Simple. Clean. Justice for Marco.
But nothing about Giuliana Conti is fucking simple.
I think about how she looked tonight.
She was poised and elegant despite being terrified, playing her role perfectly while probably fantasizing about stabbing me with her dinner knife.
How she smiled at Viktor Torrino and charmed him with just the right amount of deference.
How every man in that ballroom looked at her and saw exactly what I intended them to see: a beautiful, sophisticated woman who’d tamed Luca Marchetti.
Except she hasn’t tamed shit.
If anything, she’s awakened something I’ve kept locked down for years—this possessive, primitive need to claim and dominate and mark her as mine in ways that go far beyond the arrangement we’re supposed to maintain.
I catch sight of my reflection in the window and barely recognize myself.
My tie is loosened, my hair disheveled from running my hands through it, my expression twisted with an emotion I don’t want to name.
I look like a man at war with himself.
Because that’s exactly what I am.
Marco’s photograph sits on my desk, the one from that barbecue five years ago where we’re both laughing at something stupid Danny said.
My cousin, my best friend, my brother in everything but blood.
The man who died because Antonio Conti sold him out for gambling money.
I reach out and trace his face with the tip of my finger. “I’m doing this for you,” I tell the photograph, my voice rough as my fingertip curves around Marco’s smile. “Everything is for you.”
But even as I say it, doubt creeps in and a tiny voice awakens.
Would Marco want this?
Would he want me to destroy an innocent woman to punish her father?
Would he approve of the monster I’ve become in pursuit of his justice?
No, the little voice says, its voice insidious.
Marco would tell me I’ve lost my mind, that revenge has consumed everything good in me, and that I’m becoming exactly like the men we swore we’d never be.
But Marco’s dead, and I’m still here, and someone has to pay for what was taken from me.
The rage boils over, and before I can think better of it, I’m storming out of my office and through the hallways toward Giuliana’s suite.
The guards straighten as I pass, wisely staying silent as they see my expression.
I swipe my master key card across the lock and throw open the door without bothering to knock.
Giuliana bolts upright in bed, her eyes going wide. “Get the fuck out of my room!” she shouts. “You don’t get to just barge in here?—”
My eyes sweep the room, and that’s when I see it.
Shredded emerald silk scattered across the floor like confetti.
The expensive dress I selected, torn into pieces with what must have been savage fury.
