30. Luca
30
LUCA
I waited on the tarmac of Yorkfield’s airport, my foot tapping impatiently in the summer heat, wishing I’d dressed more casually and wanting to greet Ana looking like a fucking king.
I wanted to be her king.
I wanted to drop down on my knees and beg her to come home with me.
The door opened, and Angelo Costa strode down the stairs. He cocked a salt-and-pepper eyebrow when he saw me waiting in front of the motorcade. His lips stretched into a predatory smile that didn’t meet his eyes as he walked down the stairs to exit the plane.
A woman followed him, her shoulders hunched, brown hair covering her face. She reached delicate fingers up to push the mass of hair out of her eyes, and—holy shit. Ana.
I rushed forward, only for Costa to block my path with his hand stretched out in greeting. My eyes followed my woman as his lover hustled her toward an SUV.
“So kind of you to greet us,” Costa said, noting the path of my gaze.
“I’m not here to meet you,” I snarled, uncaring that I was giving them a weapon to use against me when I admitted that I wanted Ana. I should have stood up for her the last time, and now, seeing the bruises on her wrists, watching her look up at Rochefort for permission, I barely recognized the vibrant, strong, woman I’d known before.
“Do you think she’ll be impressed?” Costa mused. “Does your father know you’re here? Will he welcome a Costa into his home?”
Hopefully yes, hopefully no, and absolutely not.
“Ana!” I shouted, and she looked over her shoulder at me, her sunglasses hiding her expression. Even without them, I wouldn’t have known what she was thinking. She was too well trained, too good at her role to give away a single thought when she didn’t want to.
Ana looked up at Rochefort and placed her elegant fingers on his chest. They spoke quietly, and he nodded. She spun around and strode to where I stood.
“Luca,” she said with a soft smile, and leaned in so we could kiss each other’s cheeks. “What are you doing here?” I breathed in her scent as our cheeks pressed together, longing to take her into my arms.
Angelo reached around her waist and pulled her away from me, growling his possession. She didn’t lean into him, but she didn’t fight him either.
“I came to?—”
Ana gazed at me for a long moment. Too long. I felt foolish. A faint flush spread across my cheeks.
Her lips curved into a smile, and she pushed her sunglasses up over her hair, revealing bright green eyes that a man could drown in. That I wanted to drown in. I had before.
“You came to greet us?” She tilted her head as if puzzling out my behavior. “Costas?”
“Ana,” I rasped, stepping toward her. “Where have you been?”
Her eyes turned cold, and her posture straightened. “None of your fucking business.”
My heart shattered, reminding me of all the ways I’d fucked up, and all the reasons she was right to push me away.
I’d fucked up when I let her go.
I’d fucked up by not following her across the Atlantic and hauling her back to me.
I’d fucked up by not being the man she needed—the partner she needed.
“Ana—”
“Thank you for coming to meet us,” she continued, her voice pleasantly modulated, like she had for her father’s cronies, convincing them that she was fascinated with them, that they were handsome men who deserved her attention, softening them with her charm. It was a lie. She hated them, hated being touched by them, hated being used by her father.
And now Costa was touching her like they did.
“Ana, come with me, please.”
Costa’s eyes narrowed on my face. His lover watched from yards away, leaning on the door of the SUV. He’d use her against me. I didn’t care. I’d let her slip through my fingers before, and I didn’t intend to do it again.
She drew herself up, stepping away from Costa’s grip. My heart pounded with hope as she moved into my space. When she cupped my cheek, I stared down at her, losing myself in her gaze. Her eyes warmed for a second, softening, before she stroked her thumb over my cheek.
“Go home, Luca. I’m not yours. I never was, and I don’t want to be.”
I stood there, crestfallen, my heart in pieces at her feet, and she stepped back into Costa’s embrace, leaning against his chest, making it clear what she meant. I searched for the disgust I should have felt about the woman I loved cozying up to her uncle, and only found bitter jealousy.
Costa’s eyes glinted with malicious pleasure as I took in the position of his hands on her stomach, how he curved over her, holding her close against him, as protective as he was possessive.
She wasn’t mine. She was his .
Fuck.