9. Ara
The fucker literally almost choked me out. Worse? I got off on it. That’s fucked up. Isn’t it?
I sit on my sofa, binging on some drama I’m not paying any attention to. My mind’s a heated, calculated mess while contemplating how I should pivot. Luca Armani is a damn roadblock. How do I get around him? Or is the only option through him?
Two nights have passed since Luca summoned me into Balmere club. I’ve had to wear turtleneck sweaters in the middle of spring so no one asks about the bruise marks around my throat.
I haven’t heard from Luca and I’ve barely slept. I purchased two guns the day after our encounter and keep one in my bedside table and the other in my kitchen. I also changed my locks. I’ll be fucked if I’m going to let him intimidate me out of my own apartment.
I considered contacting Dmitri, but my own stubborn resolve refuses to ask for the help that will come at a price. I’ve gotten this far, after all. I can’t pull out now. Luca is exactly where I need him to be to quench my revenge.
Maybe I really do have a death wish.
My doorbell buzzes, and a cold chill runs over me. Silence. No knock. I blow out an exasperated breath, pissed I’m so jumpy. Then again, I’ve never felt like the devil is watching over every single step I take.
Scrutinizing my security camera, I notice a rectangular package has been left at my door. When I open it and look down the hallway, no one’s there. At my feet is a long white box with a black ribbon.
I feel the buzz of my phone in my pocket.
A message from an unknown number.
Be ready in forty minutes.
I furrow my eyebrows.
Who is this? I ask, then wait.
No response.
Considering my recent circumstances, my mind can only drift to one person who would be so absolute and demanding.
I contemplate my options. I can’t go to the cops. Not only does he probably own half of them, but I’d only be incriminating myself in the process. Dmitri’s protection is out of the question because it comes at too high of a price. But this…
I place the box on my sofa, untie the black ribbon, and open it. It reveals a long, gold, shimmering silk dress with matching heels and accessories. An elegant scarf is tucked safely underneath. It’s intentional to hide the bruise marks on my throat. This fucker cannot be serious.
I’m wise enough to know when someone like Luca Armani says jump, the only answer is how high? For now. Until I figure out how to get out of this mess. But feeling at his mercy…losing my power and control—it’s abhorrent.
The threat is very much a looming scythe at my neck. I pull the dress out. Perhaps the best way to break Luca Armani is by doing exactly what the devil himself demands. What better way to study the man I plan on destroying than close up. Gone are the days of photographing him from afar and studying his movements. Today, I have to step up to the task. Even if under his terms. I’ll find a way to pivot; of that much I’m certain.
Fine. Let’s play this game.
Fifty-four minutes later,I walk through the lobby of my apartment complex with my head held high with every intention of being late. Playing with one of the most powerful men in New York might not be ideal for most, but for some reason it seems to put a pep in my step.
Death wish or not.
As expected, a sleek black car is waiting for me. Rain is pouring, and before I can even consider stepping across the threshold from the entrance, Lorenzo runs over with an umbrella.
“Good evening, Miss Barone,” he says in a very different tone to how he spoke to me when he tapped on my car window.
“Thank you,” I suspiciously say as I hold onto the edge of the scarf. I couldn’t care less if it went flying in this wind. But what might raise more alarm is if others notice the marks on my throat.
Lorenzo walks me to the car and as soon as the door is open, I’m met with cutting blue eyes. “You’re late,” he growls out dipping a glance at his watch. I feel rather smug about it. I really can’t help myself.
I slide into the seat and Lorenzo closes the door behind me. “Here I thought it was an oddity your staff actually knew manners and polite greetings when you’re they’re employer.”
“Don’t get lippy with me,” he bites back.
I almost choke on my laugh, and his gaze narrows on me. This man is so infuriatingly arrogant.
“Put your seatbelt on,” he commands as we pull out onto the street. A black screen comes between us and Lorenzo. As close to intolerable privacy as possible.
“Wow, I wonder how the press would take it if they knew how insufferable Luca Armani was in person,” I chastise under my breath as I click the seatbelt in.
“I wonder how the press will take to Alexander Barone’s daughter being a full-fledged stalker.”
“Are you sulking?” I ask, not looking into his direction.
His head whips toward me. “Did I not make our last encounter very clear? You don’t have space to talk back.”
“Only suck your cock, right?”
“It’s the only use I have for your mouth. The rest of the time it seems to make me very angry.”
“I think you’re projecting.”
In my peripheral, I can physically see his temple pulse.
Fuck. I really am playing with fire, but I can’t seem to keep my mouth shut. So instead, I try to shift the topic.
“So, where are you taking me?”
“Does it really matter? You don’t get a say in it either way,” he says as he rests his hand on my knee. I tense under his heated touch. I hate this man so much. All of a sudden, he thinks he can call upon me at his whim. I’m uncertain if I’ll make it out alive during each encounter with this man which is the only reason I stand for it.
Surely, he wouldn’t dress me up like this, with a perfectly fit dress, thoughtful color contrast to my skin and hair, only to take me to a slaughterhouse. Right?