Page 87 of Lust and Honor

My heart leaps into my throat, and I clap a hand over my mouth in horror.

“I’m sure it was Viola,” she goes on, “but Carlo doesn’t want to deal with that slut.”

Through the blur of my tears, her face wavers. “Has Maxim seen it too?”

She lays a hand on my knee. “I’m sorry, Ava.”

I choke on a sob and cover my face with both hands. “Mr. Bruni was right. It’s not the fault of whoever took the video. I shouldn’t be the stupid girl I am.”

“Don’t talk about yourself like that,” Emily snaps.

I look at her and see her face flushed with anger, her American side flaring up. She tosses her head, eyes wide as she goes on, “So what? You had a few too many shots, and in your drunken haze your lips brushed some guy’s. God knows, the only woman in Italy who’s been safe from Maxim’s hands is me, and that’s only because Carlo issued a damn decree that the punishment for touching me is death. So why the hell does Maxim, who’s done every filthy thing imaginable while stone-cold sober, get the right to punish you for something you did drunk?”

She’s so worked up that I don’t dare tell her what drove me to those extra shots. If I did, I’ve no doubt she’d march off right now and put Maxim in a grave herself. I wipe my tears and focus on the part of her rant that stands out to me.

“Maxim wants to punish me?”

Some of the fire fades from her expression, and she shrugs. “I don’t know. But mafia men are already ticking bombs on a normal day. Add the mess he’s in right now, and who the hell knows.”

“What happened?” I ask.

Emily pauses, as if weighing her words carefully. “You know about his father, right?” she finally says.

I nod. “I know. Maxim… you know, he hurt him and wants to make him suffer.”

The tension in her face visibly melts, and she continues more easily, “Carlo kept telling him that man was like a wounded wolf, dangerous, and that he needed to finish him off quickly. But Maxim stalled so long the wolf healed and escaped.”

My eyes go wide. “Maxim’s father escaped?”

“Yeah. Maxim lost track of the guard he’d put on him for a few days. He sent someone else to check, and they found the guard with his throat slit. No sign of Leonardo.”

Fear floods through me. “Do you think Aurora and I are in danger?”

“I doubt it, sweetheart,” she says. “Leonardo’s been locked up for fifteen years, cut off from all his ties to the Bruni family. He doesn’t even know you two exist. There’s no way he could infiltrate Carlo’s organization to get to you. And besides, Maxim will hunt him down. Carlo and Maxim have the reach, the power, and the money Leonardo doesn’t. Trust me, he doesn’t stand a chance against us.”

Emily’s warm, reassuring tone calms my racing heart, and I manage a small smile. All day, I’m sick with dread over facing Maxim. Sure, he’s just as guilty as I am, but the stupidity of what I did keeps me from feeling too righteous.

Finally, when the wedding begins, I see him. He’s dressed in a sharp suit, cutting through the crowd that’s staring at us like we’re some kind of spectacle. His face gives nothing away, no emotion, no hint of what’s brewing inside. When he reaches me, he leans down and kisses me, slow and deliberate, with a tenderness that feels almost too careful. But the fingers digging into my flesh, tighter than usual, tell me he’s far from calm.

Without a word, he guides me to a table, seats me, and takes his place beside me. For a while, all eyes are on us, but when it becomes clear that Maxim and I aren’t about to put on some dramatic show, the attention drifts away. Maxim eats his dinner and drinks his wine, chatting casually with the men at our table. When it’s time for the dance, he politely asks me to join him, and I accept.

Under the dim glow of the stage lights, I muster the courage to open my mouth and try to explain myself. “Maxim, about what you saw…”

My words are cut off as his lips crash onto mine. He pulls me tighter against his rock-hard body and murmurs against my ear, “Not here.”

The command in his voice and the roughness of his movements send a clear message to my senses. It’s in my best interest to obey and stay silent.

That silence stretches through the rest of the night and into the next day, lingering during the drive back home, each passing moment intensifying the anxiety churning inside me.

My mind’s only defense mechanism against the crushing weight of that silence and the torturous waiting is to replay the scene I saw at the pool, over and over, trying to justify what I did and convince myself I wasn’t entirely to blame for my stupidity.

Now, layers of rage, fear, dread, restless anticipation, and raw anger rise to the surface one after another, taking control of my body and soul. Emotions that turn me into a volcano on the verge of eruption, just waiting for a single spark to set me off.

***

With Aurora finally asleep, it’s like I can hear a bell ringing in my head. The fight’s on. I pull my hair up into a messy bun and step into the room I’ve shared with Maxim for the past month. He’s sprawled on the couch, shirtless, wearing nothing but jeans. A leather belt dangles from one hand, a glass of scotch in the other. His bloodshot eyes and that belt make my stomach twist.

He downs the scotch in one gulp, sets the glass aside, and rises from the couch—six foot four of pure muscle, advancing toward me with raw hostility. Now it’s fear that shoves all the other layers aside and takes center stage.