15. Tristan
TRISTAN
“ Y ou’re going to want to hear this, boss.”
From the moment Vitto speaks, I know something is wrong, alarm bells ringing in my head.
"What happened?"
Vitto’s voice is crisp, to the point. “Your wife met with Enzo Torrino earlier today. Lunch at Sol’s Italian Bistro. She claimed she was meeting a friend, so that set off some alarm bells to begin with.”
My jaw tightens. I know Enzo Torrino is Simone’s former almost-fiance.
Some women might maintain friendships with men that they were once considering marrying, but Simone is well aware of how improper that is for her.
Especially with me out of town. She can’t pretend that she had no idea the questions that would raise if someone had seen her, or how that would reflect on me.
Nor does it make me comfortable that she’s meeting with a mafia heir in my absence.
I let out a slow breath, adrenaline flooding my system. "Were you able to hear what they discussed?"
"No, sir. She insisted we wait outside. But..." He pauses, and I can hear the hesitation in his voice.
"But what?"
"She was different when she came out. Distracted. And when I told her she needed to go to her room and stay there, she didn't fight it the way I expected. Almost like she was expecting it. She believed me when I said the order came from you."
Fuck. I've been gone two days, and already she's meeting with other men, making plans behind my back.
The rational part of my brain knows it could be innocent—maybe Enzo just wanted to offer condolences, to check on her welfare.
But the possessive part of me, the part that's been clawing at my chest since I left Miami, knows better.
Not to mention the part of me that knows how men like him work—how I would react, if I were in his place. He was meant to marry her, to inherit everything that I’ve now taken. From what I’d heard of him, I didn’t think he had the balls to try to come for me. But I might have been wrong.
And I know how Simone feels about me.
"Lock her down. No visitors, no phone calls, no leaving the house. I'm coming home." I glance back toward the meeting room, my jaw tensing. My father is going to be pissed. I have no excuse for heading home that doesn’t clue him in to the fact that my wife is once again being disobedient, or that there’s trouble in the paradise he wants me to create. He’s going to lecture me, and I’m already dreading it.
"Already done, sir. She's been in her room since she came home. I escorted her upstairs myself, telling her it was on your orders, and locked her in. She’ll remain there until you come home."
"Good. I'll call the jet and tell them to be ready for me to fly out within the hour."
The flight back to Miami is the longest of my life.
I try to work, try to focus on the stack of contracts in my briefcase, but all I can think about is Simone sitting across from another man, listening to whatever poison he's whispering in her ear. My mood is only made fouler by the fact that I was lectured not only by my father but also by Konstantin, who expressed concern about the discord in my marriage. About the fact that my wife would think it’s appropriate to meet with a man who not only was meant to be her husband instead of me, but is, on account of that, a man who might want what I have still.
Enzo Torrino. The man she was supposed to marry before I came along, before Konstantin rearranged the chessboard and made her mine.
I know enough about him to know he's dangerous—not in the obvious way, not like the criminals and enforcers who riddle our world, but in the subtle way of a man who believes he's entitled to things that don't belong to him.
Things like my wife.
By the time we land in Miami, I've worked myself into a cold rage. Vitto meets me at the airport, his face carefully neutral as he fills me in on the details.
"She hasn't tried to leave her room since I locked her in. Nora's been bringing her meals, but she's barely eating. Hasn't asked about you, hasn't tried to call anyone."
"What about security footage from the restaurant?"
"I've got our guy pulling it now. Should have something within the hour."
"No. I want to hear it from her first."
Vitto nods, understanding. This is between my wife and me. Whatever games she's playing, whatever plans she's making, we're going to settle it face to face.
The drive to the mansion passes in tense silence.
I can feel Vitto watching me in the rearview mirror, probably wondering what’s going to go down between Simone and me when I get back to the mansion.
The truth is, I don't know what I'm going to do.
The rage burning in my chest is unlike anything I've ever felt—pure, primal possessiveness mixed with something that feels dangerously close to betrayal.
She's mine . I married her, claimed her, made her my wife in every way that matters. I saved her life. And she repays that by sneaking around behind my back with another man.
The thought of her leaving me, of choosing someone else, makes me feel like I'm drowning. And that startles me, makes me feel a driving need to get to her and regain control of the situation, because she shouldn’t affect me like this.
I shouldn’t feel as if I’d lose something vital if Enzo took her from me.
I should only feel rage that any other man thinks he’s entitled to what’s mine.
The moment the car rolls to a stop, I step out, striding straight into the mansion and to the stairs, all the way up to Simone’s room. I don’t bother knocking or announcing my presence, only fit the key into the lock and open the door, stepping inside and shutting it firmly behind me.
She's standing by the window, her back to me, wearing a simple maxi dress that flows over her slender curves and splits up one side, giving me a view of her long, tanned leg.
She looks gorgeous, her hair up in a messy bun on her head, strands of it brushing the back of her neck.
My fingers itch to trace those same lines, and I curl my hands into fists, fighting back the urge to go to her and touch her.
I’m in control here. That’s what she needs to take away from this conversation, not whatever weakness I have for her.
"Hello, Simone."
She turns sharply, and I see the moment she takes in my appearance—my rumpled suit, my clear exhaustion, the barely controlled fury in my eyes. But she doesn't back down, doesn't show fear. Instead, she lifts her chin in that defiant gesture I know so well.
"Tristan. How was Vegas?"
"Educational." I move into the room slowly, letting her feel the weight of my presence. "But not as educational as your lunch date yesterday, I’m sure."
I see her throat work as she swallows, but her voice remains steady. "I don't know what you mean."
My jaw tightens as I realize she’s going to try lying. She must know that I’ve found out, but she’s going to call my bluff.
Fine. I didn’t just get back from Vegas for nothing.
"Don't you?" I stop in front of her, close enough to see the rapid pulse at her throat.
"Tell me, célie , what did Enzo Torrino want to discuss that was so important he risked my displeasure?
" I look down at her, wanting her to feel me looming over her.
“I could crush him like an insect, Simone.
He should know that. So what did he want to tell you so badly?
Something flickers in her eyes that looks like a hint of fear, but she doesn't give ground. "That's between him and me."
The defiance in her voice, the way she's standing there like a queen addressing a subject, ignites something primal in my chest. She's my wife, my responsibility, my property according to the laws that govern our world.
And she's looking at me like I have no right to know what she does, who she sees, what plans she makes.
My teeth grind together. "Is it? We'll see about that."
I run a hand through my hair, trying to get control of my temper.
The flight, the lack of sleep, the three days of missing her—it's all crashing together into a perfect storm of rage and possession. “I know you met with him, Simone. And I know that nothing short of something very important would cause a man like him to risk angering not only me but Konstantin. We’ll stay in this room until I find out the answers, so…”
Simone laughs, a high, bitter sound. “What are you going to do, Tristan? Beat it out of me? Fuck it out of me? God , that sounds so fucking tiresome. Fine. You want to know what happened? I’ll tell you.”
“What did I tell you about that mouth, célie ?” I growl, my hand coming up to wrap around the back of her neck. “The next thing out of it better be the truth, or…”
"He offered to kill you," she snaps, her eyes locking onto mine with an expression that dares me to tell her that she’s making it up.
"He said it would be easy to arrange an accident, make it look like business gone wrong.
Frame someone else for the murder so that your father and Konstantin would have a scapegoat.
Then, after an appropriate mourning period, I could marry him and he could take over the territory the way it should have been from the beginning. "
The words hit me like bullets, each one finding its mark with devastating precision.
Not just that another man wants my wife, my position, my life—but that she listened to him.
That she sat there and heard him plan my murder without walking away the minute the first word was out of her mouth—hell, that she didn’t warn me about it.
That she didn’t tell Vitto. She must have been considering it, or she would have come to me or my security about a threat like that.
"And what did you tell him?" I’m not sure I want to know, but I need to. Not least of which because if Enzo thinks he truly has a shot at regaining what I took from him, he’ll mobilize sooner rather than later.