When the waitress leaves, he reaches across the table to hold her hand, but she moves it, tucking her hair behind her ear as she bats her lashes at him. His cheeks flush a little.
I know women like her. She’s leading him on. She wants something, but it isn’t him. I glare at her and contain my rage while I watch her like a hawk. She stands abruptly, says something to him, and leaves. He looks sad, dejected.
When she leaves the coffee shop, I break off and follow her. She heads into town and meets up with a guy. She squeals and runs the last few steps to him as she throws herself in his arms and peppers him with kisses. There’s no issue kissing him in public. The dirty fucking tramp will pay for her disrespect.
I watch from the corner while she dry humps the guy in the street, the snarl evident on my face as I pull out a cigar and light up, trying to keep my exterior nonchalant. As she pulls backfrom the guy, he slips something into her hand, and she kisses him again, then walks away. Her heels clacking obnoxiously against the pavement. As she dips around the corner to head back the way she came, totally unaware that I’m right behind her, my hand launches out and snatches at the back of her head. I toss her around and slam her back into the wall as I crowd against her. My hand grips around her throat. Her eyes widen as she tries to scream out. I snarl into her face.
“Who’s Leonardo De Luca to you?”
She shakes her head, and I ease off a little. “I don’t know who that is,” she sobs. Tears well in her eyes and tumble down her cheeks, leaving a clean trail in her too-thick make-up.
“Don’t fucking lie to me. I just saw you with him at the coffee shop.”
“Leo,” she chokes out. “Leo Christian?”
I stare at her, bemused. He doesn’t go by his father’s name, interesting. “Who is he to you?”
“No one,” she chokes out. “He’s a nobody, a nerd. He does my coursework. He thinks we’re dating. It’s nothing. We’re not really together. I don’t even really know him.”
I stare into her eyes, and I believe her. I know when people are lying. It’s a sixth sense, and she’s about to piss herself; she wouldn’t lie.
“End it!” I snarl in her face. “End it and never see him again. Do you understand me?”
Her eyes widen as I squeeze a little tighter. Her mouth opens as she tries to gasp for air, she clings on to my wrist as if she could stop me snapping her neck if I wanted to. But she’ll get air when I’m satisfied she’s gonna do as I ask.
“Don’t make me fucking kill you,” I spit in her face. Nodding, she gasps as I let go, clutching at her neck. “I will find you if you go anywhere near him again. I will not be so nice next time.”
Her eyes bug out of her head as I turn and walk away. I pull out my phone and check the feed to be met with an empty room. I stuff the phone back in my pocket and blow out a breath. I didn’t want to leave him now. I don’t know where he is. I head back to the house. I need to make sure I have eyes on him when I can’t be there.
I arrange for one of my guys to keep an eye on him and report back to me. I sit at my desk, staring at the phone, waiting for him to return. It’s getting late, and he’s still not back. I start pacing. I hate not knowing where he is. What he’s doing and who he’s with. I’m not a patient man. I won’t wait to find him.
Arianna
Chapter Eleven
I walk into the basement, locking my emotions down tight. I need to do this. The need to be systematic, not emotional, settles me. I rein everything in, wrapping my emotional state up with a nice little fucking bow and place it in the corner of my psyche. It’s been a week. I’ve internally gone through every emotion imaginable. On the outside, I’ve just been withdrawn until I broke, and Vittorio held those pieces together like it was his calling. In that moment, I knew we would burn the world together, but this, this is my match to light. Matteo’s gaze turns to me when I walk in. He smiles a real, genuine smile. Like he’s happy to see me. Like he doesn’t know what is about to happen. That this isn’t going to be the last time he draws breath.
“Arianna.” He smiles, sitting straighter in his chair.
I grin at him. “Matteo,” I acknowledge. The door creaks open again, and my two new bodyguards step inside. Matteo’seyes bug out as they step on either side of him. Over six feet of solid brooding muscle, permanent scowls etched across their weathered faces. They both exude a silent strength as they take their positions. I nod to each of them, and they lean down and cut the ties off his legs first, before cutting his hands free. He snatches his wrists, rubbing over each one, at the angry red bloody marks, crusty from days of him trying to get free. But I made sure there was no wiggle room.
“Who are they?” he grits out through his teeth.
“Glad you asked, Matteo. These are your replacements. An upgrade, if you will.” I smile at him. Not a genuine smile. A forced grimacing smile. These two guys I got from Deano, some of his new hires. Trusted by him. They’ve worked together. They’ve seen things they shouldn’t have. I already feel safer having them around. Deano has vouched for them, and after extensive interviews, I hired them.
Their expertise and values, along with their work ethic, shone above all the others. Luca is still with me, but now it’s his sole responsibility to protect Marianne and the house. Jonah and Sulley are my bodyguards now. Ex-Marines—quiet, stoic, efficient, and deadly.
I nod to each of them, and they grab Matteo, yanking and tugging at his clothes until he’s naked. He yells and screams, lashing out. Kicking and fighting, for all the good it will do him. Jonah grabs the chains from the table and fixes the cuffs around Matteo’s wrists. They hoist him onto the hook in the ceiling. His feet barely skim the floor as he’s secured.
“Mrs Bianchi, is there anything else you need?”
Did I also mention how polite they are? “No, thank you, Jonah. You can wait outside.”
“Ma’am.” They both nod respectfully and step outside the door. I walk over to the chair. I tilt it back onto two legs and drag it towards him. It screeches through the room. The piercingscraping noise reverberates around the space. I make my way towards him. I turn the chair, sitting on it backwards and resting my elbows on it, glaring up at him.
“Arianna, you don’t have to do this; it’s just a misunderstanding. We can make this work. Me and you. We can be together. You know we make more sense than you and him.”
I huff out at him. “Ah, Matteo, you don’t even compare to him.”
