As the Jeep weaves through the dark, the shock finally begins to melt into a raw, agonizing ache. I turn my head toward the window, watching the moon, and let the tears fall. I don’t sob because I don’t want Julian to know I’m crying. I just let the hot tears streak down my face, mourning the man I thought loved me.
Every time I close my eyes, I hear his snarl on the recording.
The sound takes the love we built and sets it on fire.
Chapter 33
Damiano
I woke up with my face pressed onto the carpet on the floor of my mother’s room. The scent of dust and her hauntingly persistent vanilla perfume scents the air. I get up, and instantly, my head throbs from the hangover, the acidic taste of whiskey in my mouth reminding me of my drunken tirade last night.
Fuck.
I look down at my naked body and realize that sometime during the night, I had managed to strip off my mud-caked shoes and soaked clothes.
A sharp pounding at the door startles me.
“Damiano! Apri la porta!”I hear Andreas’ voice coming through the door, his voice devoid of its usual calm. In fact, he’s shouting, and that could only mean one thing.
Something has gone terribly wrong.
I groan, pushing myself up from the floor. My muscles are stiff, and my shoulder is screaming in pain from sleeping in the same position for hours on the floor. I grab my trousers, put them on, and stumble toward the door.
When I open it, I find Andreas and Lucian standing there. Andreas is looking polished as always, while Lucian looks like he’s had five shots of espresso, pacing the hallway, checking his watch every three seconds.
“Che cazzo vuoi?”I growl, asking them what they want, rubbing the sleep off my eyes. “If you’re here for a lecture, I’m not in the mood.”
“The Castigliones,” Lucian deadpans, stopping his pace to point a finger at me. “They’re throwing a party, and you, my friend, are the main course.”
I frown, not really knowing what the fuck that means.
“Flavio has been moving men since midnight. They think you’ve been keeping their heiress in the dungeons. They know, Damiano,” Andreas says, cutting through my confusion. “They know she’s alive and they’re coming for blood.”
The hangover dissipates. A cold, familiar protective instinct, the kind that only she can trigger, explodes inside my chest. My heartbeat drums in my chest, making it impossible to breathe normally.
If Don Castiglione knows, it’s only a matter of time before Flavio, his nephew, armed to the teeth and ready to bring hell with him, comes barging through the door.
The thought of those men putting their hands on her turns my vision red.
“How did they find out?” I ask.
“Can’t confirm, but I bet that Nicolo sold the information once he realized we already know who she really is,” Lucian answers.
“Cazzo!”I curse.
I push past them into the hallway, my bare feet heavy on the marble. When I reach the suite, I don’t bother knocking. I throw the doors open so hard that they slam against the wall.
“Katarina, get up. We’re—”
The words die in my throat.
The room isempty—the bed unmade, her clothes missing. For a second, I can’t breathe.
I turn back to the doorway where Andreas and Lucian are now standing. Lucian peeks over my shoulder, his eyebrows shooting up.
“Did she go out, or are we officially in a war?”
“È sparita,” I whisper.
