And then, before I can stop it, the thought creeps in.
“Does he console all his friends like that, or just you?”
I rub my hands over my face.
I don’t want to think about it. I’ve never thought about it. Julian has always just been Julian—warm, steady, and safe. He’s the one constant ally I’ve had through all of this.
His hand on my neck, his thumb on my jaw, the way he always finds a reason to be close. No, it can’t be.
Is he?
I sink onto a bench, elbows on my knees, and stare at the floor.
Somewhere in this villa, he is alone with a split lip and a black eye.Because of me. Because I brought him here, and maybe I never fully understood why he really came.
I am so selfish and stupid.
Chapter 27
Damiano
The bar at Lucian’s underground casino smells like aged whiskey, cigars, and money. The low buzz of conversation, the clean snap of playing cards, and the occasional sharp ring of a slot machine fill the air with noise that does absolutely nothing to drown out the memory that is currently burning a hole in my mind.
Julian’s hand on Katarina’s neck, his face inches from hers.
I can’t believe she’s the one upset at ME when she was the one who was letting that fucking bastard bodyguard of hers touch her. And what was he fucking muttering about, telling her to leave and shit? I’m going to kill that rat.
I down my fourth glass of whiskey, the liquor burning a harsh path down my throat. Across the polished mahogany bar, Andreas watches me with that dreadful, ice-blue stare of his.
“You’re going to shatter that glass if your grip gets any tighter,” He says as if he’s had enough of me.
“I can’t believe he thinks he can just touch her like that,” I snarl. “Right in front of me, spitting that bullshit he was feeding her.”
Lucian sets his glencairn glass down on the bar, taking a break from watching the dealers work the floor below. He turns to face me, his chaotic grin faltering slightly.
“What did he say?”
“He begged her to run away with him,” I snap, slamming the empty glass onto the table. “He told her I was just a thug destroying her life, cutting her off from the world.”
Andreas goes perfectly still. The casualness in his eyes vanishes, replaced instantly by cold calculation. He pulls his phone from his tailored jacket, his thumbs flying across the screen.
“What do you know about this guy?” Andreas asks flatly.
“He was an employee of her brother, hired to protect her from the paparazzi.”
“Since when?” Lucian asks.
“When she got into a car accident after being chased by those paparazzi.” Lucian nods, but that doesn’t seem to satisfy Andreas.
“Why was she being chased by the paparazzi?” Lucian tilts his head to the right, his interest piquing.
“They photographed us kissing, and then she freaked out and ran. The paparazzi chased her until she got into a car accident.”
“Jesus Christ, I can’t believe that’s what you were in Argentina,” Lucian mutters.
“I’ll look into him just to make sure,” Andreas says.
“I require zero proof to kill a man who forgets his place,” I say, my voice sinking to a whisper. “But search his digital footprint. If he has a single picture of her on his phone, I’ll let Lucian use him for target practice.” Lucian lets out a dry, exasperated breath, shaking his head.
