I'm shaking now, fear and revulsion warring in my chest. "I remember," I whisper.
"Good." He pulls back, his hand sliding down to squeeze my hip. "I want to see that you're taking this seriously."
Then he walks away, leaving me standing in the hallway and feeling like the walls are closing in from all sides.
My father's ultimatum. Thad's possessiveness. Romeo's desperate love that I had to leave behind. I'm trapped. Completely, utterly trapped. And I don't know how to escape.
I don't know if I even can.
15
ROMEO
Iwake up alone in my penthouse the next morning, and I know I have to do something.
I fucked up. I let myself act on impulse, on the desperate need to possess Savannah, to keep her with me, and instead, all I did was make her think I’m no better than her fucking piece-of-shit fiancé. Now she’s in Charleston with her father, and with him, and the thought makes me feel like I’m going fucking insane.
I have to prove to her that I’ll do anything to keep her, that I’ll do things that help her, not harm her. Tying her to me with a baby isn’t the answer. She might already be pregnant, but if she’s not…
I can’t focus on that. I have to focus on what I can handle that doesn’t involve making her feel controlled. Because she’s right. She’s mine, but she’s also her own. I can’t control her choices when it comes to her body and her future, even if it would mean I could keep her.
The man who manipulates and coerces to get what he wants, the man who is so effective for my father’s needs, isn’t going tohelp when it comes to her. She makes me feel different, so I have to be different. I have to think about what’s best for her.
The problem is Whitmore.
As long as he exists in her life, she'll feel guilty. She'll feel trapped between duty and desire. She'll keep trying to do the "right thing" even though the right thing is slowly killing her.
But if Whitmore were gone—not just out of the picture, but completely destroyed—then there would be no conflict. No engagement to break. No guilt to carry. No father's expectations to fulfill.
She'd be free. And when she's free, she'll choose me. I know she will. Because what we have is real. What she has with him is an obligation.
I just need to remove the obligation.
I get dressed and call Luca. "We need to meet," I say when he answers. "Today. Now."
"Romeo, it's seven in the morning?—"
"I don't care what time it is. I need to see you. The usual place. One hour."
There's a pause. Then he says, in a long-suffering voice, "This is about her, isn't it?"
"One hour, Luca."
I hang up before he can argue. And then I spend the next forty-five minutes pulling together everything I have on Thaddeus Whitmore.
It's more than even I realized I'd been accumulating. There are financial records showing suspicious transfers from Edgar’s company accounts, emails discussing deals that skirt the edge of legality. Evidence of embezzlement—small amounts at first, then larger. Proof that he's been using his position to funnel money into offshore accounts. He’s using Savannah’s father to enrich himself and pay off his debts, and he’s going to use everything he gets from marrying her to do the same.
It's exactly what I need.
I compile it all into a single dossier, evidence that could destroy a man's reputation, his career, his business. Evidence that would make Edgar Beauregard call off the wedding immediately. No matter how much he values the family ties with the Whitmores or whatever social credit comes with this, he’s not going to allow himself to be stolen from.
This is the solution. This is how I free her. I'm not controlling her, I'm removing the obstacle that's been controlling her all along.
She'll understand eventually. She'll see that I did this for her. For us. And she’ll thank me.
Luca meets me at the same Italian restaurant, which isn’t open at this hour, but is for us. He has a cannoli and coffee in front of him, undoubtedly wheedled out of the owner with his charm and good looks. Older Italian ladies can’t get enough of him—he’s the ultimate charmer.
The look on his face tells me he knows this conversation isn't going to go well. "You look like shit," he says as I sit down.
