Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
Tony
Some words don’t mean anything until you live them. You don’t know suffocation until you drown. You can’t judge poverty until you’ve tasted hunger. War and peace mean nothing until a bullet whistles past your ear.
For me, that word is fear. I never understood it until today. But now, watching Lucia slip from my grasp and fall, I understand the essence of terror for the very first time in my life, with every part of me.
The second she disappears I jump after her.
No thinking. No hesitation. I’ve never been in this house before.
I have no idea what’s waiting below. I could land on flat ground, a thorn bush, or even iron railings.
But in this moment, life or death doesn’t fucking matter.
All I care about is shielding Lucia from harm, even if the odds of catching her mid-air are almost nonexistent.
Only when I hit do I realize we’ve fallen into water. As I thrash to orient myself, I look around and spot her rising toward the surface. I know she’s a skilled swimmer, but that doesn’t matter now.
I need to reach her. I need her in my arms. I need to know she’s okay.
Here, in the darkness, beneath the water, with my lungs screaming for air, I come face-to-face with a truth I’ve been denying all along.
This woman means more to me than anything in the world.
More than the food I eat, the air I breathe, or every dollar I own.
For her, I’d sacrifice my power, my wealth, even my life in a heartbeat.
In the brief moment that feels like an eternity, I reach her. I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her upward.
Seconds later, we break the surface, gasping for air like we’ve been starved of it for days. I swim toward the edge of the pool, the one that just saved our lives, and spot Rafael rushing toward us.
I pass the coughing and sputtering Lucia into Rafael’s hands as he kneels by the water’s edge. Planting my right forearm on the edge of the pool, I haul myself out and immediately kneel beside her.
I gather her shaking body into my arms, my hand cradling her face as I examine her closely. Her skin is pale, almost bluish, and she’s sobbing uncontrollably, her breaths hitching with each cry.
The chill in the night air sinks into my own wet skin, sending a shiver through me, but all I can focus on is her. My gaze falls on her barely covered body, and a wave of self-loathing hits me. What kind of man forces his woman to wear something like this?
Without hesitation, I lift her into my arms again and head toward the entrance. Lucia, her teeth chattering, begins to cry harder. “Don’t… don’t take me back… to that… house.”
I stop in my tracks mid-step and look down at her.
Her face is turned up to me, her eyes filled with desperation. She still feels unsafe. Still thinks that even with me here, someone might harm her.
And why shouldn’t she?
Goddamn me, she has every right to think I’m a worthless, fucking bastard. Rage at myself floods my veins, burning through the cold like armor.
I change direction and head toward the car. As the driver opens the back door, Rafael approaches with a thick blanket. I wrap it around Lucia’s trembling frame, keeping her close to my chest as I climb into the car without setting her down.
Rafael moves with lightning speed, sliding into the front seat as the driver starts the car and cranks the heater to full blast. Lucia shifts in my arms, trying to pull away, but I don’t let her.
Both arms tighten around her, holding her firmly against my chest. I can’t let her slip away again. I just can’t.
Her body is still shivering hard. I bury my face into the curve of her neck, pressing soft kisses against her chilled skin.
Rafael’s voice breaks through the tense silence. “Doctor’s already on his way to the penthouse. He’ll beat us there.”
I just pull Lucia closer to my chest.
Minutes pass. As the warmth inside the car builds, the violent shaking of her body begins to subside. Her skin, still under my lips, feels warmer between the soft, lingering kisses I place along her neck.
Then her voice comes—a weak, broken whisper, like the dying breath of someone barely holding on. “How could you?”
My eyes squeeze shut, and my hand clenches into a fist.
Her weak voice cuts through the silence again. “I’m the mother of your child. A child who hasn’t even been born yet. How could you hand me over to a pack of men like that?”
This time, I lift my head, my gaze snapping to hers, burning with anger. My breaths come heavy, my nostrils flaring. “I just wanted to scare you. To punish you.”
“You’re lying.” She raises her voice. “You made me dress like a whore,”
I just stare at her. What could I possibly say to defend myself? Everything she’s saying is true. And yet, her defiance, her boldness to throw it back in my face, only fuels my anger.
I’m a fucking piece of trash, and I know it.
Her voice cuts sharper this time. “You could’ve killed our baby. The baby you forced…”
I don’t let her finish. I kiss her. The kiss is soft but possessive.
I take her lower lip between mine, tasting her.
She tries to pull away, to end it, but I don’t let her.
I need to feel her, so I can breathe again.
I need to taste her, to wash away the bitterness of fear still clinging in my mouth.
I cup her cheek and gently turn her face toward me. She doesn’t kiss me back, but she lets me press my lips against hers again and again, savoring her. I don’t know how long I kiss her, but by the time I pull back, the chaos in my veins has settled into a stillness.
I look into her beautiful eyes and wish I could tell her how sorry I am, how deeply ashamed I feel.
But I can’t.
Why?
Because I’m a selfish son of a bitch.
***
One Week Later
I cover my nose with a handkerchief and kneel beside the bloated corpse.
The stench of decay finds its way through anyway.
I ignore the lifeless eyes, wide open and vacant, and focus on the mark carved into his forehead.
C.B.—Carlo Bruni, that son of a bitch. A whole continent away, and yet every day, I’m finding the bodies of my men scattered across the city, each one branded with his damned signature.
This one stings more than the others. The dead man lying in front of me was the lawyer supposed to handle Lucia’s divorce from that bastard.
I get to my feet and take a step back from the body. Blue and red sirens flash across the alley, but I know no one will disturb us until we’re gone. Every cop in this neighborhood is on my payroll. I put food on their tables, and in return, they wag their tails for me like loyal dogs.
I light a cigarette, taking in the scene. Rafael, along with a few of my armed men, stands guard nearby. He catches my look and walks over.
“Give him a proper burial. Does he have family?” I ask.
“A father, mother, a sister, and a wife.”
I nod, emphasizing my point. “Make sure they’re taken care of. Tell them as long as I’m breathing, they get paid every month.”
“Understood, boss. We should clear out and let the cops do their job.”
I flick the cigarette onto the wet asphalt and slide into the backseat. As the vehicle starts moving, my phone buzzes with a message from Senator McKay,
“Heard there are irregularities in Mrs. DeLucci’s paperwork. Better get it reviewed in Rome. If it’s clean there, it stays clean here. No one wants jurisdictional issues.”
The message is clear. I can’t finalize Lucia’s divorce until Carlo lets it happen. Otherwise, he’ll kill any lawyer or judge who dares to touch the case. That’s what the senator has picked up on, and why he’s staying far away.
I chew the corner of my lip, staring at the screen, anger boiling inside me. I grip the device so tightly it’s as if Carlo’s neck is in my hands instead.
“Bad news?” Rafael asks.
I hold the phone out to him without a word, turning my attention to the street outside. The neighborhood is a wasteland, a rotting carcass of a city that looks like its residents vanished ages ago. Ironically, it generates some of my highest revenue streams.
“The senator’s right. With Carlo’s reach in Italy and the killers he’s got here, there’s no way he’ll let Lucia divorce him legally.”
“Carlo’s definitely getting help from Noah’s crew,” I say. “Start asking around, find out who’s seen what.”
“And then what?”
I glance at him. The tattoos snaking up his neck peek out from under his collar, a stark reminder of the violence he thrives on. “Find out who’s involved. Then make sure every person over thirteen connected to them loses a trigger finger before the month is over.”
Rafael raises an eyebrow, a wicked grin curling at the corner of his lips. I turn back to the window, my voice low as I mutter, “Let’s see who’s got the balls to pull a gun on my men after that.”
“Good idea. I’ll collect the fingers and send them to Noah in a nice box.”
I’m not in the mood to even smirk.
“There’s a way to deal with Carlo that could make him crawl into a hole for a while,” he adds.
“What do you mean?”
“If word of Lucia’s pregnancy gets to his men...”
I raise a hand to silence him. “Never. No one can know about this—ever.”
“But it’s your ace in the hole. You’d degrade Carlo so badly that everyone in Italy, young and old, would spit on his honor.”
“This isn’t about Carlo. We’re talking about my child, a child I won’t let be branded a bastard.
That’s why I’ve gone to such lengths to get Lucia’s divorce finalized.
Besides, no one knows Carlo locked her in a gilded cage and kept his dick in his pants the whole time.
If this leaks, there’s no stopping filthy rumors that the baby might be his.
The last thing I want is for Carlo’s goddamn name to even brush against what’s mine.
I’ve endured that once before, but not anymore.
My wealth, my power, my woman, my child—they are mine, without question or compromise. ”