I only ever wanted to fight by his side, but he started looking at me as a liability instead of an equal.
I place the photo back down, my fingers drifting over Milia's face. I barely remember her now. It’s as if, at times, I’ve never had a family at all. I am, however, surprised that Lorenzo clings to this photo. I never thought of him as the sentimental type.
And I don't care, because I’m not.
I only care about what fun is to be had. Up until this point, destroying my brother has been my sole focus, as I enjoy playing the long game of being the thorn in his side.
But now, I have a certain woman who is equally keeping me on my toes.
I lick my bottom lip, my cock growing hard at the mere thought of how I’ll irritate her next. Hopefully, to the point of explosion so she can hate-fuck me, using and abusing me as she does best.
18
ROMI
That fucking psycho. I wake up to a knock on the door and a man handing me a small black box with a note. He offers me a polite smile and merrily says, “Thank you for your purchase, and I hope you have a wonderful day.”
When I open the box, it reveals keys and a note that reads, “So you’re not so inclined to steal mine in the future.”
My jaw drops as I step onto the balcony and look down. Sitting there is a brand-fucking-new motorcycle with a red bow on top.
Is this guy for real? It’s like the moment he tastes any form of rejection, he comes begging for more. But like the leather jacket, this is too much. Dante Moretti is too much.
I hardly slept at all last night, unsure as to whether he would return to the apartment, despite my clear warning to leave me the fuck alone. He might’ve found somewhere else to stay, but he’s certainly not done with me.
I bite at the edge of my nail as I think, even though that’s all I did last night. It took all my restraint not to call Lily to ask her what the fuck was going on, and even though I despise Dante, he’s right about one thing. With heightened emotions, I wouldn’tfind answers. No, I’d most likely only say something that would push her away without rationally hearing her response.
So, I decide to call the only other person who’s as direct as they come, but apparently not so forthcoming. Arabella Armani has been our friend for three years now, and not once did I suspect that she was involved with the Italian mafia. I want answers, and though I should be more apprehensive about getting myself into trouble by asking, I’m just past the point of caring.
I’ve spent too long with my head in the sand, focused on the bubble I’ve been living in, only to put myself in a position to not only let a killer live under my roof but also fuck him.
I send Ara a text message for a time and place to meet, then I light a cigarette as I feed Borris.
It’s time to expose everyone’s secrets.
Although I sawAra only a week ago at our regular morning meetup, I swear every time I see her, her stomach has grown. She’s a month from her due date, and a small part of me is second-guessing asking her because I don't want to upset her. But I suspect this conversation won’t stress Ara in the slightest. In fact, I view her very differently now. She’s always been reserved, even within our group. A woman at the top of her game in business, and who could have the world at her feet, but I never knew she had a monster at her back, baring his fangs.
The man who’s been with her since Lorenzo stood by Lily’s side takes a seat close by. We joked about her security and Luca’s overprotectiveness toward her and the unborn baby, but I see the truth for what it is now. I’ve already ordered a glass of wine for myself while waiting for her arrival, and when theserver comes over to ask Ara what she would like, she settles for a water.
“Thank you for taking the time out of work to speak with me,” I say, swirling the wine. The restaurant is lovely, close to her office building as well. I’ve been here a few times for dinner, but now it has a totally different vibe. Everything does now. I wonder about the inner workings of the mafia here in Manhattan. Have I been exposed to this world more than I already realize?
“Of course. It sounded urgent. Is everything okay?” she asks, then thanks the server who brings over a bottle of water. Ara’s hand goes to her stomach. A tension ripples between us.
“There’s no other way to say it, so I’ll just get to the point. Are you involved with the Italian mafia?”
Her eyebrows rise ever so slightly. I can see her bodyguard tense, but I ignore him. I’m not scared of them, although I know I should be. Ara is a friend, and so is Lily, but this is some wild shit to process.
Ara’s gaze drops to myHaters gonna hateshirt. I didn’t wear it intentionally. It was the first shirt I grabbed from the pile of clothes Dante had washed and folded for me. But now I realize it might be giving off mixed signals.
“Yes,” she answers matter-of-factly. “Can I ask where you might’ve gained this information?”
“Manhattan is a small place. And, no, it wasn’t Lily. I haven’t spoken to her about it yet.”
Ara nods. “If I’m being honest, I thought you might’ve clued in on it before anyone else. I’m surprised it’s taken you this long.”
I almost scoff in disbelief. “Is this one of those clubs where you don’t get let in on the secrets unless you guess them?”
“You want to be in?” Ara asks cryptically.
