Chapter 28
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
“Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.”
― Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Angelo
“You could’ve just dropped me off, you know. I think we’ve chewed each other out enough for one day—I don’t need you gnawing on my nerves any further.”
I tossed my keys onto the counter, kicked off my shoes, and went straight for the wine cellar. This girl was going to be the death of me—if I didn’t kill her first.
She followed, of course, like a storm cloud that had decided to park itself in my living room. By the time I turned around with the bottle and two glasses, she’d already made herself at home.
High heels discarded, legs tucked beneath her, she lounged on my cream couch like it was custom-built for her. Her eyes scanned the room, lingering on the dark, earthy walls, the Persian rug, and the piano in the corner—untouched since my grandfather’s hands had last graced its keys.
I poured the wine and handed her a glass. She downed it in two unceremonious gulps, and placed the empty glass on the table.
I sat down beside her, nursing my own drink.
My head hit the back of the couch as I sighed.
“I woke up chained in a basement. On a chair. A masked man sitting across from me, waiting for me to wake up.”
Her posture shifted immediately. Legs pulled in, hands fidgeting.
“I’m a man of my word. I owe you the story. Every miserable, blood-stained piece of it.”
She didn’t move, didn’t speak, but her breath caught—just enough for me to notice. She pulled her legs tighter, curling into the corner of the couch; she braced herself, but still, her eyes didn’t leave me.
I drained the rest of my glass, slamming it down.
My jaw clenched, and for a second, I debated stopping—locking it all back where it belonged.
“He didn’t speak at first. Just stared, like I was some animal he’d caught, and was deciding how to carve me up.” My voice dipped low, jagged, as I stared at the wall. “He finally stood. Took his sweet fucking time walking around me, like a vulture.”
She hugged her knees tighter.
“It lasted fourteen days,” I said, voice flat, as if saying it out loud would make it less real. “The first few days, he didn’t ask me anything. He just hurt me. Blades, mostly. Small, shallow cuts—nothing fatal, just enough to make me bleed, make me feel every inch of it. And when that got boring? He got… creative.”
Her face twisted with fear.
“By the fourth or fifth day, I lost track. All I could feel was the pain. That’s when the questions started. He wanted everything —Lazzio family secrets, my grandfather’s dealings, my father’s stash of dirty money. He wanted names, locations, every skeleton the Lazzio family had buried, and where they’d buried it. He was patient, I’ll give him that. Made it a game. But he said he wanted to know everything and I…”
She leaned in slightly. “And you didn’t, did you?”
My laugh came out bitter, scraping the raw edges of my throat. “Of course not. I didn’t know anything—not really. I was just a fucking kid. But even if I did…” My voice trailed off, the memory so vivid it made my hands curl into fists. “I’d rather have died on that chair than give him the satisfaction.”
She looked unsure, like she didn’t know whether to stay or run.
Smart girl.
“I haven’t been the same ever since,” I said, my voice quieter. “No one walks away from shit like that and stays whole. He took pieces of me—pieces I’ll never get back. And some nights? Some nights, I still hear his voice. Feel his fucking knives.”
Her eyes softened just a fraction, and I hated it.
Pity.
The last thing I wanted from her was pity.
“So now you know,” I said, standing abruptly.
“Did you ever find out who he was?” she whispered, pulling my blazer tighter around her body.
“Nah,” I scoffed, the sound bitter, harsh. “The Lazzios tore the city apart looking for him. Turned over every rock, burned down every lead. But he left without a trace.” My jaw clenched. “He hit me hard on the head before he dumped me. I was out cold. When I came to…”
I paused, the words sticking in my throat.
“It’s okay?—”
“I woke up on a beach, blood crusted over my head, disoriented as hell. Didn’t know where I was, or how I’d gotten there. Some old man walking his dog found me there at six in the morning.”
She didn’t say a word, and maybe that was for the best.
I stood abruptly, as sharply as the thoughts running wild in my head.
Sitting there, drowning in her eyes while my past clawed its way to the surface—it was too fucking much.
My chest was too tight, my skin too hot, my thoughts too loud.
I needed distance. I needed out.
I nodded toward the spare room, barely glancing back as I moved past. She could figure it out. Hell, she could sleep on the couch for all I cared.
I just needed to get away from her—away from those pretty eyes that saw too much.
When I got to my room, I slammed the door and let my head fall against the wood, a deep breath forcing its way out of me.
What a great fucking night.
I felt her energy the moment she entered, the pull impossible to ignore.
The floor creaked under her weight as she moved, and her breath—soft, measured—hung in the air between us.
Then, the mattress shifted as she slid in beside me.
Guess she couldn’t sleep either.
Time dragged, as I wondered how long she’d wait before making a move.
Not too long.
Her fingers brushed my back, tentative at first, tracing the scars like they were something she needed to understand, some map to a place she shouldn’t be.
I froze.
Her touch was light, almost innocent.
I turned quickly, grabbing her wrist and halting her. Her breath caught, but she didn’t pull away, didn’t fight me. I held her there, her hand pressed flat against my chest, my heart hammering under her palm.
For a moment, I let it linger, her fingers too close to something I didn’t want her to touch, but couldn’t stop from wanting.
I brought her hand to my lips and kissed her knuckles.
“How the hell are you fluent in Italian?” I muttered, the question slipping out before I could stop myself. It had been gnawing at me ever since that flawless Italian had rolled off her tongue.
A little smirk played at the corner of her mouth. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t play dumb,” I chuckled darkly, still holding her hand. “Six years. Six fucking years, and you were sitting on that little secret?”
“I learned it so I could make sure you weren’t talking behind my back, Lazzio.”
“Hmm,” I muttered, narrowing my eyes. “What have you heard, then?”
She shrugged, slipping her hand free from mine, only to let it dance freely on my chest, her fingers lazily tracing patterns against my skin.
“That you think I’m very smart, the shadow haunting your dreams, way too attractive to be gracing your life, and that you cry into your pillow every night wishing you were worthy of me.”
I couldn’t help it—I laughed.
A low, genuine laugh rumbled from my chest.
“Cry? I don’t think I’ve ever encountered someone so outrageously in love with themselves.”
Leaning in, her lips just barely brushed mine, her hand sliding to cradle my cheek.
“It’s okay, boss,” she whispered. “You’re only human. No one can escape falling for me—not even you.”
Then she pressed herself against me, and?—
Jesus Christ.
She’s naked.
Gloriously fucking naked.
A groan slipped out before I could stop it, deep and guttural, and my hands instinctively circled her waist, pulling her closer.
Her bare chest pressed against mine, and it was like we were two puzzle pieces, perfectly designed to ruin each other.
She let out a soft breath as my fingers skimmed over the delicate curve of her back, and her lips parted wider, inviting me in.
My mouth dropped to hers, hungry and rough.
I leaned back, brushing a strand of her hair.
“You’re right, amore , I’m only human.”
I pushed her away slightly because I knew exactly where this could go if I let it, and it wasn’t just sex.
No, it was something darker, heavier—a truth I wasn’t ready to face yet, not with her. Not with anyone.
Maybe not ever.
“Let’s play again, Jade.”
She giggled. “Still bitter about losing?”
“No. Two lies, one truth. You find the truth, and I’ll do whatever you want for an hour— anything . But if you lose…” I let the pause linger. “You owe me a big secret. Something real, something you’ve never told anyone.”
Her fingers threaded into my hair, tugging sharply, forcing me to meet her gaze.
The heat in her eyes burned, but it was the curve of her lips—a sinful, taunting thing—that nearly unraveled me.
“Brave words, Angelo. After the way you’ve humiliated me tonight, I could ruin you. You sure you’re ready to hand me that kind of power?”
“Try me, amore ,” I rasped.
“Okay, I’m in.”
“Perfect. So, I have a house in Milan, Italy. Where Dante Alighieri’s lover, Beatrice, used to live. My biggest dream was to travel to the moon, and… I found Georgino in the streets of Prague a couple of years ago, and decided to take him with me. Don’t ask why.”
She pushed herself up, her arms braced on the mattress, the covers slipping down to her waist, her full tits just there , bare, right in my fucking face.
“Wait, where’s Georgino? You never leave that little monster alone?—”
“My mama took him for the night.”
She hummed and laid back down, and I couldn’t help myself—I leaned in, kissed the skin between her tits, my eyes locking with hers.
The faint light from the city barely illuminated her face. Her hand found the back of my head, her breath catching in a quiet sigh.
Don’t do it.
Don’t you fucking do it, Angelo.
But hell, I couldn’t stop myself.
I leaned in and teased her nipple with the tip of my tongue, a low growl rumbling in my chest as I sucked gently. Her skin tasted like fire, like everything I shouldn’t want, but craved anyway.
My hand worked the other nipple, pinching it just enough to make her gasp.
“How am I supposed to focus, Angelo?”
I grinned against her skin and bit down on the other nipple, hard enough to make her arch into me.
“Come on,” I murmured. “Find the truth.”
Her hand shot to my face, fingers curling against my jaw as she pulled me up, her lips crashing into mine. She kissed me slow but deep, her tongue teasing the edge of my lips before she pulled away.
“Easy,” she whispered, a smirk curling her lips. “I think you found Georgino in the streets of Prague. That dog might look like royalty, but with the way he acts? He’s a dumpster-diving stray in disguise.”
She moaned softly as my lips began trailing down her neck.
“And your house is in Florence, not Milan. You’ve been there every summer since I’ve known you.”
Her fingers threaded into my hair as I bit harder.
“And let’s be real,” she went on. “A man like you, who practically owns the world, dreaming of leaving it behind to float around the moon? Highly unlikely.”
I moved to her ear, my breath brushing against her skin as her hand trailed lower, resting on my back.
“You lost, amore .”
She froze, her body tensing as she pulled back to glare at me.
“Are you seriously telling me you didn’t find that over-pampered demon dog in the streets of Prague?”
“ No ,” I replied, stealing a quick kiss as she glared harder. “And yes, I own the house in Florence. Good guess, though.”
Her jaw dropped. “You… wanted to be a moon traveler?”
“Astronaut,” I corrected softly.
She shoved me, hard, and I rolled onto my back, laughing as she leaned over me, her eyes blazing with betrayal.
“You—the man who can’t handle turbulence without cursing in three languages—wanted to ride a rocket into space?”
I caught her wrist and pulled her down. “I was seven, Jade. Big dreams, limited logic.”
She groaned, throwing herself back against the pillows as she yanked the covers up to hide her face.
“Come on,” I drawled, as I tugged the blanket down. “I won. Tell me one of your darkest secrets.”
She peeked out, her hair a wild halo around her flushed face.
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“No.”
She sighed, her lips brushing against mine in a fleeting kiss before she pulled back, her eyes darting away like she was searching for an escape.
“I lied,” she muttered, her voice quieter now. “I do have family back home. I just… don’t talk to them. Haven’t in a long time.”
In the six years Jade Whitenhouse had worked for me, not once had she mentioned a damn thing about friends or family. The only exception had been when Sofiya Melov—Volk’s wife—had started working for me, and the two of them had hit it off.
Best friends ever since, like two sides of a coin I couldn’t flip.
“Why?”
She exhaled sharply, her fingers brushing her lips like she was trying to shove the words back in.
“It’s complicated,” she said, her gaze fixed somewhere just over my shoulder.
“A few weeks ago, you left for a ‘family emergency.’ Was that about them?”
Her head snapped toward me, her eyes narrowing, but there was no real fire behind it. Just exhaustion.
“You noticed that, huh?”
“I notice everything about you, amore .”
She hesitated, her lips parting like she wanted to argue, but then she closed them again, her shoulders sagging slightly.
“It was my mama’s funeral,” she finally admitted, the words barely above a whisper. “She passed away.”
“From what?”
Her lips quivered, and for a moment, she didn’t speak.
Then a single tear slid down her cheek.
“A broken heart.”
In all the years I’d known her, she’d been untouchable—unshakable.
She hadn’t cried.
She hadn’t cracked.
Seeing her like this was a punch to the gut, the kind that lingered long after the blow.
A thousand questions clawed at my throat, but I swallowed them down, my mind stuck on the fact that she was breaking right in front of me.
Without a word, I pulled her to me, her body stiff before it collapsed into mine. She buried her face in my chest, her tears hot against my skin.
Her leg slid over mine—possessive, desperate.
I just held her tighter, one hand buried in her hair, the other tracing calming circles on her back.
She cried like she hadn’t let herself in years, like every sob tore something out of her that she couldn’t afford to keep anymore.
And I let her.
I let her break down, even though it ripped through my chest—because she was mine to hold together, even in pieces.