Chapter 14 Luca
She's gone.
I've searched the entire villa twice, checked every bathroom, every balcony, every room where someone might go to get air or make a phone call.
Sofia has vanished from the party without a word to me.
"When did you last see Mrs. Romano?" I ask Paolo, trying to keep the edge out of my voice.
"About an hour ago, boss. She was talking to some ladies near the bar."
An hour. She's been missing for an hour and no one noticed.
"Check the gardens. Check the parking area. Find her."
But even as I'm giving orders, I know she's not here. There's something about the way she disappeared that feels deliberate. Purposeful.
I find Lucia near the bar, looking entirely too pleased with herself.
"Enjoy your conversation with my wife?" I ask.
Her smile widens. "Oh, we had a lovely chat. Such a sweet girl. A bit naive, perhaps, but that's what you wanted, isn't it?"
"What did you say to her?"
"Nothing that wasn't true. I simply explained how these marriages work. Business is business, pleasure is pleasure." She sips her champagne. "I may have mentioned that you called me yesterday about resuming our arrangement."
My hands ache to wrap around her throat. "I haven't called you since before my wedding."
"I know that. You know that. But she doesn't." Lucia's eyes glitter with malice. "Poor little Sofia. She looked so crushed when she realized her husband was planning to cheat on her."
If we weren't in public, surrounded by witnesses, I'd strangle her with my bare hands.
Instead, I lean close enough that only she can hear me. "Stay away from my wife. If you go near her again, if you speak to her again, if you so much as look at her wrong, I will make you disappear. Are we clear?"
The smile finally fades from her face. "Perfectly."
I walk away before I do something that creates a scene, but my mind is racing. Sofia heard that I was planning to cheat on her and then disappeared. Either she's somewhere in the villa having a breakdown, or she ran.
Given what I've learned about my wife lately, I'm betting on the latter.
Paolo approaches with Tony behind him. "Boss, she's not on the property. But one of the valets saw a woman in a silver dress walking toward the main street about forty minutes ago."
Forty minutes. She's had a forty-minute head start on me.
"Get the car. Now."
The streets nearby are busy with nightlife – tourists heading to restaurants, locals bar-hopping, the usual mix of people looking for entertainment. I scan every sidewalk, every café terrace, every place she might have gone.
Then I hear it. Loud music thumping from a club three blocks away.
"There," I tell Paolo, pointing toward the sound.
The club is exactly the kind of place Sofia would never go. Dark, crowded, loud enough to make conversation impossible. A place where people go to lose themselves.
Which is probably exactly what she wants right now.
I push through the crowd at the entrance, ignoring the bouncer's protests about the line. Inside, the music is so loud I can feel it in my bones, and the air is thick with smoke and sweat. There’s a sexual energy that comes from too many bodies moving in too small a space.
It takes me five minutes to find her.
She's in the center of the dance floor, and I stop breathing.
This isn't Sofia. This isn't the careful, controlled woman who barely touched her wine at dinner parties and spoke in whispers. This is someone else entirely.
She's moving like the music is part of her, head thrown back, hair loose around her shoulders, completely lost in the rhythm. Her dress clings to every curve as she moves, and every man within twenty feet is watching her with naked hunger.
She's absolutely captivating.
And she's mine.
The possessiveness that hits me is so strong it's almost violent. Every instinct I have is screaming at me to get her away from the predators circling her, to put myself between her and every man who's looking at her like he wants to devour her right where she stands.
But there's something else too. Something that makes my blood run hot even as my temper explodes.
I want her desperately.
Not the Sofia I married. Not the quiet, obedient woman I thought I was getting. I want this woman. The one who disappears into crowds and dances like she's making love to the music and moves through the world like she owns it.
A guy moves closer to her, trying to catch her attention, and I'm moving before I consciously decide to.
"What the hell are you doing?" I shout over the music when I reach her.
She opens her eyes and looks at me without surprise, like she knew I'd find her.
"Dancing."
The simplicity of her answer, the complete lack of apology or explanation, makes me want to shake her and kiss her at the same time.
"We're leaving. Now."
"No."
No. Just like that. No explanation, no acknowledgment that she just walked out on a party and disappeared into the night without a word.
"This isn't a request, Sofia."
"And this isn't a negotiation, Luca."
She tries to turn away from me, dismiss me, and something snaps.
I've spent the last hour searching for her, worried she might be hurt or lost or worse. I've had to deal with Lucia's games and the questions from guests wondering where my wife disappeared to. I've been imagining every terrible thing that could happen to a woman alone in Rome at night.
And she's here. Dancing. Looking absolutely fucking incredible and completely unrepentant about the chaos she's caused.
The guy who was trying to dance with her is still hovering, watching our argument with interest. Other people are starting to notice too, probably recognizing me, wondering what Luca Romano is doing arguing with his wife on a crowded dance floor.
"You're making a scene," I tell her.
"No, you're making a scene. I'm just dancing."
"You're drunk."
"I'm angry."
The way she says it, with such honest fury, catches me off guard. She's not drunk. She's not being reckless. She's pissed off, and this is how she's dealing with it.
"About what?"
"Ask Lucia."
And there it is. The reason she ran. Lucia's poison worked exactly like she intended.
"We're not doing this here," I say.
"We're not doing this anywhere. Go home, Luca. Go call your girlfriend. I'm sure she's waiting."
The dismissal in her voice, the assumption that I would actually choose Lucia over her, makes something inside me explode.
Before I can think about it, before I can consider whether it's smart or appropriate or anything other than necessary, I bend down and lift her over my shoulder.
She's light, all silk and smooth skin and the scent that's been driving me crazy for a week. For a few seconds she's too shocked to fight, and by then I'm already moving toward the exit.
"Put me down!" She pounds on my back with her fists, but I barely feel it.
"Fuck no."
People are definitely staring now, but I don't give a shit. Let them stare. Let them wonder. My wife ran away, and I'm bringing her home. Anyone who has a problem with that can discuss it with my security team.
I carry her out of the club and down the street to where Paolo's waiting with the car. He opens the door without comment, because he’s smart enough to know when not to ask questions.
I deposit Sofia in the passenger seat and get in beside her, my body still humming with adrenaline and anger and something else I don't want to examine too closely.
She's smoothing down her dress, trying to salvage some dignity, and the simple gesture makes me want to mess her up all over again.
"That was completely unnecessary and uncalled for," she says.
"You ran away from our wedding party to get drunk and dance with strangers. Necessary doesn't begin to cover it."
"I can dance with whoever I want whenever I want."
The hell she can.
"Not anymore, you can't."
"Why? Because I'm your property now?"
The word 'property' makes my jaw clench. "Because you're my wife."
"Right. Your wife. The one you're planning to cheat on."
I'm quiet, trying to process the hurt underneath her anger. She believed Lucia. Actually believed I would marry her and then immediately start fucking other women.
"What exactly did Lucia tell you?"
"That you called her yesterday. That you're resuming your 'usual schedule' now that the wedding is over. That marriage is business and everything else is personal."
Damn, Lucia really went for the throat. "And you believed her?"
"Should I not have?"
I turn to look at her, this woman who's been turning my world upside down since our wedding day, and realize I need to tell her the truth.
"We need to talk. But not in the car."
The rest of the ride passes in silence that crackles with tension. I smell her perfume mixed with the faint scent of alcohol and something else that's purely her.
When we reach the villa, I dismiss Paolo and follow her inside, watching the way she moves in that dress, the way the silk clings to her hips.
"My study," I say. "Now."
I pour whiskey for both of us because we're going to need it for this conversation. She accepts the glass without comment, and I notice her hands are steady despite everything that's happened tonight.
"Lucia lied to you," I say without preamble.
"Oh, did she?"
"I haven't called her since before our wedding. Whatever arrangement she thinks we had, it's over."
She studies my face. "Why should I believe you?"
"Because I'm telling you the truth."
"That's not really an answer."
She's right. It's not. So I give her the real answer, the one that's been eating at me since our wedding night.
"Because I haven't wanted anyone else since I touched you on our wedding night and I realized that the woman I married isn’t who I thought she was."
The words hang between us, and I watch her face change. The anger is still there, but now there's something else.
"What do you mean?"
"You’re different. Completely different. And I can't figure out if that should worry me or turn me on."
I move closer to her, drawn by something I can't name and don't want to fight anymore. She doesn't back away.
"Maybe it should do both," she whispers.
That’s when I stop thinking. I kiss her like I've been wanting to since I carried her out of that club. She kisses me back fiercely, and everything else disappears.
"This is complicated," I say against her mouth.
"Everything's complicated."
"Sofia—"
“Don’t talk right now.”
I back her against my desk, my hands finding the zipper of her dress. She doesn't protest, doesn't pull away. Instead, she tugs at my tie, her fingers working impatiently at the knot.
"You drive me fucking crazy," I tell her, my mouth moving to her neck.
"You deserve it," she breathes.
Her dress pools at her feet, and I have to step back to look at her. Really look at her. The lingerie is black lace that makes her skin look like porcelain, and there's a confidence in the way she stands that has nothing to do with shyness or innocence.
This is not the woman I thought I married. This is someone who knows exactly what she wants and isn't afraid to take it.
"I swear, you're different," I say, running my hands along her waist. "Everything about you is different."
"No, I’m not. You simply weren’t paying attention to me before. You know it’s true."
Maybe she’s right.
She reaches for my shirt, undoing buttons with steady fingers. I lift her onto the desk, scattering papers I don't care about. She wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me closer, and when she kisses me this time, there's nothing careful or hesitant about it.
She kisses like a woman who knows what she's doing. Like someone who's been kissed before, often and well.
"I was so angry," she whispers against my mouth. "When she told me about your arrangement..."
"There is no arrangement. There never was going to be."
"Prove it," she says.
I show her with my hands, my mouth, the way I memorize every inch of her skin. When I find the small tattoo on her shoulder – the one I glimpsed that first morning – I trace it with my tongue. It's a compass rose with words in Portuguese underneath.
“Ready to tell me what this means?” I ask.
"Not all who wander are lost,” she replies.
Odd for a woman who has never seen the world.
One burning question keeps circling in my mind though I won’t ask it tonight.
Who the fuck are you?