Chapter Fifty
Chiara
I check the clock again and frown. He’s been gone for hours, and I have no idea where he is and when he is coming back. The house feels too big without him. I pace between the kitchen and the living room, trying not to check my phone every thirty seconds like some pathetic lovesick teenager.
He’s busy, he doesn’t owe you anything, my mind reasons. It must be business.
Except… lately he’s been disappearing more and more, coming home in the dead of night, and leaving earlier than he used to. And yet, every time he’s near, he makes me feel like I’m the only person he sees. And worse, the only person who matters to him.
A stupid, humiliating thought keeps forcing its way into my brain no matter how many times I shove it down—what if he’s done? What if he’s lost interest?
I don’t want to care. I shouldn’t care. But my stomach has been tied in knots all goddamn evening.
Lorenzo’s voice slithers into my mind, poisonous and persistent. ”A leopard never changes its spots.“
What if he’s seeing someone? Suddenly, the walls are closing in as my throat constricts and bile creeps up my throat, but I try to breathe through it.
I jump when my phone buzzes. My heart lurches in my chest and I’m swiping the message on my phone before my mind can catch up.
And I freeze.
It’s not a message, but a picture. A car in deep green—"It’s called Forest Green, cara mia”—lies crumpled and overturned in the middle of the road. Lucas’ Aston Martin. There’s glass everywhere, smoke is curling up from the wreck.
“No,” I whisper brokenly. “No, no, no!”
A second photo appears before I can even breathe.
My blood runs cold.
Lucas. He’s slumped on a chair, hands obviously tied behind his back. His head is hanging over his chest but I can see blood smears running down his temple and jaw onto his shirt.
“It’s not real,” I whisper brokenly. “It can’t—”
My phone vibrates again, this time with an incoming text.
We have something that belongs to you. If you want to see him alive, you’ll do exactly as we say—
My lungs seize and my vision blurs so much that I can’t read the rest of the instructions.
Someone took him, my mind screams. He’s hurt.
* * * *
The address they sent me leads to the Boston docks. Wind whips across the empty loading bays, rattling chains and making the ships groan like dying animals. My headlights cut through the darkness, the beam sweeping over a massive cargo ship moored to the far end of the pier.
This has to be it. My fingers tremble on the wheel, but I force myself to breathe. Every instinct screams to run, but I can’t turn back. I cut the engine and climb out of the car.
A man steps out of the shadows, a gun strapped visibly at his waist. He jerks his chin.
“Inside. Crew cabin.”
My legs feel like jelly, but I move forward, up the gangway, into the ship’s cavernous depths.
The inside is dim and eerily silent except for the occasional groans and clanks of the metal and the splashing of the waves against the hull.
My steps and my breaths sound too loud in this silence as terror makes my gut churn. I am utterly alone and vulnerable.
”We are monitoring your phone. If you tell anyone we’ll know, and your husband dies.”
The inside feels like a maze, at every turn I stop to look for the sign leading to the crew’s cabin.
My heart slams against my ribs as I walk deeper and deeper into the belly of the ship.
Until I stand in front of a door. The man guarding it pulls the heavy steel panel open and I step inside.
My heart hammers wildly against my ribcage when a second guard slams the door shut behind me and stations himself at my back, cutting off the only way out.
I turn toward what looks to be a dimly lit office and take a slow step forward.
Then I see him.
“Lucas,” I murmur, barely a breath.
He is tied to a metal chair in the center of the dimly lit room.
His wrists are bound behind him, judging from the way his shoulders are pulled back in an awkward angle.
His head hangs slightly, and dried blood trails down the side of his face.
His crumpled shirt is torn open and covered in dirt and blood. Every breath he takes looks painful.
His head lifts when he hears my voice. “Cara mia…” he rasps. His voice is hoarse, his face bruised and bloody. There is a deep gash running from his brow down to his jaw, and his nose looks broken.
Every piece of me threatens to shatter. Before I can take another step forward, a shadow emerges from behind him and I let out a gasp when I recognize the man.
Lorenzo Vitale.
He places the barrel of a gun against the back of Lucas’ head. “Ah,” Lorenzo purrs, “there she is, right on time.”
I swallow the bile rising in my throat and force my breathing to steady. “What do you want?” I ask, schooling my face into an emotionless mask.
“Oh, straight to the point. I like that.” He circles Lucas slowly, then stops in front of me. “You will divorce him”—he motions toward Lucas with his gun—“and marry me.”
“Let him go first. This has nothing to do with him.”
He shakes his head. “No. It has everything to do with him.”
Lucas glares up at him, hatred simmering in his icy blue eyes.
I look back at Lorenzo. “It’s me you want. I’m here. Isn’t that enough?”
“No,” Lorenzo murmurs, coming a step closer until he is standing a few inches before me. “It’s not enough. I want your inheritance, the land in Italy, the businesses. All of it. And you’re going to give me that with your signature.”
Of course. That’s what this is all about. “And if I refuse?”
“Then your husband dies,” Lorenzo says simply. “You see, I can shoot him right now, make you a widow and enforce the contract…or you can simply sign the divorce and fulfill your mother’s wish. Become everything your mother promised you would be.”
I lift my chin. “And if I agree?”
Lorenzo’s smile turns triumphant. “Then you leave him behind, willingly, and step into the life you were always meant for. You’ll have wealth, influence, your rightful position as a queen by my side. A future far grander than anything he could ever give you.”
Lorenzo watches my face intently, but I let nothing show. I take a slow, steady breath. “You want my inheritance,” I say softly. “You want me to divorce him, walk away from this marriage completely.”
“Yes.” Lorenzo’s eyes gleam. “Willingly.”
I remain silent for a beat, as if weighing my options.
“Chiara…” Lucas’ voice is strained.
I don’t look at him. “What if…” I begin, voice low, “what if I’m not opposed to signing everything over? What if I’ve been… reconsidering things for a while now?”
Lucas’ breath catches audibly. I sense his stare burning into the side of my face, but I ignore him entirely.
Lorenzo’s expression sharpens with interest.
“Chiara,” Lucas growls, struggling against the ties. “Don’t—”
“Quiet,” Lorenzo snaps.
I keep my gaze on Lorenzo, unblinking. “I’ve been thinking a lot since the day we talked in front of my parents’ grave. And I’m beginning to see that you were right. My mother saw bigger things for me than this city has to offer.”
I keep my eyes on his and lift my chin. “But before I decide, I want to speak to him.” I tilt my head to where Lucas is seething on the chair. “To say goodbye. After all, we’ve been married for a brief moment.”
Lorenzo studies me with a speculative gaze. But then the suspicious glint becomes greedy. He relents. “You may say goodbye. One minute, and keep your hands in sight.”
I nod, shifting my emotionless gaze onto Lucas.
I saunter toward him. When I am standing before him, I trail my fingers over his shoulder, then slide them up to his jaw to tilt his head up.
His eyes are filled with pain, confusion and something akin to betrayal, but I steel myself, not letting any emotion show.
“Lucas, Lucas, Lucas,” I murmur in a soft tut of mock-disappointment. “You made me fall for your pretty face and your playboy charm. And look where it landed me.” I grab his chin and angle his face higher. “Trapped in a marriage you forced on me with that overblown sense of duty of yours.”
His jaw tightens and his breath comes out faster, but he says nothing.
“I was never meant to be the underboss’s wife,” I continue, letting contempt permeate every word. “I’ve spent my whole life dreaming bigger. I was born to be a queen, not a consolation prize.”
My finger traces the gash from his brow to his jaw, knowing it must sting.
“But look at you now. What are you now without your pretty face, hmmm?” I lean in, voice dropping to a lethal whisper.
“Guess what—you’re nothing. With you, I’ll always be second best. You’re dead weight, Lucas, a burden I’m done dragging around. ”
He flinches, whether it’s the pain of the cut or the words, I can’t tell.
His breathing turns rough, strained, but he stays silent.
Then he lifts his head enough for me to see the resignation in his bruised eyes.
The blue, once so vibrant, has dulled, and the look in their depths is hollow.
His voice is low, like gravel scraping over broken glass.
“If you’re choosing what he’s offering,” he forces out, “if that’s…
what you want…then I won’t stand in your way. ” He lets his head hang in defeat.
“Good,” I say simply. “Because it’s exactly what I want.”
I circle him slowly, letting my tone cut like a blade. “I was born a Mafia princess, Lucas. I was meant for more than this.”
I stop behind him. “I was never meant to live small. Or under you. And you forced me.”
My hands settle on his shoulders, barely a brush, but he stiffens under my touch. I lean closer, bringing my lips to his ear. My voice is soft and deadly.
“You want one last truth, Lucas?” I let the silence linger. “I never loved you. You were nothing more than a brief distraction.”
His shoulders tense and he swallows audibly.
“So you have nothing to say at all?” I taunt.
But he remains silent and unmoving, head hanging over his chest. After several beats of silence, I straighten, dragging my palms over his shoulders and tap them lightly before letting go.
Then I walk toward Lorenzo with a sensuous sway of my hips.
He watches me approach with smug satisfaction.
I stop in front of him, tilting my chin up. “I’ll divorce him,” I say softly. “And when it’s done…I’ll marry you.”
His eyes gleam in victory and his smile turns predatory.
“But,” I continue, letting a slow, sultry smile form, “before we talk business…I want your man out.” I trail a finger suggestively over his jacket lapel. “Let me show you how appreciative I am that you’re making me your queen.”
I lean closer, letting my breath ghost over his neck. “Let me show you how serious I am about this alliance. I’m sure”—I let my eyes drop meaningfully to his mouth—“I can…distract you from your responsibilities. Just for a little while.”
He pauses for a heartbeat, desire and ego darkening his gray eyes. Then he snaps his fingers and his guard immediately steps out of the room.
When the door clicks shut, his gaze clouds with lust and his lips curl into a wolfish grin.
I take the final step toward him, sliding my hand up his chest to his neck to pull his head down toward mine. Then I press my lips to his in a slow, sensual kiss.