11. Victoria
11
VICTORIA
Monday, September 30, 12:30 PM
Dante has been holed up in his new study all day with no signs of life, and every sign pointing to something being wrong.
He barely said a word the entire drive back to Connecticut. We left without seeing Liam again. I know Dante hasn’t hurt him though, considering he’s been by my side ever since he found me in Rochester.
I want to believe he let Liam live because he realized he couldn’t off his own nephew, but I know he did it for me.
And he’s pissed about it.
After we got back to Connecticut, Dante made a few calls, packed up the little we had at the apartment, and then moved us into a furnished house. I don’t know whose it is. I’ve been afraid to ask questions with Dante’s dark mood hanging in the air like a storm cloud, so I’ve kept quiet, only slipping into his office to feed him at regular intervals.
Sometimes, he kisses my forehead. Other times, he’s deep in his phone or computer and doesn’t seem to realize I’m there.
I leave him to his thoughts, hoping he doesn’t get too lost in them. Occasionally, I hear the soft sounds of his violin through the doors, and I know he’s working through some problem in his mind while he plays. He always finds his way to bed with me, pulls me into his hard frame, and falls asleep beside me.
So, to keep my sanity somewhat intact—because one of us has to hold tight to reality—I’ve emailed all my Thronewood professors and told them that I had another emergency come up and the online classes aren’t manageable for me right now. I’ve officially filed a leave of absence with the registrar’s office.
Unfortunately, I’ve had to do the same for my culinary program at Graham. There’s no way to translate those classes to a virtual format, and while it hurt my heart to make the request, I’m trying to see it as a speedbump rather than a brick wall. So to keep myself busy, to feel like I’m making actual progress towards my post-mob shit goals, I’m working through some recipes and techniques I’ve had my eye on for a while. Might as well make use of the sprawling kitchen at my disposal while I can.
However, I can’t focus.
Not when Dante’s shut down and silent.
I’m in the middle of fixing a frittata for Dante when the front door bursts open. A hysterical scream leaves my chest when the wood panel slams into the wall.
Two burly men dressed in black tracksuits barrel inward, and I launch Dante’s lunch at one of them, hitting him in the chest with piping hot eggs and cheese. I’m ready to turn and run for cover, but I freeze at the sight of a third person entering behind them.
Liam.
He’s wearing blue jeans and a Thronewood University hoodie. His dark eyes are filled with a level of animosity that makes my heart shrivel when we lock eyes. The hairs on my arms lift in warning.
Round three.
This is what Dante wanted to prevent.
You’re so stupid, Liam. Why can’t you just stay away?
I’m ready to shout at him to get the hell out when the door to Dante’s office swings open. My husband stands in the open doorway, a gun aimed at the intruders in the foyer. They stop moving, but don’t seem concerned enough about the threat my husband poses.
Then a round man in a crisp black suit struts in like he owns the place.
Does he own this place? Did Dante make us squatters and get us into even more trouble?
Who the hell enters their own front door like that, Victoria?
“Dante Moretti,” the chubby, middle-aged man greets, adjusting a chunky gold watch along his wrist. “Where have you been?”
My husband doesn’t answer, but he does train his weapon on the man’s head. His target doesn’t seem the least bit interested in his actions. Ballsy for an uninvited guest.
“Put the gun down,” he instructs calmly. “No need to make things messy.”
“Things tend to get messy when someone walks into my house without bothering to knock.”
The suited man hums, either in indifference or agreement. “Well, now that you know it’s me, drop it. Introduce me to the pretty girl in the room.”
Dante glowers at him and ignores the order. “You know who she is.”
The man smirks, but it’s edged with cruelty rather than humor. This isn’t a kind man. Dante obviously doesn’t want him here, and this man is enjoying taunting him.
Then he directs his attention to me, and I feel like a rabbit being hunted by a wolf.
“Victoria Waldorf,” he muses, folding his hands in front of him. “I’ve heard a lot about you, bella . All these men trying to woo you for your money so they can pay me back.”
My nose scrunches in distaste.
So this is Angelo Lombardi.
The man behind all of this . Liam’s desperation and his reckless ideas, my kidnapping, my marriage to a man who’s looked through me rather than at me since saving me from said kidnapping… Not to mention, he’s the reason I can’t go to my college classes right now. I can’t even see Ellie, since the last thing I want to do is put her in danger by getting too close right now.
“How has Dante been treating you?”
I want to tell Angelo to go fuck himself, but I’m not stupid. I don’t want Dante to risk his life because I couldn’t resist lashing out, so I clench my teeth together and put on the sort of bemused expression my mother would be proud of.
“Well,” I deadpan, leaving the word hanging in the air.
However, Angelo is the sort of man who likes to flaunt his power and play with his prey. You don’t need to be a psychologist to see that Dante doesn’t want him here, but Angelo doesn’t seem to care. He acts like he’s in control—and maybe he is. After all, we are being held responsible for a debt that’s not even our own.
“That’s good,” Angelo replies, but his voice is disinterested. Clearly, this isn’t a social call. “I heard you took a trip recently.”
I stop myself from looking at my ex and trying to read his expression. He never had much of a poker face. But I don’t want to look guilty. And I don’t have any idea what’s really going on.
“Say what you came here to say, Lombardi,” Dante orders. “What’s wrong with leaving town?”
“It’s suspicious,” the older man replies, keeping his focus on me. “So, I’ll ask the girl—where did you go?”
No.
I was never supposed to meet this man. Dante and I never talked about what I’d need to say or not say if the situation came up. I have no idea what story Liam’s cobbled together, what Angelo’s already been told or what he might know. I’m not built for this kind of lifestyle. Dante’s armed presence no longer feels like a shield wrapped around me, but instead something that makes us look like Angelo just said: suspicious.
“We haven’t been properly introduced,” I manage to force from my lips, lifting my chin and pulling another page out of my mother’s handbook on prim and proper socialite behavior. “And you made me drop our lunch.” I make sure my tone is that of someone who has been inconvenienced, rather than personally terrified.
Angelo glances down, locating the scattered remnants of the ruined frittata, and frowns. For some reason, the loss of the food seems to give him pause, and his face turns apologetic as he returns his attention to me.
“I apologize, bella ,” he concedes. “We won’t be here long. My men can clean it up?—”
“That’s not necessary,” I cut in, before immediately cringing inwardly. Did I seriously just interrupt a mob boss? “But decorum is extremely important, Mr. Lombardi. Your men will give a woman a heart attack behaving in such a way. There could’ve been children in this house.”
“You’re pregnant?” My brows clash together because what ? Angelo picks up on my displeasure—does he know the terms of my trust or did he really just ask something unforgivably personal—and he backpedals, much to my shock. “It’ll never happen again. Still, there are rules that must be obeyed, as the men already know.”
“Such as?”
Victoria, shut up.
“No leaving town, for instance. I’m owed a large sum of money, as you well know.”
I bow my head. “Yes. You sent one of your goons to scare me.”
Angelo quirks a brow. “It was a tactic, a business decision.”
“It was rude.”
A deep laugh rumbles from his chest and he looks for support in one of his men to join in. He slaps the back of Liam’s shoulder hard, right over at least one of his bullet wounds, making my ex wince and sending him forward a step. It gives me the opportunity to steal a glance at him.
Solemn.
Pissed.
Vengeful.
“How did you let this one get away?” Angelo asks Liam. “She’s a firecracker.”
“She was stolen,” Liam grits through his teeth.
Angelo’s laughter dies down. “Ah, well…sometimes you have to play dirty. Women won’t wait around for you, but there are always ways to make them stay.”
I’d love to know what sorts of tactics he considers useful in convincing a woman to stay, but I don’t suppose it’s flowers, chocolate, or a romantic monologue.
“Stand next to her, son,” Angelo orders, giving my ex a shove toward me. “Let me see the two of you next to each other.”
“Aren’t we going to settle?—”
“In a minute, in a minute.”
Liam hesitates before striding forward, glaring at me as if it’s the last thing he wants to do. He surprises me by wrapping his arm around my waist as he gingerly pulls me to his body.
I’m seconds away from smacking his hands off me when Angelo steps forward and studies us like a painting hanging on the wall of the Louvre.
“A handsome couple,” he declares, bringing a hand to his chin. “Around the same age. You go to the same school. Which is in session, yes?”
Liam and I don’t utter a word. If our education is something Angelo is curious about, he needs to find another hobby.
“So tell me, bella ,” Angelo continues, breaking the silence. “Were you two running away from Dante?”
What did you tell him, Liam?
And how did this all go down? Because there is no reason for me to have the Italian mob in my house right now. My secret safe house.
“He forced her to marry him,” Liam snarls. “She was my fiancée. Our engagement was all over social media and the papers.”
Angelo nods. “I remember. Although this girl looks tempting enough. Maybe she caught your uncle’s eye and he had to claim her for himself? She looks like she could hold her own against either one of you Morettis.” His dark eyes scan down my body and goosebumps of the worst kind pebble my skin. “Good pussy has a way of making men behave…differently.”
This man is crude and disgusting.
He’s no different than the boys at school, but at least none of them are twice my age and making comments like that. It makes me cringe next to Liam, and I shove his arm off my hip. I refuse to let him—or anyone else—keep manhandling me.
“My husband is getting impatient, Mr. Lombardi,” I respond sternly. “What do you want to know? Liam may have announced our engagement, but that was his doing. Not mine.”
“Does it really matter which Moretti took you as his wife?” Angelo asks, peeling his repulsive attention up from my body and back to my face. “Or did you make your decision based on who was better in bed?” He lifts a brow and tilts his head as if he has a right to know.
“I’m highly confused about what this has to do with you getting your money.”
“Plenty,” he answers flatly, flicking his eyes to Liam. “Liam tells me the pair of you were running away from your husband, and that’s why you left town. But your expression and body language are telling me you’d choose Dante over the boy at your side.”
Angelo keeps calling Liam a boy —and I’m not the only one who’s noticed. But I refuse to play favorites, even if I have one. Not for this asshole.
“I’m curious as to how this is going to work,” Angelo continues after a heavy pause. “When I’m paid, what happens next? Do you have plans?”
Of course, I do.
But I’m not about to tell him my hopes and dreams.
“Yes,” I say as Dante impatiently shifts his weight.
“And those are?”
I really hate this man. This isn’t anything like a mafia movie. Aren’t the bullets supposed to fly first, with any conversation happening later?
Mind you, I probably should be grateful, but I don’t appreciate how nosey Angelo’s being. Maybe he just needs some reassurance that he’ll get his money and we won’t just run away and leave him with an unpaid debt.
“I’m going to Thronewood University,” I tell him. “My mother thought I should marry rich and forget about school but?—”
“You didn’t,” Angelo finishes for me. “Obviously. Maybe if you had, you would be far away from all this. Maybe there’s still time for you to make a different choice.”
“I’m still here, aren’t I?” I retort.
“That you are, bella ,” he says, his lips twisting upward. “It’s good that you’re a fighter. You’ll need that.”
For what , I think, but Angelo doesn’t give me the opportunity to voice the question.
“Liam leaves with you for Rochester,” Angelo steps forward and purses his lips in thought, “and Dante brings you back. Something’s not adding up.”
“I told you,” my ex finally chimes in with a haughty tone. “Victoria and I are still friends.”
“But she can’t seem to stand you,” Angelo shrugs. “The girl won’t even let you touch her.”
“It’s too intimate,” I explain, working to find a safe way through this quicksand conversation. “It’s disrespectful to my husband. You know how men are?—”
“I know how they are when their pride is wounded. I know that Liam has multiple gunshot wounds. How does a friendly trip end in bloodshed, bella ?” His hands spread in an almost pleading gesture and it becomes clear he’s orchestrated this entire performance. Angelo pretends like the truth has finally dawned on him and he turns to the room at large, shaking his head. “I feel I have a problem.”
“You’re going to get paid,” I vow. “I’m just waiting for the money from my trust to clear.”
“So you are aware that you’re being used for your money?” I nod. What more is there to say? “You’re an interesting girl, Victoria.”
No, I’m a girl that wants to be done with this shit.
“I’m still waiting to hear why you’ve paid us this visit,” Dante sneers, still standing in the entrance to his study. “My wife and I were just about to eat lunch. Which will be further delayed now that she’ll have to remake it.”
Angelo bows his head. “Of course. I’ve taken up enough of your time together.”
The sharp crack of a single gunshot roars through the room and I jolt to my right on instinct before hearing something thud to the floor. I freeze.
My eyes lock with Dante’s and he holds my stare with quiet confidence as he gives a slight shake of his head. Don’t look , he seems to say.
Lips parted, I try to sip air in slowly to calm myself, but my lungs lock up and I can’t seem to breathe at all. My body trembles in a combination of fear and shock.
“That should solve your problem, Dante,” I hear Angelo sneer before pivoting to my husband. “I’m extending an invitation to you and your wife. Please join me for dinner later this week. We’ll celebrate your nuptials. I’ll text you with the details. As the guests of honor, I’ll expect both of you to attend.”
Dante doesn’t respond, still offering himself up as my anchor.
“I apologize for adding to the mess,” Angelo croons. “I’ll deduct the cleaning costs from the six million you owe me.”
Tears burn the back of my eyes as Angelo and his men file out the front door, closing it behind them.
No sooner does the latch click than a broken sob works its way free of my chest. Dante’s already in motion, gathering me into his chest and squeezing me tightly as I shake with tears.
I don’t know how long we stand there, but I don’t stop crying until he cradles me in his arms and carries me upstairs to our bedroom.