Chapter 24
LUNA
This was supposed to be my last year of postgrad.
It was supposed to be when I finished my creative thesis.
When I had a completed poetry manuscript ready to submit to literary presses. When I had enough poetry publications under my belt to make my work stand out in a sea of so many poets. When I decided where to apply as an assistant professor.
This was supposed to be the academic year that started the rest of my life.
And in a way, I guess it was.
But instead of any of the plans I made for myself, it’s not even October, and I’m already moving back to the world I thought I’d made a clean break from.
Moving into a Mafia don’s penthouse apartment where I’ll be a sitting duck for anyone who wants to make an example out of me, the same way they did to my father and my brother before me.
All the worldly possessions that are the most important to me are gathered into three boxes at my feet.
Three. Fucking. Boxes.
“This it, Mrs. Andriani?” asks one of the henchmen my husband has tasked with moving my belongings this morning.
Because why would a Mafia don move his own wife’s shit?
I haven’t seen Priest since last night when he told me that I’m going to be a sacrifice to the Mafia gods all so that our two families can be united. Well, that’s not what he said in so many words, but he may as well have. His intentions are the same.
“That’s it,” I tell the stony-faced kid in front of me.
He’s younger than me, no more than seventeen, I’d guess. A high-school student. Is he already a made man? I wouldn’t put it past the Andrianis. It’s about time I started focusing on the plain facts—this family is the enemy. They always have been, and they always will be.
Last night, after the vicious fallout from Priest’s announcement, I realized something about myself. I’ve been stupid. I lowered my guard. And somehow, I allowed myself to catch feelings for a gangster.
That’s why it hurt so much.
Why it felt like my guts were being ripped out of my body.
Why the fact that I’m being used as a pawn for the second time in a few short weeks is such a massive betrayal. Both men who put me in these precarious positions were men I cared about.
First, my father.
Then, my husband.
Neither of them deserved it.
Both of them are willing to use me to get what they want.
I should have known better.
Two more young men appear before me, each of them hefting a box onto their shoulders wordlessly.
I assume the first one told them what to do.
I’m left standing here in the doorway to what was my bedroom for the last little while, hugging myself and trying not to allow even a hint of the tears burning my eyes to fall.
I stare down at the carpet and bite my lip hard.
A pair of big feet in Italian leather loafers stops before me.
I know who it is before I even glance up to see Saint looking at me like I imagine he would a puppy who’s just been kicked.
“Morning, Luna.”
No Jessica Fletcher. None of his nonsensical trolling. He’s somber.
I clear my throat and force a cheerful smile. “Good morning.”
“Sleep well?”
I don’t think I slept at all.
I spent the night thrashing in the covers, waking and thinking Priest was by my side, only to reach for him and find nothing but twisted sheets.
“Like a baby,” I lie through gritted teeth.
“Yeah? Could’ve fooled me. You look like hell.”
I glare at him. “Go fuck yourself, Andriani.”
He raises a brow. “You had breakfast yet?”
“No, and I don’t want it either. I just want to get out of here.”
Because as much as I loathed this mobster dungeon, it also started to become something more, especially when someone else was in it.
Someone I refuse to think about now.
Because fuck him.
Fuck Matteo Andriani.
Fuck his mouth and his gorgeous face. Fuck his tongue and his long, tatted fingers and his eight-pack and his big, magical fucking dick.
“It’s going to take a bit to get back into the real world,” Saint warns me gently. “We have to wait until the morning shift change to get you out of the casino, and then there’s traffic at this time of the day. You probably won’t make it to the penthouse until noon.”
I huff out a sigh at this information, because Saint isn’t wrong. If I won’t get to Priest’s place until lunchtime, I’m going to be starving.
“Fine, but I’m not going to eat anything if he’s here.”
Saint gives me a pitying look. “I assume you’re referring to Priest?”
I give him a jerky nod.
“He’s not here. He left late last night.”
Late last night.
After we argued.
My bruised heart squeezes.
“Where did he go?” I ask before I can stop myself.
It’s not as if it matters. I have no hold on my husband. I never did. And after last night’s revelations, I never want to.
“He didn’t say,” Saint tells me quietly. “But if you’re worried he’s cheating?—”
“I don’t give a fuck if he is,” I interrupt coldly. “In fact, he may as well get used to finding his amusements elsewhere. After this meeting with my cousin, I want a divorce.”
“Luna,” Saint says, his tone earnest.
“No.” I hold up a hand, irritated with myself for the way it trembles. “Just save it, Saint. Save it for someone who cares.”
“But you do care about the families, don’t you?
You were born into this life. You know better than most what’s at stake—it’s everything your father built and everything my family has worked for.
If you walk away, you’re forfeiting it to a snake like Amedeo.
Someone who may have killed your father to get it. ”
“Someone who’ll probably kill me too,” I say, feeling numb.
“But none of you care what happens to me, do you? I’m just…
what? Collateral damage? That’s the whole reason I’m here, because I’ve been more useful alive than dead.
But once the Revello capos are happy that I’m still alive, what then?
You’ll all have everything you want. I don’t matter any longer. ”
“It’s not like that, Luna.” Saint reaches out and pats my back with brotherly affection.
We’ve grown close during my time here, but I’m so disillusioned by everything that’s happened that I don’t even know what’s real and what’s not. Maybe he was also putting on an act.
I shrug away from him. “Don’t touch me. Please.”
“All right.” He sighs, actually sounding forlorn as he passes an inked hand over his cheek.
“I get it. You’re pissed, and you have every right to be.
But listen, over the short time we’ve spent together, I’ve come to respect you.
And I love you like a pain-in-the-ass, too-smart-for-her-own-good sister.
So I hope you’ll hear me when I say that I’ve known my brother for twenty-nine years, and I’ve never seen him the way he is with you. ”
That hurts my heart, even though it shouldn’t.
I sniff and blink, forcing those stupid, weak tears to stay away.
“I don’t want to hear it. And I don’t believe it either.
But if your TED Talk is done, I probably should eat breakfast so I don’t starve on the way to my next jail cell.
Have to keep myself alive for the sacrificial ceremony, don’t I? ”
I don’t wait for Saint’s response before I brush past him, heading to the kitchen.
Priest
I’m waiting for my wife in the G-Wagon, Rocco in the driver’s seat.
After what felt like a fucking eternity, the door opens, outside light and fresh air slanting in.
It’s a cool, windy day, a tropical storm having passed through the night before with its accompanying deluge, leaving a brisk autumnal breeze in its wake.
Wind whips at her dark hair, and she looks pale but beautiful.
It’s been mere hours since I saw her, but it feels like far too long.
She moves to get in and stops when she sees me.
Without saying a word, she turns to Saint and the two guards flanking her. “I want a different car.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Andriani,” says a guard apologetically, “but the boss only has one car here to take you home, and this is it.”
“Then kindly make sure the boss gets out of it so that I can get in,” she says, her voice cold.
I deserve her anger. But I can’t allow her to disrespect me in front of my men. So I yank open my door and get out, rounding the back of the G until I reach her. Luna doesn’t bother to look at me.
“We’re going home together, amore mio ,” I tell her in a tone that brooks no argument.
She still won’t glance in my direction, pretending I’m not here.
“Tell your boss that I want my own car,” she says to the other guard.
They’re made men, men I trust implicitly, but it’s embarrassing to have this show going on before them.
If I’d have realized she was still this furious with me, I would have instructed Saint to escort her on his own.
No one knows where she is or when she’s leaving, so the danger isn’t very high here. Three armed men is likely overkill.
“Luna,” I growl. “Baby. Get in the car.”
She purses her lips and makes a show of looking around, at everything except me. “Did you hear something?”
I grasp her elbow in a firm grip, my patience already thin from staying up all night. “Get. In. The. Fucking. Car.”
“Or what?” she demands.
Grinding my molars, I shoot Saint a look. He nods and leads the guards a few feet away, giving Luna and me some space.
When they’re out of earshot, I tip up her chin, forcing her to meet my eyes. “You’re angry at me. I get it. But the longer we linger out here without cover, the greater the danger is to you. So, please. Get in the car.”
“I’m starting to think that catching a bullet would be merciful,” she snaps, before she whirls away from me and gets in the back of the G-Wagon.
Trying to keep my own temper under rein, I nod at Saint before rounding the back of the SUV and getting in on the other side.
Luna’s staring straight ahead, her body rigid.
She’s wearing a pair of ripped jeans and a silky purple top that clings to her curves and makes me want to tear it off her.
Her dark waves are pulled into a loose bun, a few tendrils curling around her face.
I’ve never seen another woman master casual beauty the way she does—she’s gorgeous without even trying.
And furious with me.
“Drive,” I tell Roc, snapping my seat belt.
Morning traffic in the city is no joke. It’s likely going to take us the better part of two hours to get to the penthouse. Which means it’s going to be a hell of a long car ride. Fortunately, I’ve come prepared.
I reach into my suit and extract a flask.
“It’s seven a.m.,” she informs me.
I hold her gaze as I unscrew the cap and then lift the flask to her in a mock salute. “Cheers.”
We peel out of the casino parking lot, Saint and the guards tailing us in another car. The whiskey hits right, just what I need to smooth the edge off. I take a few pulls for good measure. After we get Luna settled in the penthouse, the first thing I’m going to do is pass out and get some rest.
I tuck the flask back into my pocket and wince as my ruined knuckles brush against fabric. Wanting to feel the pain, I flex my fingers a few more times. I did so much damage last night with the punching bag that my tattoos will probably be all fucked up when the skin heals. And I don’t give a shit.
“What happened to your hands?” she asks quietly as the G hits a pothole and takes it like a champ.
“You did.”
Finding her with ink stains on her fingers, all caught up in a poetry frenzy, unlocked something inside me. Something I’m not prepared to deal with now. Maybe not ever.
We ride in silence for a few minutes before she speaks again.
“Saint told me you left last night.”
I glance over at her. She’s looking at me, questions in her big brown eyes. Fuck, she’s pretty. How did I get so tangled up in this woman in such a short amount of time?
“Is my brother my keeper now?” I drawl, flexing my right hand again.
I wish I had the punching bag in front of me. I’d give it another go.
Her lips tighten. “Where were you?”
“Where do you think I was, amore mio ?”
Our gazes hold, like we’re in a childish game of seeing who blinks first. I know what she’s asking me. But I don’t like the answer to her question, because it reveals too much.
“I don’t know,” she says finally in a tense voice. “That’s why I asked.”
I lean toward her across the bench seat. “You afraid I spent the night in someone else’s bed, baby?”
Her nostrils flare and her face closes up. “Did you?”
“No,” I bite out.
I could have let her think it; maybe doing everything I have to in the next few days would have been easier. But I don’t want to lie to her. Not about that.
Her pretty pink lips part, like she’s sighing in relief.
“Did you beat someone up?” she asks next.
Fuck, she’s like a dog with a bone.
“Would it make your pussy wet if I told you I did?”
I’m being cruel and I know it. But that’s what I do best. What I was raised to be.
Luna’s staring at me like she’s seeing me for the first time. “You’re a monster. I don’t know how I let myself forget it. Must have been the Stockholm syndrome.”
I raise a brow. “I think we both know what it was.”
“Fuck you, Matteo,” she whispers.
We spend the rest of the ride in an icy silence, and as we pull up to the penthouse, it belatedly occurs to me that was the first time my wife called me by my real name.
And she did it in cold anger, just like I deserve.