1. Adriana #2
Three of my father's men round the hedge and freeze at the sight of their boss's daughter on her back in a dark corner of the garden, a nobody boy on top of her with his jeans pulled down around his hips. And behind them, his face set in harsh, angry lines, is my father.
Giovanni Santoro.
The world explodes into chaos. Lachlan jerks away from me, scrambling backward, his hands fumbling to pull up his jeans. I'm frozen for a heartbeat before my body catches up to my brain, and I yank my dress down, my hands shaking so badly I can barely grip the fabric.
No. No, no, no—
"Get away from her!" One of the men lunges forward, grabbing Lachlan by the arm and wrenching him to his feet. Lachlan stumbles, still trying to fasten his jeans, and the man's fist connects with his jaw with a sickening crack that makes my stomach lurch.
"Stop!" The word tears out of my throat, raw and desperate. "Stop, please—"
But no one's listening. Another man has Lachlan now, twisting his arm behind his back, and Lachlan grunts in pain, his face contorting. The third man moves toward me, and I scramble backward on my hands, my bare feet slipping on the damp grass.
"Don't touch her." My father's voice cuts through the chaos, cold and even, and it's so much worse than shouting.
The man freezes. Everyone freezes.
Giovanni Santoro steps forward, his shoes crunching on the gravel path, and the sound is deafening in the sudden silence.
He's wearing a perfectly tailored suit without a wrinkle on it, not a hair out of place, perfectly composed despite what he's just come upon.
He looks at me the way someone might look at a dead animal on the side of the road—something distasteful.
Something ruined.
"Get up."
My legs won't work. I try to push myself up on trembling arms, but my knees buckle, and I collapse back onto the grass. Tears are streaming down my face, hot and humiliating, and I can't make them stop.
"I said get up, Adriana."
This time I manage it, but barely. I stand on shaking legs, my dress twisted and grass-stained, my hair a tangled mess around my shoulders.
I can feel the wetness between my thighs, Lachlan's cum and my arousal and virgin blood—the evidence of what we've done.
Shame burns through me so hot and fierce I think I might be sick.
My father's eyes move over me slowly. "Cover yourself," he says finally, his voice flat.
I look down and realize my dress is still bunched up around my hips on one side, showing my stained silk underwear, and I yank the fabric down with numb fingers, my face burning.
"Papa, I—"
"Quiet."
The word is a slap. I flinch, my mouth snapping shut.
Giovanni turns his attention to Lachlan, who's still held between two of his men, blood trickling from his split lip.
Lachlan's eyes find mine across the space between us, and I can see the fear and defiance there in his expression…
but I also see how much he loves me. So much that it makes my chest ache, tears spilling down my cheeks.
I don't know what will happen to me, but to him…
We've always known that. And we did it anyway. God, this was stupid. So stupid…
But I can't entirely regret it. Not when Lachlan is looking at me like he wants to make sure I'm the last thing on this earth he sees before he dies, not when I can still feel his hands on me, making me his the way we both always wanted me to be.
"Do you know who this is?" My father gestures at me almost casually, like he's pointing out a piece of furniture. "This is my daughter. My only daughter. Do you understand what that means?"
Lachlan says nothing. His expression is hard, his shoulders squared despite the hands gripping his arms.
"It means," Giovanni continues, his voice dropping lower, "that she was worth something. She had value. A virgin daughter of Giovanni Santoro—do you know how many alliances I could have made with her? How many deals I could have sealed?"
Could have. Past tense. The ground tilts beneath my feet.
"Papa, please—"
"I told you to be quiet." He doesn't even look at me. "You're worthless now. You understand that? No one will want you. No one will marry you. You're nothing but a used whore."
The words hit as hard as that punch to Lachlan's jaw. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold the pieces together, but I'm breaking apart. I can feel myself starting to shake.
"So the question becomes," my father says, turning back to Lachlan, "what do I do with you both?
I could kill you quickly. A bullet to the head, dump your bodies in the river.
Clean and simple. I could even send your father to do it for me.
" A cold, cruel smile curves his lips. "That's the kind of work he does for me, after all. Taking out the trash."
I see Lachlan's jaw clench, and the wince of pain after, and I think I'm going to be sick.
I know my father would do it—make Lachlan's dad kill us both, as a punishment for our sins.
I never thought of something so horrible, but now that I'm hearing it…
I believe it. And I can see Lachlan does, too.
My father pauses, tilting his head. "But that seems too kind, doesn't it? For the boy who ruined my daughter. For the daughter who spread her legs like a common whore on her eighteenth birthday."
"No." The word comes out as a whisper. "Papa, no, please—"
"You'll both die tomorrow," Giovanni says flatly. "In front of all of my men. I'll decide tonight how quickly I want to allow it to be. And everyone will know why. They'll know what happens when you disrespect Giovanni Santoro."
The men holding Lachlan tighten their grip, and one of them drives his fist into Lachlan's stomach. Lachlan doubles over with a choked gasp, and I lunge forward without thinking.
"Stop! Stop it, please, I'll do anything—"
A hand catches my arm, yanking me back. The third man's fingers dig into my skin hard enough to bruise.
"Let her go." Lachlan's voice is rough and strained. He's straightened up somehow, despite the pain that must be radiating through him. "Let her go. This isn't—" He coughs, spits blood onto the grass. "This isn't her fault."
"No?" My father raises an eyebrow. "She seemed quite willing from what I saw."
"She wasn't." Lachlan's eyes lock onto Giovanni's, and I can see the desperation flickering in his eyes, but I know him. My father doesn't. "She wasn't willing. I forced her."
The world stops.
"What?" The word barely makes it past my lips.
"I forced her," Lachlan says again, louder this time.
"She didn't want this. Any of this. I—I've been watching her for weeks.
Waiting for an opportunity. Tonight, at the party, I saw her go outside, and I followed her.
I grabbed her, dragged her back here. She fought me, but I'm stronger.
I held her down and I—" His voice cracks. "I raped her."
Horror washes over me, turning my blood to ice.
That's so unthinkable that I can't even believe I heard the lie spoken out loud.
Lachlan, who asked me before every kiss if I was sure, who had to be begged to take my virginity tonight, who has given me every choice I could ever want when no one else ever has…
he would never force me. He would never hurt me like that.
"No." I shake my head violently. "No, that's not true, that's not what happened—"
"Shut up, Adriana." I flinch back, fresh tears springing to my eyes because he's never spoken to me like that before. Lachlan's eyes meet mine for just a second, and I see the plea there—the desperate, silent begging. Please. Please just let me do this.
"He's lying," I say, turning to my father. "Papa, he's lying, I wanted—"
"I said shut up!" Lachlan's shout startles me into silence. "You think I care what you want? You think I give a shit about some spoiled mafia princess? I saw an opportunity, and I took it. That's all you were. An opportunity."
The cruelty in his voice feels like a knife between my ribs. I know—I know—he's lying, that he's trying to save me, but the words still hurt.
My father is watching Lachlan with an expression I can't read. "You forced her," he says slowly.
"Yes."
"She didn't consent." He phrases it differently this time, as if he's trying to goad Lachlan into admitting it's a lie.
"No."
"She fought you."
Lachlan's jaw tightens. "Yes." He tilts his head, showing the bite mark on his neck that I left there because he made me come so hard I drew blood. Now, with his lie, it looks like evidence that I fought back. That he overpowered me.
Giovanni is quiet for a long moment. Then he turns to me. "Is this true?"
My mouth opens, then closes. I look at Lachlan, at the blood on his face, at the way he's holding himself so carefully, like he's already bracing for more pain.
At the desperate hope in his eyes that I'll just go along with it.
Begging me not to make him watch me die tomorrow, make me watch his father kill the woman he loves.
I hear myself say the words, like an echo down a long hallway, and they feel and sound like they're not mine. "Yes," I whisper. "He forced me."
Something in Lachlan's expression crumbles, just for a second, before he schools it back into that hard, defiant mask.
"Well then." My father looks back at me. "That changes things, doesn't it? If you were forced, Adriana, then you're not responsible. You're still..." He waves a hand vaguely. "Damaged. But not by choice. I'll find some use for you."
Tears spill down my cheeks. I should feel relieved that I'm going to live, but all I feel is hollow, like I've torn every vital part of myself out to prevent more pain for Lachlan than he's already going to suffer.