What thefuckwas I doing?
Whatever it was, I needed to undo it, fast. Erase our entire weekend but especially last night.
So what did we have here? Let’s see. First, I humiliated both of us by revealing I’d been speaking to all of her therapists (possibly more than she ever did). Then, I slapped her with my cock hoping she’d like it. Spoiler alert: she did not. Next, I confessed my obsession to her, proceeding to screw her like a rabbit in three-hour increments. I’d started a war with Sangue Blu without consulting my family. Rearranged the territorialborders of the Camorra Alliance. Went against Don Ferrante’s orders, thereby betraying my clan. An offense punishable by death if I weren’t the don’s son.
All of this was fixable.Maybe. Somehow.
But one mistake wasn’t—kissing her.
Feeling her lips against mine, remembering what they tasted like, and falling all over again.
I woke up with a sour mood and a headache. Tierney tried to be civilized with me, but so far I hadn’t given her much to work with.
The entire flight to New York was spent giving her the cold shoulder. After a few hours of silent treatment, she finally caught on and retreated into herself, flipping through her fashion magazines and messing with her phone. A good development, as it allowed me to have a mental breakdown in the privacy of my own head.
My family had been trying to get ahold of my ass for the past forty-eight hours, threatening me with violent death. I wasn’t worried about facing them. I was worried about not being able to keep tabs on her anymore. Of spending the rest of my life not knowing what she was eating, if she had nightmares, and whether I needed to kill someone who took out his aggressions on her in bed.
If she’d married Stefano, at least I’d have been able to keep an eye on her. Yes, Stefano would have gotten to fuck her, but I’d have been able to see her in Naples. Check that she was all right. That she was eating. That she was happy.
Once we landed, Tierney pushed her shades up her nose and uncrossed her legs, standing and thumbing her phone, probably to call an Uber. The urge to spend just a few more minutes with her—alone, without my soldiers—shredded every last trace of logic in my brain.
I stood and snatched her tote bag. The suitcases were left behind. She didn’t need them, now that she was leaving for good.
“I’ll drive you home,” I growled.
“Thanks, I’d rather crawl on broken glass than spend another second with you.” She smiled cheerfully, shouldering past me and stomping her way down the stairs.
“Wasn’t asking.” I made my way to the Porsche Cayenne on the tarmac. The engine was already running, and I knew one of my soldiers had made sure I had freshly brewed coffee waiting inside.
“Are you for real?” she called after me. I ignored her.
Seeing as I held her bag hostage, she slid into the passenger seat in my car, albeit with enough huffing and puffing to best an army of Karens. “Your behavior is bizarre.”
Fair assessment. But not one that warranted a reaction.
“You know…” She clipped the seat belt on, reaching to reclaim her bag from me. “If this is a cry for help, you’re going to have to be louder because nobody seems to give a shit.”
We drove off into the midmorning New York traffic.
“Would you say something already?” she groaned. “This is probably the last time we’ll see each other.”
My head was killing me.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
She couldn’t go.
Shehadto go.
If she stayed, I wouldn’t be able to protect her. Not from Vello, not from Sangue Blu, and not from myself. The walls of hate needed to be brought back up. It was our only chance at survival.
“I don’t want to leave,” she croaked, her body still pressed to the window as far as humanly possibly from me.
But you have to.
And I knew just how to make her.
By reminding her how much she hated me.
