Chapter 8
LUCA
The alcohol sears down my throat, but it does nothing to calm the fury churning in my chest.
I pour another two fingers and down it in one swallow, welcoming the fire that does absolutely nothing to drown out the images replaying in my mind.
Mayor Castellano kissing Giuliana’s hand. Viktor Torrino’s approving assessment when he said “even lovelier than Luca described.” That bastard from the Moretti family whose eyes tracked her across the ballroom like she was his latest dessert.
Every single one of them looking at her, appreciating her, wanting her.
Mine. The word thunders through my mind with primitive intensity. She’s mine.
Except she’s not.
She’s a means to an end.
A pawn in a three-year game of revenge that’s supposed to culminate in Antonio Conti watching his daughter die before I end him too.
That’s the plan.
That’s always been the plan.
So why does the thought of other men looking at her make me want to break things?
I slam the glass down on my desk hard enough that the crystal cracks, a spiderweb fracture spreading from the base.
The sharp sound echoes in the office but provides no satisfaction.
Nothing provides satisfaction right now except the memory of her pressed against my side, that emerald silk clinging to every curve, her body heat seeping through the thin fabric.
The way her breath hitched when I pulled her closer.
The slight tremble in her hands even as she maintained that perfect smile.
The hatred burning in her eyes when she looked at me, mixed with something else—fear, yes, but also that unwanted physical awareness I saw flash across her face.
“Fuck.” The word comes out as a growl, and I pour another drink.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. I was supposed to remain detached, clinical, focused on the endgame.
Break her spirit, use her for the alliance, dispose of her when her usefulness ended.
Simple. Clean. Justice for Marco.
But nothing about Giuliana Conti is fucking simple.
I think about how she looked tonight.
She was poised and elegant despite being terrified, playing her role perfectly while probably fantasizing about stabbing me with her dinner knife.
How she smiled at Viktor Torrino and charmed him with just the right amount of deference.
How every man in that ballroom looked at her and saw exactly what I intended them to see: a beautiful, sophisticated woman who’d tamed Luca Marchetti.
Except she hasn’t tamed shit.
If anything, she’s awakened something I’ve kept locked down for years—this possessive, primitive need to claim and dominate and mark her as mine in ways that go far beyond the arrangement we’re supposed to maintain.
I catch sight of my reflection in the window and barely recognize myself.
My tie is loosened, my hair disheveled from running my hands through it, my expression twisted with an emotion I don’t want to name.
I look like a man at war with himself.
Because that’s exactly what I am.
Marco’s photograph sits on my desk, the one from that barbecue five years ago where we’re both laughing at something stupid Danny said.
My cousin, my best friend, my brother in everything but blood.
The man who died because Antonio Conti sold him out for gambling money.
I reach out and trace his face with the tip of my finger. “I’m doing this for you,” I tell the photograph, my voice rough as my fingertip curves around Marco’s smile. “Everything is for you.”
But even as I say it, doubt creeps in and a tiny voice awakens.
Would Marco want this?
Would he want me to destroy an innocent woman to punish her father?
Would he approve of the monster I’ve become in pursuit of his justice?
No, the little voice says, its voice insidious.
Marco would tell me I’ve lost my mind, that revenge has consumed everything good in me, and that I’m becoming exactly like the men we swore we’d never be.
But Marco’s dead, and I’m still here, and someone has to pay for what was taken from me.
The rage boils over, and before I can think better of it, I’m storming out of my office and through the hallways toward Giuliana’s suite.
The guards straighten as I pass, wisely staying silent as they see my expression.
I swipe my master key card across the lock and throw open the door without bothering to knock.
Giuliana bolts upright in bed, her eyes going wide. “Get the fuck out of my room!” she shouts. “You don’t get to just barge in here—”
My eyes sweep the room, and that’s when I see it.
Shredded emerald silk scattered across the floor like confetti.
The expensive dress I selected, torn into pieces with what must have been savage fury.
The diamond necklace and jewelry I chose are piled on top of the ruined fabric like they’re fucking costume jewelry instead of hundreds of thousands of dollars of precious stones.
Twenty thousand dollars worth of designer clothing, destroyed.
White-hot rage floods through me. “What the fuck is this?” I hiss, gesturing at the destroyed dress, my control finally shattering completely. “Do you have any idea what that gown cost?”
“I don’t give a shit what it cost!” She’s out of bed now, stalking toward me in her t-shirt and pajama pants like she’s ready to fight, her hands balled into fists.
“I hated it. It was your pretty decoration to parade around for your criminal friends. So I destroyed it, and it felt fucking amazing!”
The profanity from her mouth shouldn’t surprise me, but it does.
This isn’t the composed woman who smiled graciously at Viktor Torrino. This is pure, unfiltered rage.
“You destroyed twenty thousand dollars worth of designer clothing as an act of rebellion?” My voice comes out deadly quiet.
“Yes!” She smirks at me, her brown eyes alight with glee. “And I’d do it again. I’d burn every expensive thing in this prison if it meant showing you that I’m not your fucking doll to dress up!”
Something snaps inside me.
All the rage and possessiveness and unwanted attraction I’ve been fighting all evening comes roaring to the surface, and I close the distance between us in three strides.
“You think you can defy me?” I hiss, stepping toward her. “You think you can destroy my property and face no consequences?”
“Your property?” Her laugh is vicious. “That’s what I am to you, isn’t it? Just another thing you own. Well, fuck you, Luca. Fuck your dress, fuck your alliance, and fuck your revenge!”
My own rage is simmering just beneath the surface, begging to come out. “Careful, cara,” I say silkily. “You’re forgetting who holds all the power here.”
She literally laughs in my face. “Power?” She takes another step toward me, reckless in her rage.
She’s only a few feet from me now. “You think locking me in this mansion, controlling every aspect of my life, makes you powerful?” She tosses her head.
“It just makes you a coward who can’t face his grief like an adult! ”
How dare she. “You know nothing about my grief,” I snap.
“I know you’re using it as an excuse to torture innocent people!” Her voice cracks with fury. “You parade around talking about justice for your cousin, but this isn’t justice! This is just you lashing out because you’re in pain and you need someone to blame!”
She’s not going to turn this around on me. Fuck her. “Your father betrayed us—”
“My father made a mistake under coercion!” she shouts, and there are tears in her eyes now—tears of rage, not sorrow.
“And you’re punishing me for it! I never hurt anyone!
I spent my life saving injured animals, and you destroyed everything because of something my father did!
How is that justice? How does destroying my life balance anything? ”
“Your father’s choices—” I start to say but she fucking interrupts me. Again.
“Are his choices!” She’s shaking with fury. “Not mine! I’m not responsible for what he did. But you don’t care about that, do you? You don’t care that I’m innocent, that I had nothing to do with Marco’s death. All you care about is making someone suffer because you’re in pain!”
“Don’t you dare assume you understand what I’m doing,” I snarl. “I’m seeking justice.”
“You’re not seeking justice.” Her chest is heaving, eyes wild. “You’re just a monster who destroys innocent people to fill the emptiness inside you. You dress it up as revenge, call it honoring Marco’s memory, but it’s just cruelty. You’re no better than the men who killed him!”
The comparison to Antonio and Marco’s killers is the final straw. My hands curl into fists at my sides, every muscle going rigid. “Don’t.” The word comes out strangled, more threat than speech. My jaw clenches so hard I can feel my teeth grinding together. “Don’t you dare compare me to them.”
“Why not?” She doesn’t back down, and I want to hit her for it. Does she not recognize the danger? “You’re doing exactly what they did. Destroying innocent lives because—”
“Innocent?” I’m in her face now, so close I can count the light freckles dusting her nose and cheeks. She instinctively takes a step back. “You want to talk about innocent? Marco was innocent. He never hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it. He never betrayed anyone, never—”
“Marco wasn’t innocent!” Giuliana shouts back, and her words stop me dead in my tracks.
“You stand there talking about how my father destroyed an innocent man, but Marco Marchetti was in organized crime! He wasn’t some civilian caught in crossfire.
He was part of your world, your violence, your empire built on blood and corruption! ”
White-hot rage floods through me. “You don’t know anything about Marco,” I say, my teeth clenched so tightly they hurt.
“I know he chose this life!” Her face is red. “I know he made his choices and understood the risks.” She slams her fist into her palm. “But I didn’t choose any of this! I’m a veterinarian. And I’m being punished because my father made a mistake—”
“A mistake?” I’m shouting now too, all control gone. My chest is so tight it hurts to breathe. “He sold intelligence that got Marco tortured to death! That’s not a mistake, that’s murder!”