We pass Damrosch Park as we’re arriving at the school. Ronan asked me to meet him there tomorrow at 2PM. “There’s a free concertI should attend to fulfill a course requirement,” I quickly lie. “Tomorrow at that park after class.”
Faro’s eyes meet mine in the rearview, and I force myself to hold his gaze. Made Men are taught how to lie early and taught how to detect lies, too, but I’m not a total novice when it comes to deception. I give him a vapid smile that conveys the concert had slipped my mind until now and, as I’m his boss’s wife, I’m certain of his compliance with this little matter.
“Outdoors at a public park? Not safe.”
“I trust you to protect me, and it's required.”
“Fine. If you must attend,” he says, begrudgingly.
Oh, I must.
Finding a way to escape Faro will be difficult if not impossible, but I have to try. I want to see my brother and know he’s okay. And I’m pissed off at my husband and sick of his controlling ways.
He could be stood up for his wedding by one bride and left by another before his reception.
I think of his smirk that morning on the stairs as Mom joined us, how he teased me over making deals with the devil and subtly threatened Alessio. Smug fucker. I should leave his devious ass over this trick.
Would you though?
“Yes,” I hiss at my weak, stupid heart. My heart isn’t convinced. I’m in serious danger of developing feelings for Carlo if I haven’t already. I have to hold onto my anger. At least until I’ve seen Ronan and can consider my options.
“Good luck on your performance,” Faro says, escorting me to the auditorium.
“Yeah, yeah,” I grumble.
He chuckles. “I almost feel bad for the poor bastard who’s singing with you.”
I glare at him, wondering what he means before he saunters off to find a seat in the back where he can watch me. Always watching me. Always watched. I never wanted this.
For the first time in a while, I miss my lucky silver hair tie. Angrily, I stomp toward the stage, ignoring even Harper’s friendly wave when my name is called.
The young man from the theater department stands to join me for our duet of “Tonight” fromWest Side Story. His name is Chris, and he’s cute. Preppy clothes, bright smile, slender build. I would’ve thought him absolutely dreamy when I was thirteen. Now, he strikes me as wimpy.Because I apparently like monsters.
“Ready for tonight, beautiful?” Chris asks with a wink.
I glower at him for calling me that and for the corny pun regarding the song we’re about to sing. And for the grave misfortune of him possessing a Y chromosome at the moment.
But as I’m about to tell Chris I’d prefer we behave professionally at all times, on and off-stage, the auditorium doors open for a late arrival, and my eyes are automatically drawn to the tall figure who steps inside. In his crisp tailored suit, he stands out among the boho theater kids. Who am I kidding? He’d stand out anywhere, like a Roman general among shepherds. Or a demon wolf among innocent sheep, a predator among prey.
He doesn’t take a seat in the very back like Faro. He strides to an empty row in the middle of the auditorium. His eyes are fixed on me and my duet partner, and there’s a possessive gleam I recognize. Nowonder my bodyguard mentioned feeling sorry for my singing partner. Carlo is an alpha, and an alphanevershares.
The devil that fuels my anger has me turning toward Chris, answering his wink with a gushing, “Can’t wait!”
The lights dim and the music begins, a balcony scene and fairytales of love at first sight. It’s a myth I could almost believe in if I wasn’t so angry… but not as angry as I want to be. Music always transports me to another place and knowing my husband is watching me overwhelms my anger. My heart speaks loudest when I sing, drowning out logic and reason. I’m not singing for my partner or the other students or professors watching us. I sing forhim.
The last note is still fading when our small audience starts to clap. My eyes seek my husband. He’s standing and applauding, the pleasure in his expression is like sunshine after clouds. Every word of love and longing in those lyrics, I felt because of Carlo. How could I allow this to happen?
Turning, I smile politely at Chris, pleased we performed well together. That’s when the idiot places his hands on my face. I try to stumble backwards, to warn him, but he’s too fast. He yanks me toward him for a sloppy, wet and very unwanted kiss.
39
Carlo
I’d looped the broken silver hair tie around my finger when the music began, but she doesn’t need a good luck charm. She is my siren on stage, the embodiment of temptation, and I desire nothing more than to worship at her altar when I hear her voice raised in song. Such a strange intoxication for a man who once thought himself immune.
But more than her talent shackles me now. I enjoy every moment I spend with my wife, whether we’re fighting or fucking or simply having a quiet moment together. I know it’s not a vulnerability a Don should allow. It doesn't stop it from being true.
Faro had texted what she’d be doing this afternoon. A possessive beast had stirred the moment he mentioned a duet with a male partner, and I’d cancelled an important meeting to be here. I didn’t like the look of that guy the second I set eyes on him. I absolutely despised the way she smiled at him. I hate the moony expression he wears now as he serenades my wife. But he’s nothing. Just a singing college boy and an outsider.
