Michael
Iwatch as Beatrice guides Katie out to the gardens. Of course she chose that instead of my room.
“I need clothes,” I say to no one in particular.
“Yes, Mr. Amato,” Maria answers immediately, already moving toward the stairs.
I head that way as well, Marco and Luca falling into step beside me.
“What do we know?”
“Living room’s a mess. Something went down,” Luca says.
“How bad?”
“There was broken glass. Furniture was everywhere, and blood was on the floor.”
There are only two reasons men get dragged out of their homes in the middle of the night. Debt or information, and Donnelly doesn’t owe anyone enough money for that.
I reach the end of the hall.
“Find out who he’s been in contact with. Phone records. Emails. Whatever you can.”
I open the door to my office and turn back toward them.
“I have something else to deal with.”
“Yes, sir,” Marco says.
Luca hesitates, as if there’s more he wants to say. I shake my head once. The conversation is over.
I sit down at my desk when there’s a knock at the door.
“Come in.”
Maria enters with two of the maids behind her. Without a word, they move to the couch by the window, laying out my clothes.
“Thank you, Maria,” I say.
“Sir.”
She bows her head before turning and closing the door behind them. Rubbing my eyes, I let my head fall back against the chair. I’m not looking forward to what comes next.
I change and head out. Luca rises from the chair as soon as he sees me.
“Boss?”
“I need a car,” I say. “I have a quick errand.”
“It’s waiting out front.”
I cross the foyer toward the door. Luca moves ahead of me, opening it and stepping outside. By the time I reach the drive, he’s already holding the passenger door open.
“Where to?” he asks as we make our way down the long drive.
“The Messina Estate.”
Luca’s eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror for a moment before returning to the road.
We don’t speak the rest of the way. It’s a ten-minute drive. I take care of this. We drive back. We’ll be gone half an hour.
The Messina Estate comes into view a few minutes later. Luca arrives at the gates, and they swing open. He pulls the car to a stop, and I step out before he can open the door.
“Wait here,” I tell him.
“Yes, Boss.”
This won’t take long. The front door swings open, and Camilla Messina steps out onto the front stoop, her dark hair pulled back neatly. Surprise is written plainly across her face.
“Mr. Amato,” she says, a little breathless. “We weren’t expecting you.”
I stop a few feet from her and slide my hands into the pockets of my slacks, letting my eyes drift past her shoulder into the house behind her.
“Is Rosalia here?” I ask.
“Uh—yes. She’s right inside.” Her brows pull together slightly. “May I ask what this is about?”
My gaze drops back to her.
“No.”
I step forward. Camilla shifts instinctively to the side as I pass her. My shoulder brushes the edge of the doorframe as I walk into the house.
“Michael.”
Rosalia stands in the foyer, staring at me like she can’t quite believe I’m standing in her house. Her eyes are wide as she smooths her hands down the front of the T-shirt she’s wearing, tugging it lower over a pair of cotton sleep shorts.
“Rosalia. Our engagement.”
Her eyes light up. The reaction is so quick it’s almost painful to watch. She looks relieved.
“Is over,” I finish.
The relief drains from her face.
“What did you say?”
Camilla’s voice cuts through the foyer behind me. I turn to face her.
“The engagement is over,” I say evenly. “Rosalia and I will no longer be getting married.”
“You can’t be serious.”
I study her for a moment and step forward. The movement is small, but she reacts instantly. She backs up as her composure cracks.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Amato,” she says quickly. “It came as such a shock. I apologize for my response.”
“Where is your husband?”
“He left early this morning on business,” Camilla says, staring at the floor.
“Business,” I repeat. “Yes. He does seem to find himself involved in quite a bit of that.”
She lifts her eyes but stays silent.
I laugh.
“Speaking of business,” I say. “The five million is still forgiven, but if your husband ever finds himself needing my help again, the price will be very different.”
I turn back to Rosalia. The shock has drained from her face and something colder replaces it.
“I see,” she says.
Her eyes flick briefly to her mother before returning to me.
“I suppose congratulations are in order,” she says. “Whoever she is.”
I step forward, my tall frame crowding her space.
“Let’s be honest,” I say calmly. “I agreed to marry you so my parents could have grandchildren.”
I lean into her ear.
“Love had nothing to do with it.”
I turn and walk out.
When I step inside the conservatory, sunlight pours through the glass ceiling and spills across the tiled floor.
Katie sits on a bench beside the fountain with one hand raised carefully in front of her.
A butterfly rests on the tip of her finger, its delicate wings fluttering while she watches it with quiet fascination.
She’s smiling to herself, completely entranced by the tiny creature balanced on her hand.
I pause inside the doorway and lean a shoulder against the frame, watching her for a moment before saying anything.
The butterfly flutters away from her finger, drifting lazily toward the glass ceiling. Katie watches it go, her gaze following the delicate movement of its wings until it disappears into the greenery above. When she finally looks around the room, her eyes land on me standing in the doorway.
Her face brightens instantly.
“You’re back.”
I cross the room and stop in front of her.
“I am.”
I sit down beside her on the bench, the iron cool beneath my hands as I rest them on my knees. I look over at her.
“Can we talk?”
“Whoa,” she says, tilting her head as she watches me. “When did everything get so serious?”
I glance toward the fountain for a second before looking back at her.
“Well,” I say, “there’s something I need to tell you, and I’m not sure how much you’re going to like me once I do.”
“You really are a serial killer,” she mutters. “Dammit.”
I can’t help but laugh at that. She leans into me for a second, bumping her shoulder lightly against mine before pushing away again. She just made this infinitely harder.
“No. But until about twenty minutes ago, I was engaged.”
She lets out a short laugh, shaking her head. She thinks I’m joking.
Her eyes lift to my face, and the humor drains from hers almost instantly.
“You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
She stands up so abruptly the bench creaks behind her.
“Fuck you.”
She pivots toward the doors, clearly intending to leave, but I step in front of her before she can get there.
“Move.”
I hold my ground.
“Katie, listen to me.”
“No.” She shakes her head, anger flashing across her face. “You cheated on your fiancée with me. I’m not that girl.”
“I didn’t love her.”
“Whatever.” She shakes her head. “That’s what douchebags say.”
She tries to slip past me, but I shift my stance and step in front of her again.
“Seriously, fucker, you better move.”
I look down at her. The expression on her face could kill a man.
“It was arranged.”
Her expression falters.
“What?”
“It wasn’t real,” I tell her. “I needed a wife. I’m thirty-six. My parents want grandchildren.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me!”
“Katie, look around,” I say, gesturing toward the glass walls and the massive grounds beyond them. “Do you see my life? It’s not exactly conducive to meeting someone.”
Her expression softens a little.
“You met me.”
“I stalked you,” I remind her. “And it still took me a week to actually talk to you.”
She tries not to smile. I can see her fighting it, pressing her lips together, but it slips out anyway.
“See?” I say. “I make you smile.”
“But you lied to me.”
“Eh.” I shrug lightly. “I withheld information.”
I step closer and place a hand on her arm. She doesn’t pull away.
“I let you sleep in my bed. You kissed me in front of all those people downstairs, and I’m willing to bet every single one of them knew you were engaged.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “I’m their boss, and I’m not engaged anymore. I just came back from her house.”
She stares at me.
“Dude.”