Chapter 20 Chiara
Chiara
The other guests give me a wide berth. I guess the news of my volatility has spread. A server wanders past, and I snatch another glass of champagne. Booze is the only thing making the evening bearable.
Fina left a few seconds after Angelo frog-marched her date away. Kane’s at my shoulder. He reminds me of Michelangelo’s David—pretty to look at, but zero conversation.
I grumble to myself and head toward the exit at the back of the room. Kane trails behind me, glancing left and right, alert for threats. If I were less drunk, I’d scoff and rile him up for acting like a dick, but my drunk brain is more interested in jumping him in a dark corner.
It’s becoming a problem.
Just as we reach the exit, a tall woman with sleek pin-curled hair and a lithe figure hustles past on sky-high heels.
“Fuck,” Kane mutters and yanks me behind an antique vase that’s taller than me.
“What’s going on?” My head is cloudy, but I can’t see any obvious security threats heading our way. No armed assailants or ninjas in black masks. So why has Kane gone into protection mode?
“Paris Remington. She must have spotted Angelo.”
My hackles rise. “Is she one of his fuck-toys?” I’m inwardly seething.
“Sort of,” Kane hedges while peering over my shoulder. Luckily for him, he’s at least ten feet tall and has a much better field of view than me. He also smells good.
Like, really good.
Pepper and mint with a hint of citrus. It’s delicious, so I lean closer and sniff like a loon. Kane freezes.
“Are you seriously sniffing me?” The amusement in his voice is unmistakable. If I weren’t so drunk on expensive champagne, I’d blush. But drunk Chiara is shameless.
“Would you rather I kneed you in the balls again?”
He chuckles. “No. I’d like kids one day, thanks.” A sudden image of this gruff mafia enforcer on his knees with two kids jumping all over him knocks me sideways.
I need to give my head a wobble. Picturing Kane in dad-mode is a serious mistake. I can’t afford to let my guard down around the man who drugged me in a dive-bar parking lot. He’s not a good guy. Far from it.
Feminine shrieks filter our way. It sounds like Paris, whoever she is, has some serious issues with Angelo. Since I’m drunk, I decide I can’t be a bystander to this car crash any longer.
“Move, Daddy,” I bark, shoving Kane into the vase. His eyes widen as the vase sways precariously, giving me just enough time to shoot past him. A curse follows me through the exit as I stumble into my husband’s arms.
Angelo catches me without breaking a sweat. I contemplate punching him for being an asshole before remembering the reason I flew over here.
“Hi, you must be Paris?” The enraged blonde with pancake tits falters when I throw her a beaming smile.
She stares at me, blank faced, before a bored sneer appears. “Oh. Are you the paid fuck for the evening?” Her casual dismissal of me lights my fire. How dare the bitch call me a whore!
“No. I have standards,” I smirk. “But I am his wife.”
Paris’s jaw drops. “You?”
“Enough!” Angelo is done with this conversation, but Paris is a woman on a mission. I’m not sure what her problem is, but at a guess, Angelo did the dirty on her.
“So, were you married when you fucked me and then Michelle?” The hurt in her voice slices through my amusement. What a bastard. Fucking men. I hate them all.
“Does it matter?” Wow.
I spin around. “Actually, it matters to me. Have you fucking cheated on me?” I raise my voice, aiming for at least a hundred decibels.
Several people passing stop and turn, rubber-necking our domestic drama with gleeful interest. “You bastard!” I’m determined to milk this for all it’s worth.
If I cause enough drama, Angelo will think twice about taking me to any more bullshit events.
“Cheated? He more than cheated! He cheated on me with my best fucking friend!” Paris bursts into tears. It’s hard not to feel sorry for her.
“He’s a bastard,” I sympathize before inquiring, “Do I need to get a full STI panel?”
Paris sobs harder while Angelo curses behind me. Kane appears, having saved the priceless vase from disaster, and my husband practically throws me at him.
“Take her home while I sort this out.”
“Sure, boss.”
“Chicks before dicks!” I holler, hoping for some sisterly solidarity from Paris, but she’s too busy screaming at Angelo to notice.
This evening has been way more fun than I expected, mostly at Angelo’s expense. As I collapse on my bed, it occurs to me I’m not afraid of Angelo.
He should scare me.
As Lorenzo Di Rossi’s son and heir, I know he has blood on his hands. But despite how badly I behaved this evening, there have been no repercussions. I grin to myself. Even if he bins my wishlist, it was worth it to see the look on his face when I accused him of cheating with Paris.
A giggle escapes before fading when I realize that yes, he did actually cheat. Even though I left him immediately after the wedding, if he fucked other women in the last year, he cheated.
It takes some effort to remind my delulu self that I don’t care. He might be my husband legally speaking, but it’s only a piece of paper. If I had the means to hire a decent divorce lawyer with the balls to go up against a powerful mafia family, I could get my bullshit marriage annulled.
But we all know that’s not going to happen.
I sigh.
For all I know, Angelo has made up with Paris and is busy banging her and her bestie. Or some other woman.
Kane brought me back to the house, escorted me inside, and then left.
I half expected a lecture about my poor behavior, but he said nothing.
Instead he spent the journey tapping away on his phone, and after fifteen minutes of the silent treatment, I shut my eyes and dozed off.
Unfortunately, that means I’m wide awake now.
And also thirsty because drinking too much champagne has given me a dry mouth.
Since there’s zero chance I can sleep right now, I crawl out of my bed and strip down to my panties, leaving the gorgeous dress, which apparently Angelo chose, in a pile of red silk on the floor.
A brief twinge of shame about treating such a lovely dress that way has me chewing my lip before I decide I don’t care.
It’s not like I’ll wear it again.
After tugging on a loose tee, I go back downstairs to grab a bottle of mineral water from the refrigerator.
As I push open the kitchen door, Luka appears in a pair of shorts. Nothing else. Just some blue shorts.
Damn.
Be still my raging hormones.
I scurry over to the refrigerator, hoping the cold air will cool my heated cheeks.
“I hear you had fun tonight.” His husky laugh makes me freeze. How does he know? I thought he’d been busy doing something with his friends. Lady friends. Very attractive lady friends.
Nope.
Not going there.
“It was more entertaining than I expected.”
Luka laughs louder. “There are a few videos on TikTok. I especially like the one where you accuse Angelo of cheating.”
Oh god. Fina will be so upset with me. I feel bad now. Aside from Luka, she’s the only person who’s been nice to me. And how have I repaid her? By making her job hell.
She must hate me.
Cold air wafts out from the refrigerator as I snag a bottle of water, cooling my overheated cheeks. When I stand, I gaze around the kitchen, wondering where the cameras are. Luka notices.
“They’re everywhere. Angelo’s very risk averse. He has a lot of precious things he wants to protect.”
“Or things he wants to prevent from escaping,” I mutter as I break the seal on the water and lean back against the counter. Cold liquid slides down my throat, quenching my thirst. A few drips miss my lips and trickle down my chest. Luka’s gaze follows them.
The tension between us thickens as he stalks forward like a panther.
Most of the time, I see very little of Angelo in Luka. Whereas Angelo’s eyes are like bottomless obsidian pools, Luka’s eyes are blue, like the ocean. He has finer, prettier features. No less masculine, but softer than the sharp angles of his older brother’s face.
Angelo takes after his father, so I assume Luka favors his mother. Whoever she is.
This version of Luka is all predator. A dangerous man who has me in his sights. It reminds me of the way Angelo pinned me against the wall earlier, and how much I loved it. Not that I would ever admit that. I’d rather swallow broken glass than admit I want that asshole.
But this man?
Yeah, I want him.
He towers over me before reaching inside the refrigerator for a drink. Cold air cools my skin for a second time but does nothing to cool the inferno raging between my legs.
When was the last time I got laid?
It’s been so long I can’t remember. I chose my partners carefully while on the run.
Trusting anyone was hard. I mostly fucked men I knew I wouldn’t see again.
Random guys in bars. Guys in suits letting loose after a tough day trading stocks.
And on one memorable occasion, a bull rider passing through the small town where I’d found a temporary job washing dishes in a diner.
He was fun.
A breath of fresh air.
At least it was fun until his girlfriend found us.
The bastard hadn’t bothered to mention her before he went down on me in the bathroom.
“You need to be careful with Angelo,” Luka says as he takes a sip of water. We’re so close my breasts brush against his chest and I can smell the fresh scent of his skin, an intoxicating combination of citrus and musk.
“He lost his shit with me,” I admit, unable to stop myself from smirking at the memory of how mad he was.
“Such a bad girl,” Luka chuckles with genuine amusement. “You’re the one he never saw coming.”
“Oh, he’ll never see me coming for sure,” I quip.
Luka chokes on his water before wiping his mouth with his arm. Amusement dances in his eyes, and I’m momentarily entranced by how pretty they are. We both have blue eyes, but his are greener.
“I bet he’d love to see you come, cutie. I know I would.”
A snort of laughter escapes. “Smooth, Luka. Real smooth.”
He grins at me. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“I think your brother might not be happy with you for hitting on me.” Not that I care what Angelo thinks. He’s already admitted to cheating on me. It shouldn’t bother me, but the thought of him fucking anything with a pulse while I scraped a living in shithole bars irritates the fuck out of me.
“Except…he will know.” I glance up again, searching for the cameras I know are in this room. And still find nothing. Damn Angelo. Trust that bastard to have a Pentagon-level security system.
Luka’s hand grabs my wrist and he pulls me across the kitchen. Before I can utter a feeble protest, he shoves me inside the walk-in pantry. The door swishes shut behind us. It’s pitch-black in here, the only light a thin strip below the door.
Shelves of dried goods dig into my back as a hard body leans into me.
“No cameras in here, cutie.”
My pulse rate quickens as his lips brush mine. Because I can’t see a damn thing, all my other senses are in overdrive. The sharp inhale when my hand touches his chest, and the taste of him when I grab his neck and kiss him hard enough to cut my lip on his teeth.
Desire explodes between us, and in seconds, he has my legs wrapped around his waist while I grind on the hard length of his cock.
This is nuts. Utterly insane. Luka is my husband’s brother, a man so off-limits it’s not even funny. But do I give a fuck? No.
Luka’s fingers rake through my hair, destroying what remains of my carefully styled up-do. Pins fall to the floor. No doubt Dominic will find them in the morning and wonder what the fuck went on in here.
I groan as our kiss deepens. It’s messy, full of lust, and exactly what I need after the confusion of tonight. I grind harder, seeking relief from the ache in my core. Luka pulls back and rests his forehead on mine, giving us a moment to catch our breath.
“Fuck, baby, I—”
The sound of a door slamming from inside the kitchen makes us both jump. Five seconds later, a very pissed-off man in a black tux yanks the pantry door open so hard it snaps back and hits the wall with a crack.
Well, shit.