Chapter 16 #2
After my initial shock wears off, it quickly turns to anger. The audacity of this man to look at me like I’m doing something wrong while he’s standing there with Jolie at his side.
They aren’t alone, either. Angelo and another man are with them—presumably the father who will sign off on the marriage contract.
A few tense seconds pass as Cristian hesitates, his conflict evident. Our worlds are colliding at the worst possible time for him, and he doesn’t like it. But ultimately, he makes a decision and crosses the room with clipped, measured steps.
“You better get up,” Lucia tells Tommy.
Once Tommy realizes what’s happening, he staggers to his feet with a muttered, “Oh shit.”
Cristian casts a murderous glance at him long enough to issue a warning. “You better leave while you still can.”
“I’m sorry.” Tommy holds up his hands as he backs away from me. “I didn’t know, Mr. Vitale.”
Cristian takes me by the arm, his voice plummeting to a frigid degree. “You’re coming with me.”
“No, I don’t think I am.” I try to yank away, unsuccessfully.
He levels me with a stare that could probably make grown men cry, but I’m irritated enough that I don’t care.
“You’re making a scene.” I glare right back. “Why don’t you go tell your girlfriend what to do? I’m here with my friends.”
“So help me God, Chantel, I will pick you up and carry you through this club if I have to.”
The stubborn part of me wants to challenge him on that, but I can see that he’s not joking.
I glance over at Lucia, who’s watching the scene unfold with wide eyes.
“It’s okay,” she tells me quickly. “Just…keep me updated.”
I nod, not really sure if I’ll be back or not, so I offer Gio an apologetic smile. Tommy already tucked tail and ran.
“It was nice meeting you.”
Gio makes the wise choice not to respond, and Cristian pulls me away.
As we walk across the terrace, Angelo comes to meet us, and he looks pissed.
“Cristian—”
“I’ll be right back,” Cristian bites out. “I’m sure you can come up with something to say.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Angelo sighs.
Cristian manhandles me into the elevator, and we stop on the second floor, where he steers me into his office.
Once we’re inside, I jerk away from him and cross my arms. “You reek of perfume.”
He stands there staring at me, jaw locked, his expression ice cold. For all his quiet fury, I expected a lecture. But instead, he delivers a single line devoid of emotion, which is somehow worse.
“I’ll send someone to take you home.”
Pressure throbs behind my eyes as I realize what this is.
Cristian didn’t want me up there with another man, but he also didn’t want me up there with him.
Without even knowing how, I’ve become the woman he hides away.
I can’t say it’s an unfamiliar feeling because Marco did the same thing. But it never bothered me as much as it does now.
Cristian turns to go, but before he leaves, he looks back at me and mutters the same words he said to me at Black Velvet.
Il bacio della morte.
The door seals shut with a click that feels visceral, and I stare at it long past the point of reason. Then I pull out my phone to translate what he said.
When I see it, it finally makes sense.
He told me that being with me has consequences, and at the time, I thought he was talking about Bran. But now I know he wasn’t. When he said the consequences were certain ruin, he meant for himself.
I’m the venom he can’t survive.
I’m his kiss of death.
By the time one of Cristian’s men comes to retrieve me, I’m certain the night can’t get any worse. But I should know by now that things can always get worse, and in this case, they do.
Either the universe has terrible timing, or this quiet ambush has been perfectly planned.
In the corridor, Jolie and I come to an awkward standoff when she steps out of one of the private rooms and closes the door behind her.
“Hello.” She offers me a cold but polite smile. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Of course, she’s poised, graceful, and stunning—the mob wife trifecta. She’s also French, so there’s that. I wouldn’t blame a man for marrying her for the accent alone. But she’s really out here making the rest of us look quite boring, comparatively.
“I’m Chantel.” I nod at her. “And you’re Jolie.”
“Yes, that’s right.” She appears pleased that I know who she is. “May we have a private word?”
I glance at Cristian’s guard, and he walks to the end of the corridor to wait for me.
“I believe we share a common interest,” Jolie says, getting straight to the point.
I’m tempted to deny it, but I doubt she’d believe me if I did. She may be soft-spoken, but this is a calculated move, and it’s not for nothing.
“You’re a very beautiful woman,” she goes on. “I can see the appeal. But may I offer you a piece of unsolicited advice?”
I nod, mostly because I’m curious what she has to say.
“He may desire you, but he will never choose you,” she says gently. “Men like him marry for business, and I think you already understand this. A wise woman knows when to walk away with her dignity intact. If I were you, I would find a man who doesn’t feel the need to hide you away.”
Her observation cuts deeper than I care to admit, but it doesn’t matter how I feel. Tonight, Cristian made everything crystal clear.
“Thank you for the advice,” I tell her. “But it’s unnecessary. What Cristian does with his life is none of my business.”
She seems satisfied with my response, though I don’t doubt there’s still a question in her mind. He dragged me off the rooftop like a caveman, and everyone saw it. But then he brought me down here and returned to her.
That should tell her everything she needs to know.
“Well, in that case, Miss St. James, I hope you have a nice evening. It was lovely to meet you.”
I return the sentiment and say goodbye, but as I’m walking down the hall, something occurs to me.
I never gave her my last name.