Chapter Thirteen
N ight had fallen over Kivr, painting the desert kingdom in shades of indigo and silver. From the penthouse windows, the city's lights mimicked the sea of stars above, but the emptiness in his heart made him blind to its splendor.
Potenziana joined her eldest grandson in the balcony, but her gaze was lost in memories of the past. "Just you and I again, bambino . There was a time it was like this before, do you remember?"
Giancarlo nodded, the silver streak in his hair catching the lamplight as he moved. How could he forget? Those were the bloodiest years in both their lives, a time when survival was all that mattered, regardless of the cost to their souls.
“Fear made us do terrible things then,” Potenziana reminisced, a sad smile touching her lips. “And I thought it wouldn’t come to that again, when we all made that promise.” She paused, her words deliberate and heavy. “But here we are again. Your hands may no longer bear the blood of others. But they remain tainted. By Sarica’s tears.”
Giancarlo’s fists clenched at his sides. Sarica had taken the first flight out of Kivr that morning, and he had chosen not to see her off. For both of their sakes.
“She deserves someone better,” he said, his jaw tightening. “And that someone is already in her life.”
“Are you talking about Dauphin Tueur?”
His gaze narrowed. “You know about him as well?”
“What a foolish question to ask,” his grandmother admonished, her lip curling.
"If you know of him but he's still alive, then I don't foresee any problem. Sarica is apparently in good hands—-"
"But not the best."
"You know I have no choice—-"
" Stop that, " Potenziana cut him off sharply. “I did not raise you to be a liar, bambino . Everyone has a choice.” Her voice softened, but her words cut deeper for it. “And you chose to have faith in yourself...even though you should know better by now.”
Bitterness flashed over Giancarlo's taut features. "What more can I do? I have already given her up—-"
"And that is your choice, not hers, not anyone else’s, and certainly not God’s.” Potenziana’s heart ached at the despair in her grandson's eyes. "Why must you isolate yourself so, Giancarlo?"
"Because it's safer for everyone that I remain dead."
His stubbornness frustrated her, but Potenziana did not reach her age by wasting her time fighting battles that were not hers to fight.
“I’ve told your brothers and Gazelle not to come here," she said finally. "And they want you to know that they're respecting your wishes because it’s the same for them as it is for me. Nothing has changed, and we are content to wait until you are ready to come back to us. You are my heir, and you will always be so.”
Giancarlo remained alone on the balcony, his gaze unseeing even as the kingdom’s capital glittered below him. Tomorrow, his grandmother would return to Boston, while he had chosen to stay behind. Viktor would never cause trouble again, and authorities were hunting down the others involved in his crimes.
It was time for his famiglia to have a new leader.
And time for Sarica to move on with Dauphin Tueur.
A NEW MONTH BEGAN, and life continued. Work required Giancarlo to revisit his estate in Moskra, accompanied by Justina and Sheikh Nassif Al-Mansouri. Information was traded at agreed prices, each of them pursuing their own motives. The sheikh sought the traitor attempting to build Kivr’s first drug cartel. Justina aimed for a high position in Moskra’s intelligence agency. And Giancarlo...
“Why do you want to know more about Dauphin Tueur again?” Justina asked, raising an eyebrow.“Classified.”
“That line only works if you have a position in government,” Nassif drawled, “which you don’t.”
“If this is still about Sarica—”
“It’s not,” Giancarlo denied, his tone clipped.
Nassif gazed at his friend in amusement. “If you truly mean that, perhaps now is a good time to let you know about a mutual acquaintance of ours. He wishes to know if he can ask your ex out—-"
The slim gold pen Giancarlo held snapped in two.
The sheikh’s lips curved. “I rest my case.”
“Are you keeping up with news from Boston?” Justina asked, pulling out her phone. “Because if you have, then you wouldn’t need to ask—”
Giancarlo snatched the phone from her before she could finish. His jaw locked as he scrolled through the latest photos posted by a tabloid account. Sarica, visiting Dauphin’s club night after night, her outfits growing more revealing each time.
He called his grandmother, and Potenziana answered after a single ring. “ Buongiorno , bambino .”
“Why are you letting Sarica run wild?” he demanded.
“Why do you think that is any of your business?”
“If this is another dig about my marriage—-”
“It is,” Potenziana acknowledged without shame.
“Justina and I are already divorced,” he grated out. “And even Sarica knows it was not a real marriage—-”
“And if I told you that Sarica and I have made a similar deal, will that be a good enough reason for you? She has agreed to marry whoever I choose for her next—-”
Giancarlo hung up on his grandmother for the first time. Justina and Nassif exchanged glances as he walked out of the conference room without a word.
“How much are you willing to bet he’s on his way to Boston now?” Justina asked, amused.
“I’m afraid I have to decline,” the sheikh said politely. “I don’t take bets I’m guaranteed to lose.”
DAUPHIN TUEUR’S CLUB in New York was everything Giancarlo expected and disliked. Crowded. Loud. Chaotic . Women threw themselves at him, but his attention was fixed on one person.
Sarica .
She was on the VIP floor, beams of colorful light illuminating her face. Her hands clasped the railing as she watched the crowd below. Her hair was the shade of the sea this time, her dress a scrap of gold silk that exposed the creamy swell of her breasts and the silken length of her legs.
Giancarlo took the steps three at a time. His fingers curled around her wrist, and he dragged her to the nearest room. The door had barely shut when Sarica was in his arms, her mouth finding his with desperate hunger. He backed her against the wall, drowning in the taste of her.
But just as his hands slid beneath her dress—-
“ S-Stop .” Her voice trembled.
Giancarlo froze, forehead pressed against hers, hearts racing.
“Why are you here?”
“You know why,” he growled.
“Tell me anyway—-”
“ Nonna ,” he bit out. “She told me you’ve agreed to marry someone else—-”
“And you don’t want me to?”
He already knew her answer by the look in her eyes. His chest tightened.
“I can’t, Sarica.”
Her face paled. “I haven’t asked anything yet—-”
“I can’t marry you.”
Sarica stumbled back, the pain in her eyes nearly destroying him. He reached for her, but she pushed his hands away.
She took another step back. And another. One more, and she’d be out of the room.
Out of his life.
And into another man's arms.
The thought had Giancarlo moving instinctively and urgently, his fingers wrapping around her wrist as he hauled her back and pulled Sarica down to the couch with him. She landed on his lap, her breath hitching as his arousal throbbed against her belly.
“You’re mine,” he growled.
She shook her head, and anger flashed in his eyes.
“Do you need reminding who you belong to?”
Sarica had no chance to answer, with Giancarlo turning her around as he lied down on his back. His hands were under her dress in the next moment, and all she could do was gasp as he tore her panties off her body. He parted her folds open, and a moan slipped past her lips.
She knew she should be thinking of escaping, but instead she found herself fumbling with the buckle of his belt and unzipping his pants—-
Aaaaaaaah.
His mouth latched on to her tiny nub of pleasure, and the moment he started to suck, she could no longer help herself.
Her fingers wrapped around his pulsing length, her lips closing around him as she, too, started to suck.
Sarica heard Giancarlo groan as she took him deeper into her throat, but it was also her turn to moan right after as he thrust his fingers inside of her.
Their pants filled the room as they pleasured each other. Both of them sucking harder and harder. The movements of their bodies becoming less and less controlled until finally, oh, finally, they were coming at the same time.
Time passed, and as much as she wanted to delay having to think—-
Reality came all too soon, and Sarica could already feel her eyes start to sting as she pulled away. She could feel his gaze on him as she rearranged her dress and clumsily rose to her feet.
"I love you, Giancarlo," she said jerkily.
"Sarica—-"
"B-But if you insist on making it seem like I n-need you to be s-something in order to love you—-" Her voice faltered. "You'll make me think that it's the same for you. Do you need me to be something for you to keep loving me? Will you stop loving me if I'm no longer what you need?"