Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Antonella
The compound feels like a tomb.
Two days since Bruno and I kissed.
I've spent most of my time with Aria. She's wonderful. But even she can't fill the void that's growing inside me.
Kristen and Nico left four days ago with Lily. Something about visiting Kristen's mother. Nora stays in her room. Lorenzo and Sophia haven't appeared at all. I don't know if there's something happening with the family business, some crisis pulling everyone away, but the silence is suffocating.
I'm going to lose my mind if I stay here another day.
My phone buzzes. Oliver's name lights up the screen.
Still on for today? I found this amazing coffee place near the river.
I type back quickly. Yes. I need to get out of here.
That bad?
Worse.
I grab my jacket and head for the door.
The guard assigned to me stands in the hallway. He straightens when he sees me.
"I need a ride today Carlo," I tell him. "I'm meeting a friend in the city."
He nods. "I'll bring the car around. Where are we going?"
I give him the address Oliver texted me. Carlo doesn't ask questions, doesn't tell me I need permission, doesn't mention Bruno at all. I appreciate that more than he knows. Maybe Bruno asked him not to.
I didn't ask Bruno. Why should I? He made it perfectly clear what this is. A stepping stone to his precious title. And once he gets it, I'll be free to live my own life.
Fine.
If that's how he wants it, then I can do whatever I want.
I find Aria in the sunroom, reading a novel with her glasses perched on her nose. She looks up when I enter, her face softening into a smile.
"Antonella. You look like you're going somewhere."
"I'm meeting a friend in the city." I kiss her cheek. "I'll be back before dinner."
Aria studies me for a moment. “Be careful, cara."
"Thank you."
The drive into the city takes forty minutes. I spend most of it staring out the window. Carlo drives in silence, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror occasionally but never intruding.
Oliver is waiting outside the coffee shop when we arrive. He's wearing his work clothes—dark slacks, a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up—and his face breaks into a grin when he sees me.
"There she is." He pulls me into a hug before I can speak. "God, you look terrible."
"Thanks. That's exactly what every girl wants to hear."
"I mean it." He holds me at arm's length, studying my face. "You've lost weight. Are they feeding you?"
"The food is fine. Everything is fine."
Oliver raises an eyebrow. "Liar."
Carlo positions himself near the entrance, close enough to watch but far enough to give us privacy. Oliver glances at him, then back at me.
"Bodyguard?"
"Part of the arrangement."
"Charming." Oliver takes my arm and guides me inside. "Come on. You need caffeine and carbs, and then you're going to tell me everything."
The coffee shop is small and warm, filled with the smell of roasting beans and fresh pastries. We find a table near the back, away from the windows. Oliver orders for both of us—a latte for me, black coffee for him, and two chocolate croissants.
"So," he says once the server leaves. "How bad is it?"
I don't know where to start. The kiss? Bruno's rejection? The suffocating silence of the compound?
"We kissed," I say finally. "Two days ago."
Oliver's eyebrows shoot up. "The wheelchair guy kissed you?"
"I kissed him first. And then he kissed me back. And then he told me it was a mistake and that I should leave once he gets his title."
"What an asshole."
"Oliver."
"What? He is." Oliver leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. "You kiss the guy, he kisses you back like he means it, and then he tells you to get lost? That's textbook asshole behavior."
I want to argue, but I can't. Because Oliver is right. Bruno is an asshole. A complicated, damaged, infuriating asshole who makes me feel things I don't want to feel.
"He's scared," I say quietly. "Of letting anyone close."
"That's not your problem to fix."
"I know."
"Do you?" Oliver reaches across the table and takes my hand. "Nell, you've spent your whole life fixing other people's problems. Your dad's gambling. Your sister's drama. Your brother's... whatever Claudio's deal is. You don't have to fix this guy too."
The server returns with our order. I wrap my hands around the warm mug, letting the heat seep into my fingers.
"I'm not trying to fix him," I say. "I just... I thought there was something there. Something real."
"Maybe there is. But if he's too broken to see it, that's on him. Not you."
"Tell me about work," I say. "Tell me something normal."
Oliver grins. "You want normal? Last week, a guest tried to check in with a live chicken. Said it was his emotional support animal."
I laugh. It feels foreign in my throat, rusty from disuse. "You're making that up."
"I swear on my mother's grave. The chicken's name was Gerald."
We talk for an hour. Oliver tells me about the hotel, about his coworkers. I tell him about Aria, about Kristen's kindness, about the rose garden where I've been spending my mornings.
Bruno
My phone buzzes.
I glance at the screen. Carlo's name. A text.
Mrs. Sartori requested a ride into the city. Meeting a friend at Riverside Coffee on Main.
I stare at the message for a long moment.
She left. Without telling me. Without asking.
Good. That's what I wanted. Distance. Space. The kiss was a mistake, and she needs to understand that this arrangement has boundaries.
I set the phone down and return to the security reports spread across my desk. Valentino's intel on the warehouse hit. Names. Locations. The man with the scar who hired the crew.
The words blur together.
She's in the city. Meeting a friend.
I don't care. She can meet whoever she wants. She's not my prisoner.
The kiss replays in my mind. Her lips soft against mine. The way she tasted. The sound she made when I pulled her closer.
Mistake. It was a mistake.
I force my attention back to the reports. Three pages of surveillance data. Shipping manifests. Financial records.
Meeting a friend.
What friend?
My jaw tightens.
It doesn't matter. She can see whoever she wants. I told her to leave once I get the title. I practically pushed her out the door.
This is what I wanted.
I read the same paragraph four times without absorbing a single word.
Fuck it.
I grab my phone and call Carlo.
He answers on the second ring. "Sir."
"Where is she?"
"Riverside Coffee. Main Street, near the river."
"Who is she with?"
A pause. "A man, sir. They've been talking for about an hour."
A man.
A fucking man.
"What man?" My voice comes out harder than I intended. "Who is he?"
"I don't have a name. Tall. Dark hair. They seem... familiar with each other. He hugged her when she arrived."
He hugged her.
Some stranger put his hands on my wife.
"Why the hell didn't you call me?" I'm gripping the phone so hard the case creaks. "The moment she met up with some random man, you should have—"
"With respect, sir." Carlo's voice is careful but firm. "You told me not to bother you with updates. You said to call only if there was danger. She's having coffee. There's no threat."
I want to throw the phone across the room.
"Don't you dare interrupt me again Carlo. Where exactly are they sitting?"
"Back of the shop. Away from the windows. They've been talking the whole time."
"Stay on them. I'm coming."
I end the call.
My hands are shaking. Not from weakness. From rage.
Who the fuck is this guy? How does she know him? Why is she meeting him in secret, sneaking out of the compound without telling anyone?
Without telling me.
I wheel myself toward the door, moving faster than I should. My arms burn from the exertion, but I don't care. I need to get there. I need to see this for myself.
She's my wife.
Mine.
And some other man is hugging.
I reach the garage and find Liam leaning against one of the SUVs, scrolling through his phone.
"In. "Now."
He looks up, startled. "Where are we going?"
"Riverside Coffee. Main Street."
He doesn't ask questions. Smart man. He just opens the back door and waits for me transfer from the wheelchair to the seat. The chair folds into the trunk, and then we're moving.
She's on a date. My wife is on a date with another man.
I'm going to kill him.
Antonella
Oliver sets down his coffee cup and leans back in his chair.
"Antonella." His voice softens. "When do you get to be safe? When do you get something for yourself?"
I don't have an answer for that.
Oliver sighs and. "Come here."
I pull my chair closer and step into his arms. He pulls me close, and I bury my face against his shoulder.
"I missed you," I whisper.
"I missed you too." His hand rubs circles on my back. "You know I'm always here, right? No matter what happens with this arranged marriage bullshit. You call, I come."
"I know."
"Best friends since third grade. That doesn't change because some—"
"Get your fucking hands off her."
The voice cuts through the coffee shop like a blade.
I freeze in Oliver's arms.
No. No, no, no.
I pull back from Oliver and turn around.
Bruno sits in his wheelchair, a gun pointed directly at Oliver's head. His face is carved from stone. His eyes burn with something I've never seen before. Pure, undiluted rage.
The coffee shop has gone silent. A woman at the counter has her hand pressed over her mouth. The barista stands frozen. No one moves. No one breathes.
"Bruno." My voice comes out steadier than I feel. "Put the gun down."
He doesn't look at me. His entire focus is locked on Oliver.
"Who the fuck are you?" Bruno's voice is low. "And why are you touching my wife?"
Oliver's hands are raised, palms out. His face has gone pale, but his voice stays remarkably calm. "I'm Oliver. Antonella's best friend since we were eight years old. And if you could maybe not push quite so hard with that gun, I'd appreciate it. It's going to leave a mark."
I want to slap Bruno. I want to scream at him. I want to grab that gun and throw it across the room.
"Bruno." I step forward, putting myself partially between them. "Put the gun away. Now."
His eyes finally flick to me. Something shifts in his expression. Pain. Betrayal. Jealousy so raw it takes my breath away.
"Get in the car, Antonella."
"Not until you—"
"Get in the fucking car." His grip on the gun doesn't waver. "Or I end this idiot's life right here."
"Nell." Oliver's voice is quiet behind me. "Get in the car. I'll call you later."
The gun presses harder against Oliver's temple.
"You won't be calling her," Bruno growls. "You won't be seeing her. You won't be—"
"He's my best friend." I step closer to Bruno, close enough to touch his wheelchair. "He's family."
"Antonella." Oliver's voice is firmer now. "Please. Just go. I'll be fine."
I look at Bruno. At the gun. At the terrified people around us who are probably seconds away from calling the police.
"You're unbelievable," I say.
I turn and walk toward the door.
Behind me, I hear Bruno's wheelchair moving.
I push through the door and step onto the sidewalk. The SUV is parked at the curb, Liam standing beside it with his hand on his weapon, scanning the street.
I don't wait for anyone to open the door. I yank it open myself and climb inside, slamming it shut behind me.