Nicolina is right, to an extent. Massimo and Ben played no part in what happened to me.
Angelo Mazzone, Bennett’s father, was the one who is worthy of my anger. He arranged the marriage contract for his daughter Natalia to wed Carlo Greco, which set the whole thing in motion. I know it was Angelo who gave the order to have me rescued, and he sent Leo and his now-deceased son Mateo to fetch me.
Angelo killed my father, denying me that vengeance. He never took Don Greco to task over my kidnapping, and he never came to check on me. I was handed back to my self-centered mother, broken and damaged beyond all recognition, and left to rot.
Angelo died before I could kill him, denying me that revenge too. Inheritances, including debts, pass to the eldest son in our world, meaning Ben assumed all of Angelo’s responsibilities.
In my mind, it was clear he would have to pay for Angelo’s failings.
Now, it is much less clear. Bennett is a good man, a devoted husband and father, and a wise leader, and he has been fair to me. The waters are muddled, and killing him no longer feels right. How could I deprive Sierra of her husband? Take Ben away from their children?
I can’t justify it.
But how can I just let it go?
It is all I have known.
Who will I be without my vengeance?
These questions, and more, keep me up at night until I fall into a troubled sleep where I’m ripped to shreds by ghastly beasts who keep me chained in a cage. I wake screaming and gasping for air, my heart pounding so hard at having revisited the darkest time in my life.
Which is why I’m going to visit the place where it all started. Perhaps a physical reminder will help to make the path clearer because there is one thing I know with certainty—indecision leads to mistakes, and I can’t afford any of those.
“What is this?” I ask, walking out of the closet I share with my husband holding the suspicious-looking plastic package in my hand.
Massimo’s grin is so wide it threatens to split his face. He stalks toward me like a predator eyeing up its prey. “Were you snooping, wife?”
“They were on the floor by your suits,” I truthfully explain. “Is this what I think it is?”
He reels me into his arms, still grinning. “I took them out last night and must not have put them back on the shelf correctly.”
“Stop deflecting,” I snap, nerves getting the best of me.
He tweaks my nose, and I glare at him. “Yes, those are your panties from the airport bathroom.” He squeezes my ass through my dress. “I was surprised you would leave them behind.”
“They were on the floor of a public bathroom. I was hardly going to put them back on, but yes, it was stupid of me to put them in the trash. I should have taken them with me to dispose of later. I am not usually so flippant when it comes to my DNA.” It is proof Massimo distracted me from the very beginning.
“Damn. When I was searching for you, I never thought to have them tested for DNA.”
The frantic pounding in my heart calms a smidgeon at his words. It was my initial thought when I found my lace panties preserved carefully in a sealed plastic bag. My DNA isn’t on any official database—I have been painstaking in ensuring I never leave evidence behind—but I can’t know that with one-hundred-percent certainty.
“Why did you keep them?” I cock my head to one side, inspecting my husband’s face for any telltale signs of lying.
“I wanted a memento. It was the only reminder I had from that day, besides my memories.” He fixes me with a wolfish grin that is downright wicked. “I used to jerk off daily with them wrapped around my cock, imagining you on your knees, gagging on my dick.”
“Are you being real with me now?”
“Straight up.” He rubs his erection against my belly. “See what even thinking about it does to me?” Bending down, he bites on my earlobe. “I had to stop doing it when the lace started to fray. That’s when I had to jerk off with just my memories. I put them in the sealed bag to preserve them.”
“Like a serial killer does with mementos of each kill,” I deadpan, scrutinizing his face. “Are there more of these? From different women? Do I need to worry about finding other random panties in plastic bags lying around the place?”
His wolfish grin expands. “Careful,mia amata. That almost sounds like jealousy.”
“You wish,” I murmur as an unfamiliar emotion gives way to a fluttery sensation in my chest, and the vein in my neck pulses at a more rapid pace.
“You can relax,” he says, grinding his pelvis into me. “I had no interest in preserving any woman’s panties except yours.”
That is oddly endearing, and my body seems to agree as I feel a layer of stress lift from my shoulders. “You’re such a perv.”
