Chapter 14 A Maniac #2
"You’re drunk out of your mind," he muttered. "Why the hell did you drink so much?”
She turned, glaring into his eyes and hissing, “None of your business. Let go of me.”
She reached for the car door, trying to escape, but he slammed it shut before she could, gripping it tight. In one swift motion, he yanked her closer to him, pulling the ribbon from her hair and wrapping it around her wrists, tying them together.
She twisted in his lap, her shocked eyes snapping up to his. “Are you insane? What the hell are you tying me up for? I’m calling the cops!”
His patience snapped. He grabbed her roughly, pulling her even closer, their chests pressed together, their faces just inches apart.
“Go ahead,” he growled. “Let’s see who dares to punish me for tying up my wife.”
She let out a shaky breath, visibly getting more agitated. Narrowing her eyes, she leaned in, wrapping her bound arms around his neck. Her lips brushed close to his ear.
Then suddenly, she slipped closer to his lips, her tongue flicking the corner of his lips. His body tensed instantly.
“Since I divorced you, I’ve had so many men around me.” She tilted her head with a smirk curling at the corner of her mouth. “Older, younger, pretty boys with abs and charm—calling me honey, baby, darling.”
His jaw clenched like stone, fury blazing in his eyes as he pinned her with a deadly stare.
“So you’ve been having a damn good time after leaving me, huh?” he snarled. “If you’re this lustful and foul-mouthed now, what the hell were you pretending to be for the last two years with me?”
She slowly pulled her arms back and muttered, “Yeah, I was pretending. Pretending to be sweet, kind, gentle. Pretending to love you. So what?” She raised a brow at him, challenging.
His fists clenched. His jaw was burning with tension as he stared at her like he could snap.
“Krystal Moretti,” he bit out, “we’re still fucking married.
Did you forget that? And you’re out here messing with other men?
What do you think I—” He took a deep, shaky breath.
“What do you think Grandpa is going to say when he finds out?”
She let out a small laugh, cold and careless. “You’re worried about what Grandpa will think of me? Did you think about him when you were hooking up with Esther? Aren’t you the one in love with her? The one having an affair? Then why the hell are you here bothering about me?”
Lorenzo swallowed hard, his eyes darkening with something deeper than anger. For a second, all his fury cracked, revealing pain.
He stayed quiet for a beat before finally reaching for her wrists. Gently, he untied the ribbon, rubbing his fingers over her reddened skin to soothe her.
“It’s not like that,” he murmured, voice softer now. “I’ll apologize to you for what Esther did—”
“Why would you apologize for her?” Krystal snapped, yanking her hands back. “Make her apologize to me.”
He held her waist tighter, pulling her close again. His hand reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear as his eyes grew serious.
“You have to understand. I have to take care of Esther. Two years ago she was hur—”
A loud horn cut through the night
Their heads snapped toward the sound.
Krystal's eyes darted to the open window, the sharp glow of headlights flashing across her face. Her instinct took over. Taking advantage of his distraction, in a heartbeat, she pushed the door open and jumped out of the car.
“Krystal! Get back here!” Lorenzo shouted, lunging across the seat to grab her arm, but his fingers barely grazed her wrist—she was already gone.
The door slammed behind her with a jarring thud.
Lorenzo’s jaw tensed, the muscle twitching as fury rose in his throat. Slamming his palm against the leather seat, he threw his own door open and stepped out, boots crunching against gravel.
Krystal was already striding away, her hair catching in the breeze as she rounded the car. Her heels clicked against the pavement. She didn’t even glance back as she came to a stop beside Darren.
Darren leaned casually against the driver’s side, arms folded, one brow raised. The moment he saw Krystal, his smirk deepened.
Then his gaze lifted over her shoulder, locking onto Lorenzo. His expression darkened.
“Why are you still bothering Honey?” Darren asked, his voice flat but laced with cold warning.
Lorenzo’s steps slowed. He stopped a few feet away, eyes narrowing. His eyes flicked between Krystal and Darren, lips twisting into a forced smile as he looked between them. “Honey?” he repeated through gritted teeth.
Krystal’s voice echoed in his mind like poison. ‘Since I left you, I’ve had so many men around me. Older, younger, pretty boys with abs and charm—calling me honey, baby, darling.’
His eyes burned.
His gaze turned lethal, locking onto Darren. “What the hell’s it to you?” he snapped, each word like a shot fired. “This is between me and my wife.”
Darren gave a short, amused laugh, tilting his head. “Didn’t you two already get a divorce?” he said, deliberately casual.
Lorenzo stepped forward so fast it was a blur. He got right in Darren’s face, towering over him. His breath was ragged, fists balled at his sides.
“We haven’t finalized anything yet,” he growled. “She’s still my wife!”
Krystal let out a sharp, amused laugh, tossing her head back. Her lips curved into a taunting smile. “You need to get your head checked, Mr. Moretti,” she said, her voice like silk wrapped around venom.
She turned to Darren, and without a flicker of hesitation, she draped her arm over his shoulder. Her fingers slid into the collar of his jacket with intimate ease, like she’d done it a thousand times before.
“Let’s go,” she said lightly, voice airy, dismissive—as if the man fuming just feet away didn’t exist.
Darren didn’t need to be told twice. He smirked, smug and unbothered, and slid his arm around her waist.
He opened the passenger door of his Ferrari with practiced charm. Krystal slipped in gracefully. The door clicked shut behind her.
Lorenzo stood rooted to the spot, his heart thudding in uneven beats.
The woman who once clung to him like a lifeline, the woman who once whispered his name like a prayer—just climbed into another man’s car like it meant nothing.
His chest rose and fell rapidly, each breath heavier than the last. His vision blurred from the fire tearing through his insides. Rage curled low in his belly like a coiled serpent, uncoiling with every mocking image replaying in his mind.
His fists clenched so tight the skin stretched over his knuckles, white and trembling. His lips pressed into a hard line, jaw tight, teeth grinding.
And then, without a word, without a backward glance, he turned. His steps were sharp, heavy, his shoes slamming against the pavement with every stride.
He stormed back into the casino, the cool air inside doing nothing to cool the inferno burning inside him.
The bouncers stepped aside wordlessly as he pushed through to the private lounge.
Once inside, he grabbed the nearest bottle and poured himself a drink—then another.
And another.
Three shots went down in rapid succession, like water.
Michael leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, fingers entwined, watching him with faint amusement. “Let me guess,” he drawled, raising a brow, watching him down shot after shot. “Krystal again?”
Lorenzo’s head snapped toward him, eyes wild and dark. “Don’t bring her up again,” he snarled.
Michael raised both hands, palms out in surrender. “Alright, alright. Message received.”
Larry chuckled, swirling the ice in his whiskey glass. One leg crossed over the other, he threw an arm around Lorenzo’s shoulder.
“Man,” Larry said with a smirk, “that woman’s dangerous. First had me falling for her, now she’s got you losing your damn mind. I’ve seen you lose billion-dollar deals without flinching. But this?” He shook his head. “She’s got you unraveling.”
Lorenzo growled and shoved Larry’s arm off him with force.
Larry stumbled slightly, straightening with a tight scowl.
The smile vanished from Larry’s face. He exchanged a quick glance with Michael—who subtly shook his head, warning him to drop it.
Lorenzo’s jaw tightened, his seething glare cutting through the dimly lit room like a blade. With a sharp growl, he downed the rest of his whiskey in one long pull, the glass slamming down onto the table.
“She was with me for two years,” he growled, voice rough and tight. “Two fucking years—and the whole time, she was faking it? Pretending to love me?”