Chapter 14
Damiano
I’m going to kill Andreas Montoni.
The thought pounds through my head with every crate I haul, every shipment I approve for the warehouse. Antonio and Giovanni exchange worried glances, but they don’t say anything. They’re smart enough to recognize murder in a man’s eyes.
Antonio is still recovering from the gunshot wound. His shoulder is bandaged, and he moves carefully, but he insisted on coming back to work because sitting at home drives him crazy.
I know the feeling.
I keep picturing Andreas clasping Lucy’s shoulders and kissing her cheek like he already owns her, and her letting him.
Just standing there and taking it because she has no choice, and that knowledge is a knife twisting in my gut.
If he kisses her, will she allow that too?
What if he tries undressing her? I go mad with jealousy just picturing it, and I nearly pick a fight with Giovanni just so I can punch someone.
Giovanni is nothing but loyal to me. I need to get a fucking grip.
“Boss, you all right?” Antonio asks, watching me with concern.
“Fine.”
“You don’t look fine. You look like you want to murder someone.”
“I do.” I don’t elaborate.
In the middle of the afternoon, I make up an excuse and go home, intending to get changed and go for a run. An hour pounding the sidewalk with music blasting through my earbuds is the only way I’m going to dampen the rage simmering in my blood.
As I head inside through the garage and kitchen and make my way toward the stairs, the front door opens, and it’s Lucy. She’s wearing a pretty printed dress and heels, and a shade of lipstick that makes her look incredibly kissable.
Right behind her is Andreas, walking into my home like he owns it. Like he owns Lucy.
Lucy sees me, and her eyes drop guiltily to the ground. Andreas moves toward me with a grin, claps me on the shoulder like we’re old friends. It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to break his wrist.
He strides down the hallway toward Dad’s study.
“Where’s he going?” I ask Lucy, my voice dangerously low.
She’s still staring at the ground, and she can’t answer me. I notice she has her left hand hidden behind her back.
Icy apprehension flows down my spine. She wouldn’t have. She couldn’t have. The dinner was only two weeks ago. “Lucy. Let me see your hand.”
She shakes her head and tries to sidestep me, but I move in front of her.
“What are you hiding?”
“Nothing. Don’t worry about it, Damiano.”
She tries to step around me again, but I seize her wrist and drag it between us, making her show me.
I feel like I’ve been punched. The pain is slow and crushing, like my chest is caving in.
There’s a diamond engagement ring sparkling on Lucy’s ring finger.
It’s massive. Tasteless. Everything Lucy isn’t. I hate it with every fiber of my being.
“Lucy,” I breathe, my voice hollow. “When did this happen?”
“It needed resizing. We picked it up today.” Her voice is small.
The image of Andreas sliding this ring onto her finger, of her allowing it, makes me want to break something. In a few months, maybe less, she’ll walk down an aisle toward Andreas Montoni, and I’ll have to watch. “And you said yes.”
“What choice did I have? You know I don’t have a choice, Damiano.” She adds bitterly, “If you’re imagining he went down on one knee and asked me to marry him, think again. He asked Dad, and then he put this ring on my finger. It’s not an engagement ring. It’s a leash.”
An ugly leash. The canary diamonds I bought her were chosen because they made her eyes light up.
“It’s hideous.”
A surprised laugh escapes her. “It is, isn’t it?”
Andreas doesn’t care what Lucy wants. He cares about status. About showing off. I hate him with a burning, visceral rage that threatens to consume me. I hate every person and every circumstance that’s putting Lucy in another man’s bed.
“I should rip this off your finger. I should put my own ring on your finger. One you actually chose. One that means something.” I pull her closer. “You’re mine, Lucy. Not his. Mine.”
“I know.” Tears are sliding down her cheeks now. “I know I’m yours. But this is the only way to keep us both alive.”
I pull her into my arms, and this time she doesn’t resist. She collapses against me, and I feel her body shaking with silent sobs. My hand tangles in her hair. For these few stolen seconds, she’s mine. Not his. Mine.
I hear footsteps. Andreas is coming back, probably looking for Lucy. She must hear them too, because she pulls away from me quickly, wiping at her eyes.
“I have to go,” she says.
“Lucy—”
“He can’t know how I feel about you.” She pulls away and hurries down the hall toward Andreas, who’s wearing the satisfied smile of a man who thinks he’s claimed something precious. I watch her go, barely breathing, jealousy raging in my heart as she moves toward her future husband.
Andreas thinks he’s won and believes he’s claimed something that belongs to me.
But he’s wrong.
Lucy is mine. And I will find a way to get her back.