Chapter Twelve
Damiano
Saturday arrives at last, and I can’t suppress a feeling of contentment. The week following my return from New York has been relentless. I’ve had meetings, phone calls and all the usual business to handle, but none of it truly mattered. Not when my mind has been occupied with her, my little flower.
After a week of unsuccessful meetings in New York, the first thing I did when I returned was to call Francesco to let him know about my plans.
Tradition would dictate that I ask him for Lily’s hand.
But I’m the fucking head of the Boston families.
I don’t need anyone’s permission, least of all his.
I didn’t ask—I informed him that I was coming to claim what is mine.
The man has not offered any resistance, not that I expected any.
It is an honor to marry into a powerful family like mine.
If anything, people will wonder why I am willing to tie myself to the modest Bianchis.
To the mistress’ daughter, no less. I don’t care if this alliance brings me no power, no money, no connections.
I don’t need more money or more power. I have it all, and the only thing I don’t have and crave more than oxygen is her.
Hence here I am, parking my Bentley in the driveway to her father’s home, a small velvet box weighing my pocket down.
How will she react? She has had time to get used to the idea. Surely she will accept my ring with grace. I have been patient with her. She must have realized it by now.
Maybe she’ll smile at me, those stunning green eyes softening, her lips curving into that enticing little smile of hers. She’ll be pleased, obviously. Who wouldn’t?
I’ll be the perfect gentleman, of course. I’ll take her small, delicate hand in mine. I’ll kiss her cheek, whisper all the right words, the ones any woman is waiting to hear, always dreamed of hearing, on her engagement day.
Tonight I am invincible.
She is going to be mine. Soon.
The front door swings open as soon as I step out of the car, and Francesco and his wife, Daria, greet me with smiles that don’t quite reach their eyes. It’s all carefully rehearsed, but I’m too focused on my objective to let it bother me.
I shake both of their hands firmly, deliberately ignoring Daria’s outstretched cheek.
Fuck that, I have no interest in touching that bitch more than necessary.
I can already feel her fake sweetness radiating from her, but I don’t let it faze me.
I’m not here for pleasantries or politeness.
I’m here to do what needs to be done and nothing’s going to derail me from that.
The foyer is ostentatiously and tastelessly decorated with so many gilded knickknacks that I have to squint from the reflecting light on every surface.
The sitting room is not better and looks like a room on an old Italian movie set with an abundance of drapes, carpeted floors and uncomfortable wooden furniture under a heavy chandelier.
I instantly feel oppressed.
They lead me to a gilded sofa that looks as though it was made for torture rather than comfort.
I lower myself into it, the plush fabric doing nothing to ease the stiffness in my spine.
I keep my gaze neutral, trying to ignore the overwhelming extravagance around me.
All I care about now is waiting for her.
My flower. The woman I came here for. The woman who is going to be mine.
“Would you like something to drink?” Daria offers.
“I don’t want to impose.” And remain here longer than necessary.
See? I can act civilized.
“Nonsense, you are always welcome in our home, Mr. Santaluccia. What can we get you?”
“I have this great bottle of Irish single malt. You have to try it,” Francesco offers.
I nod only to get it over with.
Lily’s sister comes in through a door. I get up when she is near, take her hand and give it a light brush with my lips. “Ms. Bianchi.”
She inclines her head eyes downcast. Weird, is she a bit pale?
I frown. I hope that she is not sick with the flu in the vicinity of my Lily. I will have to convince my sweet flower to move in with me tonight, traditions be damned.
“Chiara, dear, can you pour Mr. Santaluccia and your father a glass of our best whiskey?”
“Yes, Mother.” The girl obediently goes to a bar cabinet and prepares the requested drinks.
I can hardly suppress my impatience. How long will she make me wait? Is this her way to punish me for the restaurant incident?
I take the offered glass but it does nothing to ease the tension coiling in my chest. I school my features into an impassive mask, but my patience is wearing thin.
Turning toward Francesco, I let my frustration bleed through. “Where is my fiancée?” I ask, my voice steady but hard, the kind of tone that brooks no nonsense.
Francesco, the smug bastard, has the gall to laugh and make some comment about how young people these days are so impatient.
His laugh is like nails on a chalkboard, and the polite restraint I’m forcing myself to maintain is beginning to crack.
I don’t need to remind myself how much I hate him, how much I’ve always hated him.
Right now, it takes everything in me not to pull my gun and make him shut up, but I manage to keep my composure. Just barely.
“Chiara, dear, will you go up to fetch your sister?”
I swear, if this girl gets any paler, she will collapse right here. An uneasy feeling settles deep in my gut. My instincts are never wrong, and right now they are screaming at me that there’s something off here.
Chiara disappears through a door, her footsteps echoing sharply on the marble as she ascends the stairs.
I strain my ears, waiting for the sound of voices, for her voice to call out my name.
Heavy silence fills the room but I am not in the mood for small talk.
They can feel it, too. The tension is hanging thick and I know they sense that I’m not here for pleasantries.
I am waiting, the seconds stretching on endlessly.
Finally I hear footsteps returning and I rise, straightening my jacket, preparing to take in the most beautiful of visions like a thirsty man seeing his first glass of cool water after a life sentence in the desert.
But only the sister comes in. I frown.
“Well?” Daria asks. “Where is your sister?”
Chiara looks up with fear in her eyes and something dark coils in my chest. “She…she is not there,” she whispers.
Her mother and father gasp, but it is my deadly calm voice that makes her jump out of her skin. “Where is Lily?”
She looks stricken and shakes her head, eyes downcast.
I rush past her through the door she came in and see a flight of stairs.
I take them up two by two. At the top, I find myself in a hallway with several doors on either side so I have to ask over my shoulder, “Her room?” Francesco, who has been on my heels, motions for the second door to the left and I open it so violently I am surprised it doesn’t stay in my hand.
I enter and take in the small and very empty room. Then I spot another door and yank it open. The adjoining bathroom is empty, too. My vision clouds over with a red haze.
When I go back to the bedroom, the three of them are watching me from the threshold with wary eyes. “Want to explain?” I grit out, hanging on by a bare thread.
“I…I don’t kn-know. She should be in here, I swear! She has not left her room,” Francesco stammers.
I am dimly aware of a roar, then something crashing, and when the haze starts to lift the room is a mess—a bedside lamp lies broken on the floor, and the mirror hanging askew on the wall is splintered into a thousand pieces.
The women have disappeared. Only Francesco remains rooted to the spot, looking pale. I take a step closer, forcing him to move back. His eyes widen in fear.
“Find her,” I order in a clipped tone and he scrambles away.
I return to the living room to wait, pacing holes into the carpet, wondering if I should have my men tear this place apart.
I can hear hurried footsteps rushing through the hallways, doors slamming, hushed voices speaking urgently.
Not hers, though. Every passing second brings me closer to snapping.
I’m barely restraining myself from rushing up there and searching every room myself, but I shove the impulse down.
I never lose control in front of my men.
I can’t afford to show more cracks in the facade than I already have.
After what feels like fucking forever, Lily’s father steps into the room.
I can tell right away from the pallor of his face and the panic in his eyes what he is going to tell me.
“Sh-she’s n-not here,” he stammers.
I advance on him until I am crowding him, forcing him to take a step back.
“Don’t lie to me,” I spit, my words dripping with venom.
“Where is she? You have five seconds before I rip this house apart and make you talk.” Francesco swallows hard, his lips trembling as he fumbles for words, clearly struggling to form a coherent thought.
For the first time, I see real fear in his eyes, and it only fuels my rage.
“Where. Is. She.” The words leave my mouth like a growl, each one punctuated with the promise of violence.
He whimpers, the sound pathetic. “I…I swear on all that’s holy, I don’t know. She was supposed to be here, waiting for you. She even said she didn’t want to be disturbed because she wanted to look her best to greet you.” He keeps rambling. “But…we have another daughter, and maybe—”
Before he can finish, I’m on him, grabbing him by the throat, lifting him off the floor so his feet dangle uselessly in the air. His face is so close to mine I can see the terror in his soul, the panic in his eyes, and it sends a rush of heat through my veins.
“Does it look like I want anyone else?” I roar, my voice shaking the walls.
He gasps for air, trying to shake his head in desperate denial. I throw him down onto the floor with a force that rattles the room.
“Find her,” I snarl, my voice low and menacing, “and bring her back. Unharmed. Or I’ll burn this fucking place to the ground. With you in it.”
And just like that, I’m gone.
In my car I call Luc. “Luc, where is the fucking guard you set on Lily? Ask him where she is. Now.”
I hang up and not thirty seconds later my phone rings. “He says he’s been watching the house all day. Apart from your car and theirs, no one came in or out. She should be inside.”
“Bullshit,” I snap, my grip tightening on the wheel. “The fucker’s been sleeping on the job. I’ll slit his fucking throat myself. I’ll be at Teo’s in fifteen.”
I end the call, my mind spinning with nothing but fire and fury.
She’s out there, somewhere. I need to find her. And I will burn this entire fucking city down if I have to.
Thirteen minutes later I pull into my designated spot in the underground parking garage of Teo’s building—part office, part club, part residence.
The place isn’t exactly discreet, but it serves its purpose.
I step out of the elevator onto the third floor, the real heart of Teo’s operation.
Unlike the club downstairs, this is where the business actually happens.
He is already waiting for me when I step off the elevator.
We make our way into his office and I collapse onto the couch, elbows on my knees, rubbing my hands over my face, trying to ground myself.
“What happened, D?” Teo asks, his voice cautious but curious.
I let out a frustrated breath. “I went to the Bianchis to claim Lily. And she was fucking gone. Francesco didn’t know a thing. No one’s that good of an actor. My guess? She was either abducted or she left on her own.”
Teo’s eyes widen, his jaw dropping slightly. “Shit, your life is a fucking soap opera.”
At that point, Luc bursts in. Without a word, he heads straight to the wet bar, pours himself a drink, then flops down on the other end of the couch like he owns the place. He looks me up and down, his eyebrow quirked. “You look like shit, man. What the hell happened?”
I clench my jaw, trying to rein in my anger. “Lily’s gone. And I have no idea where she is.”
For once he is at a loss of words.
“What does your gut say?”
“That she ran.” That admission fucking stings. My chest is constricting, my breath is choking and my vision is tunneling.
Tonight, my sweet little flower has brought me to my knees.