"What's wrong with you, Leo?" Bella's voice trembled, her wrists still trapped in his too-tight grip. "You're scaring me."
He chuckled. It was not a nice sound. Hollow. Mocking. Nothing like the low, warm laugh she loved.
"Oh right!" His voice dripped with bitter sarcasm. "Now I'm scaring you? But the unknown man who sent you a gift and a rose—he didn't scare you?"
Bella's eyes widened. Her heart stopped.
"How do you know—"
"Così non avevi intenzione di dirmelo?" (So you weren't planning to tell me?) Leo cut her off, his voice rising, slipping into Italian as his anger mounted. He released her wrists abruptly, stepping back. The space between them felt like a canyon. "I get it—back then I was busy. Fine. But you had plenty of time after that! Days, Bella! E non mi hai detto niente!" (And you told me nothing!)
His hands sliced through the air as he spoke, sharp, agitated movements. His whole body radiated anger, heat rolling off him in waves, muscles coiled tight, chest heaving.
