Not the salmon. Go with the bronze halter gown. It complements your eyes better than the other one.”
Gianna held up one gown, then the other, before nodding in agreement. Though why she bothered to compare the two, she didn’t know. When it came to fashion, her mother was infallible. “What news?”