Chapter Seventeen
I turn on my heels and fuck right off out of there. I’m livid. My blood boils, and my brain starts to taunt me. Ridicule echoes around me. I know we’re not together, and we only have a thinly veiled verbal agreement. Nothing ironclad. No relationship to speak of, but the way he acted like he cared.
I wanted to melt into his arms, to let him wrap me in his strong embrace and tell me everything will be okay.
When he touched my cheek and pulled me to him, I wanted to belong, to be his.
I wanted a moment of weakness. A moment to breathe and be vulnerable.
But then I could smell her on him. Her cheap perfume clung to his clothes.
The stench of sex hung in the air and stung my nose, cheap booze, and an even cheaper woman.
He’s only been gone a few hours, so he’s either a slut or he’s in a relationship, but what the fuck do I care?
“Miss Bianchi.” I keep walking. “Miss Bianchi.” I quicken my steps. Hastily retreating towards the confines of my room, safe and alone, where the humiliation can taunt me in private. “Arianna.”
I slow. The way he says my name, the mild desperation that has his voice breaking, the way he came after me. Maybe I picked the wrong man. Maybe I should send Vittorio back to his family. I turn, blow out a breath and bring my eyes to meet his.
“Matteo, how can I help you?” I stare up at him, gazing into those chocolate eyes. His face softens as he gives me a tentative smile.
“I just wanted to check on you.” His eyes flick to my neck and back up again.
His hand reaches out. As if he’s going to touch me, but he stops, his hand hovering between us as he contemplates whether this is a good idea.
I stare at him. Wondering if he should cross that line, if he should make a move with the mood I’m in.
If I would allow it, if he did? I wouldn’t be mad about it.
He stares at me, waiting for me to give him a sign.
The corner of my lip turns as his hand moves towards my neck.
I stare up at him. He’s handsome, not Vittorio handsome, but still a damn good-looking man, and I have needs.
I can take something for myself, I can cross the line, but is that sensible, is this the right way to go?
The heat from his hand caresses my neck, and I allow myself to shut out every thought, every feeling as he strokes over the bruising.
I close my eyes and lean into his touch.
“Arianna,” he rasps out, and I open my eyes to look at him. I need something, but do I need it from him? I need to feel. Everything is just going to shit. The tension I have, it’s wound so tight. A need to release tingles through me.
My gaze burns into his as I stare at him.
He leans closer, his eyes staying on mine.
His soft caress of my neck steadies as his hand moves up to my jaw.
He tilts my head to look at him his thumb brushes along my cheek, and I allow him to.
He stares at me, his chest rising and falling heavier than before.
His breathing picks up, and his breath flutters across my cheek before he leans a little closer.
His lips are almost touching mine, his tongue flicks out, licking over his bottom lip, but his gaze stays locked on me.
The want clear in his eyes. Lust irrevocably burns through him.
He grips my chin as he leans in. His eyes boring into mine.
I blink. I blow out a breath and take a step away.
Turn and walk to my room without looking back, emotions running through me like electricity.
The place on my neck and jaw he touched burning, his touch a ghost still lingering on my skin but its conflicting, it doesn’t burn like when Vittorio touches me, that longing that he instils in me when he stares at me, caresses me, it’s different almost disturbing.
It doesn’t feel right. As much as he’s hot.
He’s one of the few people I have, that’s mine, that is on my side.
If I cross a boundary with him, how can he do his job properly?
How can he protect me if feelings get confused and lines get blurred?
I storm down the hall. Needing to put distance between us.
Snatching at my door and throwing it open.
Kicking it shut behind me and storming through my room and into the bathroom.
I rip off what’s left of my clothing and turn the shower on, then stare at myself in the mirror while the water warms.
The steam starts to linger like an eerie mist. Slowly filling the room with stifling uncertainty.
I stare into the mirror, taking in my features, the marks on my skin.
I don’t even look like myself anymore. The steam bellows out through the room before I slowly fade away.
The black and purple bruising on my neck, on my body, blurs until I can’t see myself.
I sigh as I step into the shower. I rest my hands against the wall and hang my head.
I take a breath and then another, trying to reset.
My eyes close and I let the water beat down on the back of my neck, and I stand there.
I wait for the feelings to dissipate. But they don’t, I feel them all.
The anger, the confusion, regret, annoyance, lust. I feel everything so overwhelmingly.
I hate that internally, I can’t control my feelings as well as I can externally.
To everyone else, I’m indifferent, while internally I wage a war on myself.
I berate myself for feeling out of control.
When it comes to my personal feelings it’s like I’ve never really been allowed to have them before.
And now with Alfredo and father gone, I have all the feelings, and I don’t know how to process any of it.
But I know I want him. I want Vittorio, but can I have him?
Does he belong to another? I know I said I’d choose him, that I’d marry him.
But the reality is, we don’t even have a relationship.
We have a verbal agreement. Which honestly isn’t worth the paper it’s written on.
How do I go from this to having him be my person?
To be my support, my partner, somewhere to lean.
Am I expecting too much? Does such a thing even exist?
I replay every interaction with all the men in my life repeatedly in my head. The water still beating down, the sensation of it on my body soothes the aches. Am I any closer to taking over? I know I don’t want to be a part of the Syndicate anymore after my encounter with Lorenzo Costa and his sons.
I know they won’t allow it even if I prove myself, and then what? Who will come for me? Will it be Bellino, Massimo, or will it be Vittorio? He already has access to me. He’s more than capable of killing me at any time. Maybe he’s a plant. Maybe this is a set-up.
What if the falling out, his siding with me, was just a ruse to get him close to me?
To get me to trust him all so he can slit my throat in my sleep.
Well, bring it on, Vittorio, because I know damned well if that’s the case, I’m not going down without a fight.
If I’m being taken out. I’ll go down dragging every one of those sorry sacks of shit with me.
I lean over and snatch the shampoo off the shelf and scrub it into my hair. Tomorrow is another day, and fuck, God help anyone who gets in my way. I will not be made a fool of.
I barely slept. I tossed and turned, dreams flooding my head with endless possibilities. I head downstairs, ready for the day ahead of me. I’m in full take it all fucking back mode. Channelling my inner fuck around and find out.
I stare at Matteo while I speak. “I need you both with me today. I need you on form. We need to be ready for anything. I’m walking into hell.”
I spare a quick glance at Luca before training my gaze back to Matteo. They both nod. “Tool up. I’ll meet you at the car in thirty minutes.”
Once they’ve left, I push through into the kitchen.
The smell of freshly ground coffee soothes something in me, and Marianne’s gaze flicks to mine.
She smiles and heads over to the coffee maker, placing three heaped spoons of brown sugar in the bottom of the cup before pouring the black liquid over it.
Filling the cup, she stirs at it a few times, taps the spoon on the side, before smiling at me and handing it to me.
“Vittorio,” I mutter. “Keep an eye on him. I don’t trust him. I wonder if his father has sent him to kill me.” I blow across the top of the cup, staring into my coffee.
She laughs, takes in the scowl etched across my face, and laughs harder.
She leans in, whispering, “Men like Vittorio don’t look at you like he does unless they’re in love with you, and they don’t get jealous of the bodyguard unless they want you.
Child, that man will burn the world down for you.
All you need to do is ask. You just need to figure out how to come together. ”
I frown. “What if he’s just a really good actor?”
“No one’s that good an actor.” She chuckles again. “Don’t write him off just yet.”
“He’s with someone else.” Her gaze softens.
“He’s not with you. Not yet anyway. Set the boundaries, form the relationship.
Do the work. Relationships are like taking over the mafia.
” She grins at me. “If you miss a step, it will all come crumbling down. Look at all the work you’re putting in to secure your footing.
Relationships are no different. You wonder why all these mafia men’s wives have died.
They didn’t put in the work. They didn’t create the foundation.
They became, disposable. You need to put the effort in, or you’ll be just another statistic.
Without trust, you’ll only have a dead ex six feet under. ”
I nod, understanding that the marriages I’ve seen have been less than ideal. Arranged by necessity, tradition, and breeding. But never solidifying or enhancing the other.