Free Femme Fatale Loved (Pericolo #3) by Kirsty-Anne Still

because of who I am."
    "No, Amelia; that was your past."
    I shake my head. "Our pasts have a knack of creeping back up on us, and I am waiting for someone somewhere to decide it's time I get another teaching like I did in Italy." I wipe my tears, not allowing my sense of domestication to become a charade. I have been living the good life, and this isn’t about to disrupt it. “You can’t just outrun the mob.”
    “I know that, but you cannot allow it to dictate your life when you all fought for a chance to be standing here,” he tells me, trying to calm himself. “I don’t want to argue with you, Amelia, although it makes us like every other couple in the world. I just need to understand. Our miscommunications were killer before; let’s not make them that this time.”
    Maybe I’ve been blind. I’ve wanted nothing but a carefree, happy life to happen, but in doing so, I’ve made sure there have been no hiccups, no drama, and no real moments of true tension.
    But what’s worse ... denying myself the normal ups and downs of life or going back to that life? It’s now time I tell myself that arguments happen, fighting changes nothing, and disputes strengthen. Everything I used to know is nothing like it is now. I’m still learning how to live like a normal human being without expectations or birth rights.
    “I just feel like everything’s too good to be true,” I admit, meeting his gaze. “It was before, and look how it ended. How it ended both times. After Italy, I don’t know; I don’t want to take everything for granted. I just want to freeze this moment. I don’t want to change it in case we never get it back. Everything is perfect, and I just want to push pause. After Amalfi Coast, my perspective of everything changed, and then with Manuel dying, it changed even more. Right now, life is good; I don’t want to jinx it.”
    “You won’t be,” he tells me, but I can see he’s giving up pushing me. He moves closer, closing the gap to comfort me. "What happened to you there, sweetheart?" he asks, backing away from his proposal. "The only way we can work through this is to talk about it."
    "I can't," I defy him, shaking my head as my gaze drops.
    "Why?"
    I take a struggled breath, hold it in my chest, and feel the lack of oxygen begin to burn before I finally exhale and talk. "Because I don't want you to look at me like I'm a monster. You saw what I did in that house, but what I did in Amalfi Coast doesn't even amount to it!"
    "I know what you did was horrific,” he counters, striving to convey his understanding.
    “No, that’s not even close to it.” My words are painful litanies, each syllable a curse that will follow me for life. I know I have moved on, but how can a sinner truly repent? I still have blood on my hands. I still vowed to do my part within the Dio Lavoro, and that was to take the life of others however I deemed necessary. "I was a killer. A heartless, emotionless killer. I had to be a textbook killer to survive. However much I hated it, I still murdered, and I still hurt others. I broke families apart by following orders. What I did made my grip on any goodness become a struggle, and I have been grappling to get more and more of it back. I don't want any of you to know what I was made to do."
    “It won’t matter,” he whispers, my eyes burning all over again as he speaks. “I have a good idea what you were made to do, but you need to tell someone. You can’t expect to save the world, sweetheart, if you can’t let someone save you first. I promise you, I will quit asking you to marry me if you just learn to let your past stay behind you. It cannot influence every move you make when you are proving every day that you are a better person. Everything you’ve done is out of loyalty you placed in the men you thought were family.” He reaches out, placing his closed fist under my jaw to run his thumb along my cheek, gently easing me into a sense of comfort to speak freely. “So talk