Chapter 18 – Vincenzo
The garden looked like it had been grown for them.
Every plant was curated, every bush trimmed, and each tree tamed.
Lanterns glowed in the branches overhead, soft, seductive light washing over linen-draped tables and women in dresses that rustled like expensive prizes.
Crystal chimed. Laughter floated. Money had a sound, and it was careless and smug.
It was the world Archibald Loring tried to force himself into, dragging his daughter along by sheer force of will.
I stood near the ivy-wrapped archway, pretending to admire the hydrangeas while every cell in my body whispered the truth. I didn’t belong here.
Deranged laughter clawed up my throat. I didn’t even want to.
Belonging was for people who wanted to fit a mold.
People carved by society to match the marble walkways and chilled rosé.
Pretty people with polished voices and fat wallets.
They were self-designed for this world as neatly as the napkin folds.
They existed like ornaments in the garden of the privileged.
And I wanted to ruin it.
It would be so damn easy. A darker urge coiled under my ribs, whispering about destruction the way some men whispered about love. I wanted to take. Because I could. Because no one here thought I mattered enough to stop me.
Power was a game, and they’d forgotten to look for the man who played it differently.
My gaze drifted over the crowd, lingering on their perfect lives. Perfect lies wrapped in wealth. Pearls. Laughter. Gentle hands brushing champagne flutes. Everyone pretended the world bent around them, when in reality it was the shadows like me who called the shots.
Then I saw her.
Gold blonde hair caught in the lantern glow, smoky gaze drifting over the party like she smelled the rot underneath the sweetness. She was beautiful in a way that wasn’t forced.
It was real.
She didn’t know she was mine yet. She refused to acknowledge the pull that caught us, sharp and certain. But I felt it. I surrendered to that eternal certainty sliding into place with the weight of destiny.
I’ve waited for you.
For so long, it seemed that was all I knew. But the time was fast coming when that chapter shifted. Waiting was about to become having. The rough skin on the pads of my fingers tingled with the idea of reaching out and touching her openly.
Let them keep their pretended perfection. Let them toast to futures built on money and family names. I wasn’t here to join the groom’s dinner.
I was here to take what was mine.
The time wasn’t quite right, but I saw a move on the chessboard, and I was taking my shot. Taking it before something far worse happened.
Amanda moved to stand beside her fiancé. If she seemed zoned out, if her smile looked forced, that was because it was. No one noticed. This was where a Loring girl belonged after all, and they accepted her presence, forcing her to endure in the mockery of the moment.
If she looked defeated, that was because she thought she had been. I knew what I’d done was unforgivable. But she wouldn’t have listened. Amanda wanted to be in that courtroom, participating in the trial.
What she didn’t know was that I’d probably saved her life, certainly saved her legal reputation. The opposition was prepared to play dirty, and I refused to let Amanda get hurt in the crossfire.
Did that justify my actions? No. But having her sleep through the second day of trial was the best way to make sure she was permanently off the case.
I’ll make it up to you. I swear it.
The happy couple left the garden to the toasts of the crowd. Such a fucking gentleman, her fiancé walked her home on the eve of their wedding. I slithered behind them, letting the dark of night hide me and the sound of the surf cover my approach.
A half mile shouldn’t have been a long walk.
But the way Amanda’s shoulders slumped told me she was exhausted.
Nearly broken. She fought hard for this worthless future.
I wanted to show her that this path she was on was wrong for her.
Even if she didn’t choose me—a fate I fought against with every breath in my body—she couldn’t have him. The snot nosed brat wasn’t a good man.
And yet, she won’t believe me if I tell her the truth.
No, I had to force that confession from another. Capture it to show her the vices of her world and prove once and for all that everything she did was for a false future.
In front of the beach entrance to the private mansion the Lorings rented, the couple stopped. I crouched in the sand, fisting my hands over my knees. Knowing what was coming didn’t help. Didn’t lessen the blow.
The British prick pulled Amanda into his arms. She draped hers over his neck. Their lips pressed together.
Cazzo!
I swallowed a bellow of rage. My molars threatened to crack from the pressure. It didn’t help that I’d seen dogs lick their butts better than those two kissed. I hated every second of it.
The moment the madness was over, Amanda untangled herself, went to the beach gate, and slipped up the path to the mansion.
The Brit turned around and began walking toward me.
I rose from the shadows. Stepped into his path. And smiled.
“Hey!” The Brit pulled up short. “I know you.”
The knife was in my hand a second later. “Good, we can skip the introductions.”
He blanched, opening his mouth to call for help.
I pounced.
It was too easy, grabbing him around the shoulders, pinning his scrawny arms to his side. The blade bit into the soft flesh of his throat.
“It’s time to learn what you’re made of,” I laughed softly.
I pulled him down the beach in the opposite direction from where we’d come from. He walked with stilted steps, not trying to jerk away, but not willingly cooperating. The boat I had stashed was still moored to the shore.
“Get in.” I gave him a shove.
He tried to scramble away, but I pulled out my gun. “I wouldn’t.”
The front of his beige pants bloomed with an acidic stain. The fucker pissed himself.
With a sigh, I pocketed the blade, still holding the gun. “Get in the fucking boat.”
He did.
Unfastening the boat, starting the motor, and casting off the shore took less than five minutes.
My gun stayed trained on the Brit, who didn’t make a sound.
I jumped into the vessel, working the fishing sloop out to the mouth of the point.
It wouldn’t fare well in rougher waters, but it would serve for the purposes I had in mind.
Cutting the engine, I let the tide pull us along. “Time to start talking.”
“About what?” The words trembled as they fell off his lips.
I pulled out my phone and set the video to record. “Tell me how you designed a plan to become the next Earl of Heartdown.”
The spineless jellyfish caved. Steven began to ramble. I asked probing questions, forcing him to spill the ugly truth. The story was classic, a tale as old as time. This brother envied his sibling. Without putting in the work, he wanted to reap the rewards showered upon another.
“And where does Archibald Loring fit into this?” I demanded.
“He helped me with the contracts to take over the family companies,” Steven explained, seeming confused why I asked about the lawyer. “He also made sure the inheritance terms were met.”
“He didn’t help you kill your brother?” I already knew he hadn’t. Archy didn’t like the messy parts of business.
Steven shook his head. “That was me.”
“And how much are you paying for these services?” I pressed, ready to drive the matter home.
He muttered a number.
“That’s a pretty high sum for legal advice,” I mused. “You sure that attorney fee doesn’t cover something else?”
“No!” Steven insisted.
I frowned. That wasn’t the answer I was looking for. Loring was up to something. I hadn’t figured out what that was. The exchange of power, the large payments, they pointed to something. I felt it. An uneasy squelching sensation gnawed at me.
“Why were you paying Loring so much money?” I repeated. This point needed to be driven home.
Steven narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”
“Answer the question.” I brandished the gun off camera. “Now.”
With a resigned sigh, Steven caved. “I needed a bride to become the next earl. Loring supplied his daughter as part of the negotiations.”
“You tried to buy a bride. What if she didn’t play along?” Each word was torture. I wanted to sink my fingers into his chest. Rip out his beating heart with my bare hands.
“Loring assured me that she would do whatever he asked her to,” Steven admitted.
I shut off the phone. That was enough. He’d explained the situation precisely. The greedy fucker, Loring, was selling his child to the highest bidder. Meanwhile, he knew this Brit was capable of killing his own brother to inherit the family legacy.
Amanda wouldn’t believe it if she didn’t hear it from Steven himself. She was so desperate to please her father that she would make some excuse. Now she couldn’t deny what had happened.
I would show her when the time was right. And she wouldn’t stop me when I took apart her father’s empire, brick by bloody brick. Maybe she would even help me.
“Thank you for that, Steven.” I tossed him a long zip tie. “Put that through the metal ring there and bind it around your wrists.”
“What are you doing?” He shrank back, a fresh sheen of sweat forming on his brow.
His accent grated on my nerves.
I pointed the gun to the left and shot a round into the sea. “Quit stalling.”
The coward started crying.
His fingers shook as he tied the plastic length. “Are you going to kill me?”
I want to. “No.”
The relief turned his mewling sobs into sniffles. “Why are you doing this? I can pay you! More than whoever sent you to blackmail me!”
Sliding my gun into the waistband of my pants, I glared at him. “You think someone sent me?”
He nodded.
“Vaffanculo,” I muttered sharply. “As if I wasn’t capable of orchestrating this on my own.”
“Well, who the hell are you then?” Steven spat.
I pulled out a knife and flicked the stiletto open. “Maybe it’s better you don’t know the truth.”
“Hold up, mate!” Steven began to squirm. “I told you everything! You said you weren’t going to kill me!”
Rummaging in the bag, I pulled out two other tools. I ignored his stammering protests. He didn’t matter. His part in this story was over. One small parting gift from me, and I would send him back home to live out his days as he wished.
Flicking on a lighter, I heated the blade. “Relax,” I growled. “You’re going to take that boat over there to England.” I jerked my chin to the northwest.
“Then what’s with the knife?” he cried.
My lips tipped up in a grin. “You know what she tastes like.”
His howl pierced the night. The sea breeze caught it, carried it across the bay, and buried it under the waves. Our silent secret.
Rising, I walked toward the Brit. My knee pressed on his thighs, holding him still.
I gripped his jaw, one handed, which was difficult, and shoved the pliers past his lips.
Sweet screams of fear lanced the air. Humming along with their melody, I caught his tongue.
Stretched it out. Hated that the measly piece of pink muscle had touched my girl.
“You shouldn’t have kissed her,” I murmured, words filled with darkness. “She was never yours.”
The hot blade slid through the flesh like butter.
It made a fucking mess.
I had to heat more metal, press it on the bleeding stump so he didn’t die on me—because that was never the intention. No, Earl Steven was going to live a long, healthy life—minus the tongue—and know that he didn’t get the girl.