Chapter 40
Angelo
Luka never sees my fist coming. Satisfaction burns hot and fast at the shocked expression on his face before he drops. Chiara yells something, but I ignore her. The bastard deserves this and more.
She’s mine, not his, and the sooner he gets it through his thick skull, the better.
“What the fuck?” Luka wipes his bloody split lip before dragging himself up off the floor.
I’m tempted to fuck him up some more, but he’s not a fighter, and as angry as I am, I don’t want to kill the little shit.
“That’s for fucking my wife,” I snarl.
Chiara picks up my half-full glass of scotch and throws it in my face. “And that’s for being an asshole,” she spits. Whiskey drips off my chin and stains my shirt.
I turn to face her. My nemesis.
“You’re lucky I haven’t had you locked up in the basement and taken away your books.”
“Fuck you!”
Luka takes a healthy step away from me. Unlike my wife, he’s not keen on poking the bear.
“Feel free to fuck me, princess. But if you fuck my brother again, know that there will be consequences.” Luka leaves the room, probably to look for an ice pack.
“Haven’t you already ruined my life, Angelo? Is it really necessary to take away the one person who’s nice to me?”
“Luka can be nice to you without his dick involved,” I point out.
“Maybe I like his dick,” she replies, her arms folded across her chest. My gaze drops despite my best intentions before I drag it back up to her face.
“Need a cock, baby?” I smile as I force her back so she’s pinned against the sofa. “If you’re that desperate for cock, I’ll oblige.” Her pupils dilate as our bodies touch. She’s not wearing a bra and I can feel the hard points of her nipples pressing through the fleece top she wears.
Is she wet? It wouldn’t surprise me. The damn woman seems to get off on winding me up.
“I wouldn’t touch your dick if it was the last one left on the planet,” she sneers, but she can’t quite stop her breathy gasp when I grind against her.
This is fucked up, but there’s a fine line between lust and hate, and I’m hovering on the edge right now.
My fingers stroke her jaw before drifting down her neck. She wants to push me away. I can read it in her eyes, but the twisted, toxic fire that burns between us stops her.
“Sure about that, princess?” I whisper as my lips hover over hers.
“Positive,” she hisses before attempting to knee me in the balls.
I chuckle before stepping back.
“Your self-defense skills are pathetic.” I haven’t forgotten the way she froze at the hotel, and for a moment I feel ashamed that I’ve touched her without her consent. But this is different. She’s my wife, and she knows I’d never hurt her. Even though she drives me fucking insane.
“Fuck you,” she huffs, but the heat in her eyes has faded and this time, I don’t stop her from twisting away from my grasp.
“You need some lessons.” I meant to suggest this after the hotel incident, but Ronald’s death derailed things. “As my wife, you’re a target for our enemies, so it would be useful if you had more tricks up your sleeve than nailing a guy in the balls.”
“Isn’t that why your stooge follows me around like a bad smell?” She moves back to the far end of the sofa and eyes me warily.
“There may come a time when someone gets past the guards. As happened the other night.” I hate the way the color leeches from her cheeks.
It reminds me of how fucking powerless I felt when I realized some cunt had hurt her while I wasn’t there to protect her.
One day, I will find out all the facts about what happened, and if there’s any way to track down the person who dared touch my wife, I’ll leave no stone unturned. The only good rapist is a dead one.
“Whatever.” Chiara picks up her empty glass and turns to leave the room. The movie credits are rolling, but she doesn’t seem interested in rewinding it back to the point where Luka walked in.
“Kane will give you lessons, starting tomorrow.” He’s the only person I trust with her.
“I’m not sure I have time in my busy schedule if you want me to continue going through the accounts.” She’s right, but her safety is more important.
“Be ready at seven a.m. You can head to the office after.”
She nods, and I’m left wondering why she isn’t objecting to Kane throwing her around the gym, and also whether Luka isn’t the only threat to my fake marriage.
To no one’s surprise, she’s in the kitchen with Luka when I stroll in. He’s holding a bag of frozen peas against his jaw. As much as I feel like ringing his bell again, I put a lid on my temper and pretend all is fine.
Luka slides a wary look in my direction as I place my used glass in the dishwasher while Chiara stands next to him. Not quite touching, but the intimacy between the two of them is clear.
Seeing how she leans into him stings like a motherfucker.
It should be me she wants, not him.
But as Kane would tell me, I’ve done nothing to earn her trust.
“It’s late,” I say, stating the obvious.
“And?” My wife stiffens, ready for another argument. At least Luka has the good sense to keep his mouth shut.
“If you’re not in the gym by seven, Kane has my permission to drag you from your bed.” The moment the words leave my lips, I realize I’ve made a mistake.
“Maybe I’ll enjoy that,” she smirks while Luka chokes on a laugh.
My fists clench, but I force a smile. “Then you’ll love the cold shower too.”
Her smile drops. “He wouldn’t dare.”
I feign nonchalance, but she and I both know the fucker would probably enjoy the view of her soaking wet.
“Guess you’ll find out, princess.” She spits daggers at me before storming off. Luka watches her leave and then rolls his eyes at me.
“You could try being nice to her. It’ll get you a lot further.”
“Like you?” I glare at him, but to my surprise, he glares right back at me.
“I care for her, which is more than you fucking do.” He throws the bag of frozen peas into the sink. “Do you even care how fucked up this marriage bullshit is? Why not just divorce her and marry some brainless bimbo like Paris Remington? At least she fucking wants you!”
I step back in surprise. Luka and I don’t exactly have a close bond, which is hardly surprising given I didn’t know he existed until he showed up at Dad’s house claiming to be his son. I’m not sure why I gave him a key to my house, but it’s probably time I changed the locks.
“Thank you for your unsolicited advice, Luka, but my marriage and the reasons for it are none of your fucking business. Now kindly fuck off home and leave me in peace.”
“Nah. I think I’ll stick around tonight.” He pushes away from the counter and grins. “I have no plans tomorrow, so I may as well watch Kane throw Chiara around in the gym.”
“You do realize this is not your home, right?” I point out.
“Oh? I thought it was communal family property, which was why you gave me a key?”
The lying shit. He knows it’s my main home, even if I spend most of my time in the city now that Chiara lives here, which I now realize has been a major misstep on my part. In giving her space, I’ve created room for my brother.
“Perhaps I’ll change the locks tomorrow.” Luka glares at me.
“You’d really take away the one friend she has?”
“She counts Fina as a friend.” Even if that’s true, it doesn’t stop the twinge of guilt that stabs me in the gut.
“Fina works more than I do, so she’s hardly ever free.” He’s right. Keeping our public brand squeaky clean is a full-time job, and she spends as much of her downtime with Matteo as she can.
“You and Chiara can’t be friends,” I scoff. “It doesn’t work like that with men and women.”
He looks at me with sympathy. “And that’s why you’ll never get anywhere with Chiara.”
“Excuse me?”
“You have the emotional intelligence of a rock, brother.”
Is he right?
“I feel sorry for you,” he adds before sauntering away. I watch through slitted eyes as he heads toward the stairs and not the front door, but I’m too distracted by his insult to do much about it.
Do I lack emotional intelligence?
Kane’s reply when I text him to ask is a stream of laughing emoji.
My mood sinks even lower, and for the first time in my adult life I wonder whether I need a therapist.