Chapter 12 Loriana
Loriana
The sharp sound of leather soles on marble announces his arrival before I even see him, and something cold settles in my stomach at the familiar sound of his voice.
“Where is he?”
Flavio’s demand ricochets through the halls, all rage and ownership. My body locks up on the staircase, fingers digging into the banister until my knuckles go bone-white. Two days. I had two days of safety behind these walls before the monster found me.
“Mr. Codella is in a meeting,” I hear one of the staff respond with practiced diplomacy. “Perhaps you could wait in the—”
“I don’t wait for anyone in this house.” Flavio’s voice rises, echoing off the marble walls with the petulance of a spoiled child denied his favorite toy. “Not even for my zio.”
The venom he injects into that last word makes my skin crawl. I should retreat to Simeone’s room, lock the door, and let the men handle their family drama. That would be the smart thing—the safe thing.
Instead, I find myself descending the rest of the stairs with deliberate purpose, my silk robe flowing around me like liquid armor. If Flavio wants a confrontation, he’ll get one. But it’ll be on my terms, not his.
He’s standing in the center of the foyer like he’s holding court, his dark hair perfectly styled despite the fury blazing in his eyes. When he spots me, his expression transforms from anger to something far more dangerous—possessive hunger mixed with bitter betrayal.
“Well, well.” His smile is sharp enough to cut glass. “If it isn’t the little virgin who couldn’t wait to spread her legs for dear old zio.”
The insult hits its mark, but I don’t flinch. Instead, I lift my chin with the same defiance that once made me march into a mafia don’s office and demand protection.
“Flavio.” I keep my voice level, conversational, like we’re discussing the weather instead of standing in his uncle’s foyer while I wear nothing but silk and morning light. “You look well. Prison orange really would have brought out your eyes.”
His face flushes dark red. “You think you’re clever, don’t you? Playing house with my uncle while I clean up the mess you made.”
“The mess I made?” A laugh escapes me, sharp and bitter. “You mean the mess where you stalked me for weeks after I caught you fucking my best friend in my own bed? That mess?”
“That was different—”
“Different how?” I descend the final steps, putting us on level ground. “Because you were entitled to terrorize me? Because I was supposed to be grateful for your attention?”
“Because you were mine,” he snarls, and there it is—the twisted logic that’s driven his entire campaign of harassment. “Six months I invested in you. Six months of patience, of playing the gentleman, of respecting your ridiculous need to ‘wait for the right moment.’“
“Invested.” I taste the word like poison. “Is that what you call lying to someone’s face while you fuck their best friend behind their back? An investment?”
“It was strategy,” he snaps, taking a step closer. “Do you know what kind of bet I won by getting close to you? What my friends said when I told them I could make the untouchable Loriana Parlato fall for me?”
The confession hits me like a physical blow, even though part of me suspected that there was more to the story.
Everything between us had been a game, a cruel wager designed to humiliate me as publicly as possible.
The patient kisses, the respectful boundaries, the promises of forever—all of it carefully calculated to break me down.
“So it was all a lie,” I whisper, and the hurt in my voice makes him smile.
“Not all of it.” His tone turns almost gentle, which somehow makes it worse. “I did care about you, bambina. I still do. In my own way. You were supposed to be different—pure, untouchable, worthy of the Codella name.”
“Until I wasn’t pure enough for your liking?”
“Until you threw it all away on him.” Flavio gestures wildly toward the upper floors. “Do you know what he is, Loriana? What he’s done? The blood on his hands?”
“I know exactly what he is.” My voice hardens. “Just like I know exactly what you are.”
“And what am I?”
“A coward who terrorizes women when he doesn’t get his way. A spoiled child who thinks his last name entitles him to anything he wants. A pathetic little boy playing dress-up in a world of real men.”
The words hit their mark. Flavio’s face twists with rage, and for a moment, I think he might actually strike me. Instead, he laughs—a sound that makes my skin crawl with its bitter cruelty.
“At least I never pretended to be anything else,” he says quietly. “Can you say the same about your precious Silver Devil? Do you know why they call him that, bambina?”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Why? Because it reminds you of what you were before he got his hands on you? Before he corrupted everything innocent about you?”
“Because it reminds me of how pathetically you used to grovel for my attention.” I smile, sharp and cutting. “Amazing how quickly a man’s true nature shows when he can’t have something he wants.”
“True nature?” Flavio steps closer, close enough that I can smell his expensive cologne and the rage radiating off him like heat. “You want to talk about true nature? Your precious protector killed my father.”
The words hit me like ice water, freezing the breath in my lungs. “What?”
“Twenty years ago, Simeone sent my father on a mission that was suicide. Kept himself safe at home while my father walked into an ambush that everyone knew was coming.” His voice drops to a whisper that carries more venom than shouting.
“My father died because his younger brother was too much of a coward to take the dangerous jobs himself.”
“You’re lying.”
“Am I? Ask him sometime. Ask the Silver Devil how it feels to fuck his dead brother’s son’s woman. Ask him if he thinks about Ulrico when he’s inside you.”
His cruelty ignites something savage in me—I want to tear that smirk apart with my fingernails, make him bleed. But then I catch it: something raw and broken flickering behind his eyes, deeper than bruised ego or wounded lust.
“Even if that’s true,” I say quietly, “it doesn’t give you the right to terrorize me. It doesn’t justify what you’ve done.”
“Doesn’t it?” The tilt of his head is almost casual, but his eyes burn. “You’re a problem, Loriana. A threat to everything the Codella name represents. Care to guess how I handle problems?”
The threat hangs between us like smoke, subtle but unmistakable. I should be afraid—any sane person would be afraid. Instead, I feel something else entirely: rage so pure it burns away every other emotion.
“Are you threatening me in your uncle’s house?” I ask conversationally. “Because that seems spectacularly stupid, even for you.”
“I’m stating facts.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Simeone may think he owns you now, but blood is thicker than pussy. When he gets bored with playing house—and he will—where do you think that leaves you?”
“Probably right where I’ve always been. Taking care of myself.”
“Will you?” He leans closer, his voice dropping to an intimate whisper. “Because I’ll be waiting, bambina. And when he throws you away like he does all his toys, I’ll be there to pick up the pieces.”
“You’ll be waiting a long time.”
“We’ll see.” His fingers reach toward my face, and I jerk back instinctively. “You look good in silk, by the way. Much better than those cheap dresses you used to wear to impress me.”
“I never dressed to impress you.”
“Didn’t you?” His laugh is sharp, mocking. “Six months of careful outfits, of making sure your hair was perfect whenever we had plans. Six months of playing the perfect girlfriend while you counted down the days until you could give me your precious gift.”
Heat floods my cheeks because there’s truth in what he’s saying, even if it’s twisted by his own narcissism. I had tried to look good for him, had believed we were building something real together.
“That was before I knew what a waste of time you were.”
“And now? Now you know what a real man feels like?” His voice turns ugly. “Tell me, does he make you scream his name the way I never could? Does he fuck you like the whore you always wanted to be?”
The insult snaps whatever control I had left. My hand moves before I can think, connecting with his cheek in a slap that echoes through the marble foyer like a gunshot.
Flavio’s head snaps to the side, and when he turns back, there’s something genuinely dangerous in his eyes—something that makes me take an instinctive step backward.
“You bitch,” he breathes, his hand moving to his reddened cheek. “You fucking bitch. Do you know what I could do to you? What I should do to you for that?”
“Try it,” I snarl, past caring about consequences or safety or anything but the rage burning in my chest. “Put your hands on me and see what happens.”
“You think he’ll protect you forever?” Flavio’s voice rises, echoing off the walls. “You think this little fantasy will last? He’s using you, Loriana. Just like I was. The only difference is his methods are more sophisticated.”
“At least he’s sophisticated enough not to get caught fucking someone else in my bed.”
“Because he’s fucking half the city instead.” The cruelty in his voice makes me want to hit him again. “Did you think you were special? Did you think the Silver Devil would give up his reputation for some nobody bartender from the wrong side of town?”
“Better a nobody than a pathetic wannabe who needs daddy’s money to feel important.”
“Daddy?” Flavio laughs, the sound sharp and bitter. “You mean the father your precious Simeone got killed? The man whose blood is on the hands that touch you.”
“Enough.”
One word cuts our argument dead, sharp enough to draw blood. We both snap to attention, turning toward Simeone on the staircase—a figure of elegant menace with silver fire for hair and eyes that could burn down the world.