I hand him his glass and sit down beside him.
“I don’t know what to say,” I break the silence. “You’ve caught me off guard.”
For a few long moments, he says nothing, just sips his drink slowly. Then, without looking at me, he finally speaks.
“Carlo didn’t know about your engagement to Lucia. He still doesn’t. No one knows. It was a private agreement between your father and Pietro. If you didn’t have such a damn good memory, you probably would’ve forgotten it like everyone else.”
Well, I fucking haven’t.
“Chicago’s yours,” he says. “But I want one thing in return.”
I stare at him, silently waiting for him to speak his mind.
“Stay away from Carlo. I’m not saying you can’t come back to Italy or see your mother. You’re always welcome here, just not when Carlo’s around.”
I scoff, but he ignores it and tries to reason with me.
“You’re both predators. Both alphas. Two alphas can’t share the same territory without tearing each other apart. Believe it or not, I think of you as a son.”
I don’t care for him. I don’t care for Carlo either. But I can’t argue with his logic.
“Do we have an understanding?”
I tilt my head in acknowledgment. “We do.”
He pats my shoulder, a rare show of affection, then sets his glass on the table and walks toward the door.
Just as he’s about to leave, he stops and turns back. His voice drops, cold and deadly, without a trace of warmth, as he speaks.
“If you ever disrespect Carlo’s mother again, I’ll make you regret it in ways you can’t begin to imagine.”
He doesn’t leave. He just stands there, gazing down at me, daring me to push back. And I can see it; he’d torch the whole Chicago deal for that dead woman.
I’ve already got what I always wanted, so fuck it. I give him the satisfaction of a small nod, then watch him turn and walk away.
***
“Please, let me go. Don’t…don’t do this…”
“You look just like her. Did you know that? Like the woman who was mine. I can pretend it’s her under my cock.”
“No…please, stop. Let me go…”
The voices thunder through my head, yanking me out of sleep like a punch to the chest. I shoot upright, gasping for air, sweat cold against my skin.
The same fragmented images flash behind my eyes. Blonde hair, smooth golden skin under my hands, the weight of her breasts in my grip. My stomach twists.
I reach for my phone on the nightstand and check the time. 4:00 AM.
A single message from Rafael.
“The old man was right. I’ll have the full report for you tomorrow.”
I dial his number and press the phone to my ear. His groggy voice filters through the line.
“Something wrong, boss?”
“Was the girl blonde?”
