No, I can’t let myself feel this way toward her. I can’t. Especially when I know it’s not possible she’d feel the same for me, considering I kidnapped her. How could a woman ever love a man who did something like that to her?
I’m unworthy of her love, even now, after all the money I earned over the years. I wasn’t kidding when I told her I wanted to feel worthy of her. But I threw away any chance I had with her when I kidnapped her. But what choice did I have? Her father was going to marry her to another man. I took too long to have my revenge.
I should have killed him years ago.
If I had, Angela would have been mine.
I’ll forever regret that.
I smile ruefully at my thoughts. If Angela knew what I was thinking, she’d recoil under my gaze. She wouldn’t want to have anything to do with me.
Yes, I’m not the right man for her.
Besides, after this is over I’ll have my hands full protecting my brothers, and Rosa. Because when Angela tells her father what I’ve done, there will be hell to pay.
Assuming I even let her go.
Maybe I’ll just run away with her. Throw her into one of the speedboats, head for the Italian mainland, and never look back.
I’m sure she’d forgive me someday. Hell, I think a part of her even wants that.
But can I really drag her away from everything she loves?
I guess I’ll find out tomorrow, when I finally make up my mind.
22
Angela
Ibid farewell to Primo and follow Massimo back into the house.
I was so impressed by how gentle he was with the colt. He’s so good with horses. They say an animal is a better judge of character than a lot of humans are—if an ordinarily friendly dog barks at someone, for example, it’s probably for a reason. Dogs, horses, they all love Massimo. They can sense the good person he is inside. Someone who cares about them. Someone who would never harm them.
And yet, he did kidnap me. I can’t forget that.
I shake my head, banishing the thought. I don’t want to think about that now. Instead I want to reward Massimo somehow, for showing me this kinder, gentler side of him.
His phone buzzes and he reaches into his pocket to grab it. He reads the message, texts a reply, and shoves it away.
“Who was that?” I ask.
“One of my brothers.” He doesn’t elaborate.
As we pass the kitchen, on cue my stomach growls, so I ask him: “It’s almost lunch time. Can I cook something for you?”
He studies me a moment. “Youcancook, right? And by cook, I’m talking about being able to do more than boil water.”
I laugh. “Boiling water is one of my specialties. But yes, I can do other things besides.”
He eyes me wolfishly. “So I’ve seen.” He purses his lips as if considering my request. “All right. You can cook for me. But you’re going to have to wait until the groceries arrive. We’re out of basically everything at this house. Someone should be arriving with them soon.”
He leads me to the family room and pauses in front of an L-shaped sectional. He beckons toward the white leather and I take a seat. He sits on the opposite side of the L.
Hopefully I’m not pouting. I glance at his crotch, but since he’s crossed his legs, I can’t see his cock at all. Aw.
I lean back and examine the room. The paintings. The sculptures and vases. The grand piano. I’m tempted to play it again, but decide that can wait.
“So much antique furniture,” I tell him. “I’m guessing you have a thing for antiques?”
