And now I’m just supposed to accept it?
Play the obedient captive and wait for whatever he decides to do with me?
Fuckthat.
Tomorrow, Luca will see what I did with his precious gown and jewelry.
He’ll know that I’m not completely broken yet.
There’s still fight in me, even if all I can do right now is destroy beautiful things.
It’s not much, but it’s all I have right now.
I’m not done fighting yet. Not by a long shot.
8
LUCA
The alcohol sears down my throat, but it does nothing to calm the fury churning in my chest.
I pour another two fingers and down it in one swallow, welcoming the fire that does absolutely nothing to drown out the images replaying in my mind.
Mayor Castellano kissing Giuliana’s hand. Viktor Torrino’s approving assessment when he said “even lovelier than Luca described.” That bastard from the Moretti family whose eyes tracked her across the ballroom like she was his latest dessert.
Every single one of them looking at her, appreciating her, wanting her.
Mine. The word thunders through my mind with primitive intensity. She’s mine.
Except she’s not.
She’s a means to an end.
A pawn in a three-year game of revenge that’s supposed to culminate in Antonio Conti watching his daughter die before I end him too.
That’s the plan.
That’salwaysbeen the plan.
So why does the thought of other men looking at her make me want to break things?
I slam the glass down on my desk hard enough that the crystal cracks, a spiderweb fracture spreading from the base.
The sharp sound echoes in the office but provides no satisfaction.
Nothing provides satisfaction right now except the memory of her pressed against my side, that emerald silk clinging to every curve, her body heat seeping through the thin fabric.
The way her breath hitched when I pulled her closer.
The slight tremble in her hands even as she maintained that perfect smile.
The hatred burning in her eyes when she looked at me, mixed with something else—fear, yes, but also that unwanted physical awareness I saw flash across her face.
“Fuck.” The word comes out as a growl, and I pour another drink.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. I was supposed to remain detached, clinical, focused on the endgame.
Break her spirit, use her for the alliance, dispose of her when her usefulness ended.
