Chapter 40
Lucio
I get back to New York after dropping her off in New Hampshire, somewhere my brothers hopefully won’t look. The sky is already dark, swirling as if a storm is brewing. I take the elevator to my penthouse, wanting to be out of my clothes and in the shower as quickly as possible.
But that plan comes to a halt when my eyes land on Emiliano, Matteo, Romiro and Dominico, all sitting in my living room. Waiting for me.
Fuck.
“Is there a party I don’t know about?” I ask, trying to figure out if they know or if they’re here for something else.
“Cut the shit, Lucio. I know everything,” Emiliano says, his gaze sharp, unflinching.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The others stay quiet, none of them interfering.
“I’m not going to entertain this any further. You need to give up the Gambi girl or shit will get ugly.” He stands from the couch and stalks toward me.
“And like I said, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
My brother moves fast, slamming me against the wall, his fists gripping me by the collar. “You either give her up, or I won’t hesitate to kill you for being a traitor.”
I grit my teeth. Hell will freeze over before I give her up. She’s mine.
“That’s rich coming from you.”
That seems to send him into a frenzy, because he cocks his fist back and slams it into my face. Everyone scrambles to get Eli off me, but he manages another swing before he’s yanked back.
“Should’ve let me get a punch in at least,” I say, wiping the blood from the corner of my mouth.
Fuck. My face is throbbing with pain.
“I’m giving you a chance, Lucio. You either hand the Gambi girl over and let her face the music or we’ll find her. You know we will. And when we do find her, both of you will face the consequences.”
That’s the last thing Emiliano says before they head out.
Matteo lags behind and says, “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll hand her over. No woman is worth betraying your brother and the Camorra over.”
He’s wrong. And he doesn’t understand the feeling, because if he did, he wouldn’t have said that.
Matteo doesn’t wait for a reply, stalking out after the rest of them.
They gave me an ultimatum: give her up or die with her. And I’d rather die for her than give her up. I need to get her out of Camorra territory before they do find her.
The rage comes in waves, violent and uncontrollable, crashing through me so hard I can’t fucking breathe.
It starts slow, a burn in my chest, a pulse at the base of my skull. My fingers twitch, curling into fists at my sides as I pace the length of my apartment, my breaths coming out in sharp, uneven pulls. Then it erupts.
I grab the nearest chair and hurl it across the room. It crashes into the wall, splintering into pieces, the sound shattering the thick silence.
But it’s not enough. Not nearly fucking enough.
I storm to the bar cart, swiping my arm across the top, sending bottles of whiskey and crystal glasses flying. Glass explodes against the floor, liquor spilling across the hardwood like blood.
It’s still not enough. I rip a cabinet door open, grabbing the plates inside and hurling them one by one. Each one shatters on impact, ceramic shards littering the floor, sharp as my fucking fury.
“FUCK!” I slam my fist against the wall, once, twice, again, again, again.
Pain blooms up my arm, but it’s dull, background noise to the storm raging inside me. I tear the framed pictures off the walls, ripping them down and sending them crashing to the ground, stomping over the broken pieces.
The coffee table is the next victim to my rage. I grip the edge, flipping it over, watching as it topples, books and papers scattering, the wood cracking under the force.
But none of it touches the fucking rage twisting through me, boiling under my skin, choking me.
I should have let her go. I should have handed her over. I should have walked away from this whole fucking mess.
Instead, I’m here. Lying to my brothers. Betraying my family. For a fucking woman who looked me in the eye and lied to me first.
I grab a glass off the counter and smash it into the sink, gripping the edge so tight my knuckles go white.
My breath heaves. My chest burns. The room around me is wrecked, unrecognizable.
And still, I don’t feel better. I feel like I’m drowning in it. In this rage. In this fucking betrayal. In her.
I brace my hands against the counter, my head hanging low, trying to force air into my lungs. Trying to think. Because I only have two choices now.
Hand her over. Or burn every fucking bridge to keep her.
And the only right answer will be my demise.