Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
RENZO
Present
She’s got every reason to hate me.
I lie here on the floor in my father’s office, eyes pinned to the ceiling like the cracks above might spell out the meaning of my fucked-up existence.
Instead, all I see is her face. Her beautiful stricken expression.
The fire still burning in her eyes. Her disappointment.
The loathing. She looked at me like I was something deranged, something already damned.
And I am.
The truth? In a weak and impulsive moment, I caved. Chasing that high like it was oxygen. I let it crawl under my skin and hollow me out, because it’s easier to feed the craving than to face myself.
They say the first step to solving a problem is acknowledging you have one. Like my efforts to escape my destiny are the issue, when it’s the Life I dread.
Except the path I swore I wanted is stale and rotten.
As with most things, I’ve grown bored with living a life of excess.
Waking up in strange beds, getting off on the thrill of a punch, flashing a middle finger at the mafiosi around me—my father, my brother—believing the world I occupy is superior to their tightly rigid one.
I don’t see life through rose-colored glasses. I see it through shot glasses.
And I’ve become exactly who they said I was.
Broken. Messy. Weak.
I’ve dragged everyone down with me—especially Elia Seraphina … Accardo.
My hand balls into a fist. Why the fuck didn’t she run?
Why didn’t she take the out and disappear?
She was halfway there; I’d made sure of it.
But instead she put her faith in a bullshit promise from a man who’d just buried himself inside the tightest, sweetest pussy he’d ever had, then thought he owned her because of it.
Christ. I told her months ago I wasn’t her savior. Thought she was smart enough to save herself.
But I was wrong.
I failed her.
And I deserve every ounce of her hatred.
“Renzo?” my father’s new wife calls out, dragging me back from the darkness. Her soft footsteps approach, then I feel her hovering over me. “What are you doing on the floor? Are you okay?” The concern in her tone is a knife between my ribs.
Growing worried by my silence, Alessia nudges me with her foot.
I grab her ankle, just like I did when we first met. “Your panties red, angel?”
She wiggles free, then sinks to the floor, her wedding dress billowing as she rolls onto her back beside me. “My panties aren’t your concern.”
“But we were almost married.”
Yeah, that’s the really fucked-up part about what I’ve done.
I pitched the idea of marrying Alessia to my father after I’d already promised Fina we’d marry.
Like I could juggle two lives, play savior twice, and come out clean.
My mind bent on this crazy-ass plan—marry one to free her, marry the other to save her.
In the end, I fucked them both over.
I just hope Fina never learns the truth. She deserves more than the pain I’ve caused her.
I turn to Alessia. “Don’t you have wedding guests to greet?”
“Family is more important.”
Too sweet to be a Beneventi, yet here she is. And she’s glowing.
“You’re happy?” I ask.
“I love him, Renzo. Desperately. So yes, I’m happy.”
I give her a look. “Even with him being capo di tutti capi?”
“I know who he is, what he is. But I also know what we are.”
“Kinky motherfuckers?”
Her blush betrays her, but she doesn’t deny it. “We’re twin flames destined to burn together.”
“Sounds hot.”
Her laugh rings through the library. “Oh, it is.”
Nausea twists in my gut. I admire her acceptance, but it only makes me sicker.
“How’s the new therapist? My father said you’d like her.”
I shrug. “I like every inch of my new therapist.”
“Renzo, you didn’t?”
I wonder why people like sweet Alessia still have faith in me, and way more than I deserve. Yeah, I fucked the therapist. Not because I wanted fixing. Because keeping her busy with my body meant she couldn’t get inside my head. Truth is, random fucks are growing old. Everything is.
Except for Fina’s tight body milking me dry in the back of that car. Nothing compares, and I cling to that motherfucking memory like the undeserving prick I am.
“Bastian said you would.” She sighs. “I owe him money.”
I grunt. “That’s what you get for betting on me.”
“I’ll always bet in your favor, Renzo.”
Fuck. Here we go.
“She’s a professional. Open up. Talk to her. Let her help.”
“Open up?” I let out a low laugh, shaking my head. “What’s in me isn’t for the weak. Anyone soft enough to look inside wouldn’t walk out the same.”
“Renzo, as your friend, accept that you’ve taken things too far and fix it.”
“I’m on it.”
“Are you?”
Fucking hell. “Yeah.”
She searches my face, finds nothing, lets it go. “Good.”
I roll to my feet and help her up. “Better get you back to the celebration.”
She stands on her toes and kisses my cheek. “Nice chatting with you, son.”
I smirk. “Mom.”
Smoothing her dress, she starts for the door.
“Wait,” I say, my tone strained.
Her eyes snap wide.
“I’m surprised my father invited the Accardos.”
“The Accardos?”
“Yeah. Carlo and his new wife.”
“You mean Carlo Accardo, the guy bankrolling half the Midwest casino expansion? Your father barely tolerates him. He’s not famiglia. Why would we invite him to our wedding?”
“His new bride was at the church.”
Her eyes narrow. “Elia?”
Fuck. I only asked to check if Fina’s okay, but I can see Alessia piecing it together. “It’s her, isn’t it? The one you’re obsessed with. The one you chased to California, who told you to fuck off?”
Who I chased to California twice. Once, that ended with a promise, the second, that ended us.
“Elia Lombardi accompanied her father.”
I stare at her like she sprouted two heads. “She’s not with Carlo?”
“Their wedding was postponed. Out of respect for the new capo di tutti capi … who I married today.”
Relief lands like a punch straight to my chest. I know what this is—a second chance. For the first time in months, I can actually breathe.
I rake a hand through my hair. Fuck it if Sandro gets the happy ending and I get the rumors.
With that thought, everything snaps into place.
Time for damage control, to silence the rumors and set the record straight—strengths, weaknesses, all of it.
I’m done with this self-destructive spiral and life as I’ve known it.
My future will be as it was always meant to be, as a productive member within the famiglie.
As for Fina, I know she hates me and that whatever we had is toast. Still, she deserves a life far from the famiglie, far from her asshole father, far from Carlo motherfucking Accardo.
I straighten, mind razor-sharp with purpose. “I better clean up, then.”
Something flickers across Alessia’s face, subtle, troubled. “Renzo … she was caught roaming the estate.”
I’m already moving toward the door.
“Your father’s questioning her right now.”
FINA
Blood polka-dots my solid pink dress as I wipe the back of my hand across my lips, gauging my surroundings and the dark, isolated room Sebastiano Beneventi’s soldiers dragged me into.
Men always think roughing up a person will put them in their place. But like every other man who has put his hands on me, Don Beneventi’s soldier will pay. If he thinks my stomping his shins with my heels hurts, he’s in for a surprise.
Still, I recognize I’m in deep shit.
My father charged off somewhere around the eighth hole, frustrated by the Beneventis’ impenetrable estate but also worried we’d be questioned about roaming so far away from the wedding celebration. He should have considered this before dragging me across a golf course in high heels.
“Have a seat,” the soldier with the mean fists demands.
I square my shoulders, and as if he’d been expecting my resistance, he shoves me to the floor.
“I’m the daughter of a capo in the Eleven,” I spit out. “Show some respect.”
“Behave,” he mutters. Because that’s what mafiosi say to women, like we can’t string two coherent thoughts together.
I bare my teeth, and his eyes widen.
That’s right, asshole. Just you wait.
His two companions circle me, arms folded. Waiting.
Giving in to the rising terror now won’t help. A busted lip is nothing compared to what my father will do to me for bringing attention onto us.
Bookcases line the walls, and it dawns on me I’ve been inside this room before—the library.
A small desk is behind me, with comfortable sofas and chairs throughout the room.
A large family portrait dominates the only bare wall, and the three Beneventi men stare down at me.
Don Sebastiano Beneventi, with cold, calculating eyes; a teenage Sandro, stiff and rigid with a stick up his ass; and Renzo, with a sparkle and lively look, like life’s a joke and only he knows the punch line.
At this moment, it’s hard to say which Beneventi I hate the most.
But I know who terrifies me.
Lord, I stole from a man who butchered a capo with a chain saw. Who’s smart and savvy, and difficult to outsmart.
Did Renzo tell him what I’ve done?
“I was taking a walk around the golf course. What’s the big deal?”
Mean Fists points a finger at me. “Quiet.”
The door swings open, and the men stiffen as their capo enters and the full Sebastiano Beneventi effect engulfs the room.
Power radiates from his handsome physique.
And I’m not the only one who feels it—his men stand taller, faces pulled tighter and manners on edge.
Fear licks up my spine. A predator is in our midst, and I’m at the bottom of the food chain.
His attention lands on me, and I do everything in my power not to shy away.
We’ve never spoken. I was only a kid the last time I saw him. But the resemblance to Renzo is startling, so it’s no wonder I find him startlingly attractive.
Only the most coldhearted mafioso would murder me on his wedding day, right?
His scowl deepens as he takes me in. Then, he turns his anger on his men. “Why the fuck is she bleeding?”