He curses before punching the wall next to my head, leaving a bloody indentation behind.
“You give me no fucking choice, Chiara!” Wild eyes rake over me as he steps back, and I’m left reeling in confusion.
We’re strangers who’ve barely spent any time together since Kane dragged me back here. What does he expect?
“At least Luka’s made an effort to be nice to me! Of course I’ve spent time with him. It’s not like anyone else talks to me in that fucking mausoleum. You’re never there. Would you rather I chatted to myself or to a random painting on the wall? Maybe I need to find a basketball in your home gym and paint a face on it.”
Not that I’ve spent any time in his basement gym. Treadmills and weight benches aren’t my thing. I prefer working my brain not my body.
Angelo stalks away, muscles bulging inside his tux. The guy’s one second away from losing it. This version of Angelo is feral. Nothing like the public persona he shows the world.
“Angelo, we need to go before someone comes looking for you.” Kane’s voice cuts through Angelo’s inexplicable anger. He takes a deep breath before exhaling slowly.
“There are cameras everywhere in my home, Chiara. I’d remember that if I were you.”
I chew on his revelation for a moment before pushing away from the wall with a smile.
“Good to know.” Confusion flashes across his face before he huffs and walks away. No doubt he was expecting me to rage about the invasion of privacy, but while I ought to be horrifiedknowing he’s been watching me, there’s a big part of me that likes it.
And a small, twisted part of my soul plans to use his cameras against him.
The bastard thinks he has me caged. Well, he’ll soon learn how it feels to be on the outside looking in while I have all kinds of fun.
19
Angelo
The mayor presses his sweaty palm into mine, and I force a smile while silently wishing I’d skipped this event. Losing my shit with my wife is a sharp reminder she gets under my skin like nobody else. Not even my asshole father.
I must have been nuts if I thought the damn woman would behave.
My frustration grows as the minutes tick by. I would leave right now if not for the speech I have to give before the auction begins. Fina would never forgive me if I left her in the lurch.
The woman who has taken great delight in telling everyone within earshot that she’s well now is standing next to me. Not quite within touching distance, but close enough that the scent of her vanilla perfume makes my mouth water.
After my meltdown earlier, I’ve not touched another drop of alcohol. It’s hard enough controlling myself around her as it is, so adding more booze into the mix would be disastrous.
People are giving us a wide berth. It’s as if they’re terrified mental illness is catching, and if they come too close, they, too, might have a breakdown.
The younger women throw me sympathetic looks, like they wish they could heal my emotional wound with their cunts, while the men stare at my wife with hungry eyes.
I make a mental note of who I need to kill.
Chiara may hate me—and trust me, the feeling is mutual right now—but these clowns really ought to know better than to ogle the gorgeous woman staring daggers at me while I make small talk with the mayor.
Thankfully, she hasn’t attempted to join in the conversation. From the glazed look in her eyes, she’s bored, which has encouraged her to drink more.
I’ve been keeping count, and this is her third glass in less than two hours. My wife has a low tolerance for alcohol. One more glass and she’ll be pole dancing on the T-Rex’s leg.
“Have we met, dear?” The mayor peers at Chiara once our talk about his reelection campaign dries up. I swallow my sigh. He’s an idiot, but a harmless one.
“Not unless you recently spent six months having electroshock therapy in a Swiss sanatorium?” She blinks before offering him a manic smile.
If I could take her home, I would. The damn woman is a liability.
She bares her teeth at me when I reach for her hand, squeezing it tight enough that she winces. Kane stands a couple of feet away, watching my back. From the way he snorted, he must have heard what she said. The bastard’s loving her performance this evening. So is Marjorie, the bitch who writes the society column.
Tomorrow’s report will be…interesting.
