Chapter 18
18
MICHAEL
I press a finger against the fucker’s head, and it lolls to the side, lifeless. He’s dead.
Damn it. I was too angry—came in on him too strong. I wanted to draw it out, make him feel every second of his miserable end. But I let the rage take over. Now that opportunity is gone.
Lorenzo hands me a wipe, and I scrub the blood off my hands as best as I can. It’ll have to do until I can take a proper shower.
“What do we do about his body?” he asks.
“Decapitate him,” I say, tossing the soiled wipe aside. “Wrap his head up for me and send the rest of his body to Aldo.”
Lorenzo shakes his head like I’m crazy. I narrow my eyes, and he quickly raises his hands.
“Can I know what you want to do with his head?”
“No, you cannot.” I walk past him, leaving the interrogation room and my order in his hands. Up the stairs, through the shed, and out into the late afternoon sun—its harsh glare hits me square in the face, momentarily blinding me. I was in there longer than I thought.
I slip through the back entrance into the main house, avoiding the main areas. I don’t know where Gianna is, and I sure as hell don’t want to risk running into her covered in her cousin’s blood. Not that I think she’d care about his death—she hates him. But still, I’d rather not shove the evidence in her face right now.
Taking the back stairs two at a time, I head for the left wing, reserved mainly for guests—but she won’t be there. I made sure of that. She should be in the right wing, my wing, where she rightfully belongs.
Gracie better have followed my instructions.
I go into one of the several guest bedrooms and fire off a quick text to one of my men for a fresh set of clothes before stripping down and stepping into the shower. Anticipation fills my being as I scrub my body clean, tilting my neck back so the water can spray into my face.
She’s here.
In my house.
Where no one can ever dare take her from me.
And soon, she’ll be mine completely—in name and truth.
My cock hardens at the thought, and I drag my hand down my length to the barbell piercing at the head, giving it a sharp tug to keep myself in check.
There’s no time to rub one out right now. I need to talk to her first. See her face and her reaction to my proposition.
I cut the water and grab a towel, drying off quickly. When I get to the bedroom, a fresh pair of clothes are already waiting for me on the bed, so I toss my towel aside and get dressed.
Rolling my neck to ease the lingering tension, I leave the guest bedroom and make my way the right wing. This time, I hope—expect—to cross paths with my little birdie, but I don’t, and I have to taper down my disappointment as I go into my office. Soon .
I sink into my chair and boot on my computer, fingers drumming against the desk as I pull up the security feed. If I can’t see her in person yet, I’ll settle for watching her.
A grin pulls at my lips when I spot her—in my bedroom.
She’s pacing, practically wearing a hole in the floor, her lips moving as she waves her hands aggressively. I lean back, amused.
I suppose Gracie already mentioned something to her, hence the pure frustration vibrating off her.
I let her fume. Let her pace. Let her work herself up.
But soon, just watching her isn’t enough. I need to smell her sweet scent, hear her tinkling voice, see the fire in her golden eyes.
With a single tap on my computer, the screens all go dark, and I rise from my chair. Then, adjusting my jacket, I make my way to her.
The moment I open my bedroom door, she whirls towards me, eyes blazing. “What the hell, Michael? Why am I here?”
Her fury rolls off her in waves, but as I take in her bruised face up close, my excitement dims, and any joy I’d felt seconds before snuffs out completely.
And just like that, my own rage reignites like a goddamn wildfire.
I should have made that trash suffer for longer.
Jaw tight, I pull out my phone and shoot a text to Morgan, our consultant doctor, to get his ass here. I should have called him as soon as we got home. Should have made sure she was taken care of first. But I let my anger take the reins. Dealing with Dario took priority.
Morgan replies immediately.
On my way. Give me five.
I drop my phone back into my pocket and approach her slowly, eyes cataloging every dark mark marring her face. My pretty girl. Beaten, broken. Because of me. I lift a hand towards her hesitantly, but she jerks back.
The look she gives me—disgust curling her lips, pure loathing in her eyes—twists something deep inside me. “Don’t even dare.”
My hand falls, fisting at my side. “Gianna, I–” The words clog in my throat. I’ve never apologized in my life. I don’t know how to start.
Her arms cross over her chest. “Why the hell am I in your house, Michael? Why am I in what I know is your bedroom?”
Her voice is ice. I’ve lost her trust, her good will towards me. And I know I deserve it. I deserve everything she throws at me.
But that doesn’t mean I’m just going to take it.
I narrow my eyes on her. “You want to know why you’re here? You’re here because we’re getting married tomorrow.”
She stares at me with so much vitriol that if I were a lesser man, I’d probably take a couple of steps back. But I’m not, so I smirk and take two steps forward instead.
Her arms drop from her chest, and then, to my complete confusion, she throws her head back and laughs. The sound is sharp, maniacal, like something inside her just snapped.
I frown at her in worry. Is she having a meltdown?
“Oh my God,” she gasps out when she finally stops. “I’ve had it up to here–” she raises a hand, “–with men thinking they can tell me what to do. First Aldo telling me I’m getting married to Carlo today , and now you’re saying we’re getting married tomorrow ?”
Another round of laughter bursts from her, but this time, tears start slipping down her cheeks. Halfway through, her body sags, and she crumples to the floor with a pained groan.
My heart swells painfully as I watch her. For the first time in years, I have no fucking clue what to do. Should I try to comfort her? How do I do that? I take a hesitant step forward, reaching?—
“Don’t–” Her voice is raw, shaking. She lifts a trembling hand. “Don’t even think about it, Michael.”
Before I can say anything, there’s a sharp knock on the door. “Morgan is here, Michael,” Gracie calls from the door.
I glance down at Gianna. “That’s my doctor. He’s going to check on your bruises. Make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m not okay, Michael. I’m not,” she murmurs, shaking her head.
Her words knock something loose in my chest.
“Tell him to hold on for a minute,” I call back, then go on my haunches in front of her.
“You’re strong, Gianna. But even the strongest soldiers have their weak moments. And that’s fine. You might feel like you’ve hit rock bottom, and I’m not going to argue with you about that. But want to know a sweet secret?”
Silence.
Then, finally, she glances up at me through liquid whiskey eyes, luminous with tears, and my heart squeezes so painfully it’s damn near unbearable. I hate this. I hate seeing her hurt. That realization hits me in the gut—I’m in way deeper than I initially thought. Fuck .
“Well?” she asks, wiping her tears with a little sniff. “Don’t keep me hanging. What’s the sweet secret?”
I blink at her, thrown for a moment. Then I clear my throat. “The only way to go from the bottom is up. And I’m going to be here with you every step of the way.”
“No, you won’t. Because I won’t be here for longer than a day.”
The ache in my chest eases at the return of her sass, and I let out a low chuckle. “Huh. We’ll see about that.” I push to my feet and head towards the door, swinging it open to find Morgan waiting outside. Tilting my head, I motion for him to come in.
Gianna stands the second he walks in. “If you want me to submit myself to be fully checked by this doctor of yours, then you need to get out.”
Next to me, Morgan inhales sharply. He’s never seen anyone defy me and have their head remain attached to their bodies.
I narrow my eyes at her, and she meets my gaze head-on, chin lifted in pure, stubborn defiance. I fucking know that look.
Without a word, I nod at Morgan, whose lips part slightly as I turn to leave. Whatever . He knows to keep his fucking mouth shut, so I trust no one will find out about this little interlude. And if Gianna thinks to solicit his help to get out of here, she’s in for a rude awakening.
I don’t keep as many men around me as my brothers do—I detest having to interact with other humans for longer than necessary—but the few people I do keep are loyal to the bone. Not a single one would ever go against me.
Morgan is in there with her for over thirty minutes, and I spend the duration glued to my phone screen, pacing the hallway as I watch their interaction through the live feed. Surprisingly, Gianna doesn’t speak unless spoken to first, and even though my video doesn’t have audio, I can tell Morgan’s just asking her questions about her bruises.
My fingers clench around my phone as I watch her wince and flinch away when he prods at a sore spot. The sight sends another wave of fury crashing through me, and with Dario dead, there’s only one direction left for it to go. Aldo . The man who should have fucking protected his niece. And if Dario had the audacity to hit her enough to bruise her like this, what the hell has Aldo done to her?
My blood boils as I exit the camera feed to fire off a text to Lorenzo.
Put one of our men on Aldo’s tail. Now. I want eyes on him at all times. I’ll start digging into him myself too.
As I finish sending the text, my bedroom door opens, and Morgan steps out, expression grim. “She took a bad beating, but apart from that, she’s perfectly healthy and well on the road of healing.”
I nod. At least there’s that.
“She took some painkillers last night—more than she should have—so I told her to hold off for now. I left her something to take later, though. She’ll be right as rain soon.”
“Alright.” I exhale slowly. “I appreciate you coming so quickly.”
“Anytime man.” He smirks. “You seem to have your hands full with that one, so you have my sympathies.”
I take a threatening step towards him, and he quickly spins around, walking away like the hounds of hell are nipping at his ankles.
Shaking my head, I hesitate briefly, then head back to my room, where Gianna is now lying on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. “Hey, you good?”
“I’m not marrying you, Michael. I’m not,” she says quietly.
I sigh, hating that I have to resort to my last options. I had hoped she’d agree to the wedding on her own terms, but she seems pretty resolute. Not that I blame her. If I were her, I wouldn’t trust me either.
“You do realize Aldo and Carlo will never let you go, don’t you?”
She turns her head, questioning me with her eyes, so I continue, “I killed his son. Who do you think he’s going to blame? Dario? Me?” I shake my head. “No, the blame is going to fall squarely on you, because to him, you’re the easiest target.”
She flinches, her skin paling, and I almost stop—but I continue ruthlessly, needing her to see the full picture. “Carlo is going to keep sending his own men after you because he’s already upheld his end of the deal with Aldo. The only thing left is your marriage with him. You think he’s just going to give up?”
I don’t tell her about the rumors circulating that Carlo is having marriage troubles, which I know he won’t take too lightly; he might resort to trying to hurt her—or worse. Everyone knows the unfortunate fate of his previous wives.
“I’m not going to marry him,” she says, stubborn as ever.
“I won’t let you,” I agree readily. “Because you’re going to be married to me.” That’s the only way she gets out of this unscathed. And the only way I have complete control over her—and can fully protect her.
“No, I will not marry you either, Michael.” She glares at me. “Not after what you’ve done. You betrayed me.” Her voice breaks, and fuck, that kills me. “I will never trust you again.”
My throat closes up as I stare at her. I clear it quickly. “I didn’t betray you, Gianna. I would never . It was just a little misunderstanding.”
She sits up, seething. “A little misunderstanding? The ‘little’ misunderstanding got me flayed by my cousin.”
“And he played dearly for it,” I say fiercely. “Just like your uncle will also pay for his role in it.”
“And you? Will you also pay for it?”
I’m already paying for it. Every time she looks at me like that. With so much distrust and animosity—like I’m no better than them. Every time I look at her and see those bruises.
But I don’t say any of that. Instead, I say, “Either marry me and be safe—safe from all dangers, safe to pursue all your dreams—or walk out that door and spend the rest of your life running. Always looking over your shoulder, always wondering if today’s the day they finally catch you.” I pause, letting my words sink in. “Think about the last two months you were on the run. Now double whatever hell you went through. Because trust me, neither Carlo nor Aldo will ever stop hunting you.”
She lets out a shuddering breath.
I watch her think through her options, waiting for the moment she realizes there’s only one real choice—hoping she makes the right one. Because truth is, even though I gave her the option of running away, I have no intention of letting her go. So if she chooses that path, well… we’ll have a bit of a problem.
But I know this—giving her the illusion of having a choice is the right step in repairing the trust I broke. The right step forward if we’re going to get married and stay married.
Finally, those whiskey eyes meet mine. “Alright.”