Chapter 23
POV: Adrian
And I knew, from the second she walked out that door, that I never would. She would haunt me. Her laugh. Her kiss. Her touch. Every fucking thing. The ghost of her would live in my bones forever.
Then my eyes found Riccardo.
My brother was unraveling right in front of me, tears soaking his cheeks, his body trembling.
He kept whispering why? over and over like a child.
And I hated myself. Hated that I let someone so dangerous into his fragile world.
That I let her touch him, comfort him, heal him—only for her to destroy him when she destroyed me.
I was guilty. All of this was on me.
Bella had her arms around him, trying to hold him together. But I could see it in her eyes—she was broken too. She had let Amanda in, trusted her, loved her like a sister. She was the one who brought her here. And now she was bleeding because of it.
Before she left the room, Bella looked at me and whispered, I’m sorry.
Sorry for what? For Riccardo? For herself? For my heart that was lying in pieces all over the fucking floor? I didn’t know. I didn’t care.
All I knew was that I was empty.
Then my mother spoke. Her voice sharp, final.
“You will be going to the dinner anyway.”
For a minute I just stared at her, blank, like I didn’t even know what she was talking about. Dinner?
The fucking dinner.
I had forgotten.
My chest tightened until I thought it would collapse. The last thing I wanted was to sit at a table, raise a glass, play politics. But I was the king.
And kings don’t get to bleed in front of their enemies.
So I nodded. Because I needed an excuse. An excuse to drown in whiskey, to drink until maybe—maybe—I could stop seeing Amanda’s face when I closed my eyes.
I turned and walked out. My legs felt like iron, every step a war against collapsing.
One of my men had to drive me. My hands weren’t steady enough. My head wasn’t clear enough.
Before I left, I went to the bar. Grabbed a bottle of whiskey and cracked it open with shaking fingers. I poured one glass, swallowed it in a single gulp. Poured another and did the same.
It burned down my throat, scorched through my chest. But it didn’t touch the fire raging inside me.
I was a king.
I had to show them that.
Even if tonight I was a king alone.
The dinner was a fucking circus.
Crystal chandeliers, silk-draped tables, the perfume of money and blood mixing in the air. Everyone dressed like royalty. Everyone pretending not to be killers.
And me?
I was a king without a queen.
The whiskey in my veins wasn’t enough. My chest still burned, my throat still ached from choking back a scream I hadn’t let out. I forced my shoulders back, straightened my tie, and walked into that casino like my world wasn’t already in ruins.
Eyes turned. They always did. But tonight, I felt their stares digging deeper, hunting for cracks. They wanted to see if the great Adrian De Lucca was slipping. If I’d bleed. If I’d break.
And maybe I already had.
The De Lacquas sat stiff at their table. Tense. Watching me too closely. Even Anny—who never missed a chance to smirk at me, toss her hair, bat her lashes—was stone-faced tonight. Cold.
That told me everything.
I was right to suspect them.
Right to smell betrayal in the air.
But even knowing all this, I couldn’t stop my mind from drifting.
To Amanda, in a silver dress, stealing every breath in the room.
Her smile, cutting through the chaos, making a clever comment that stole my focus—or the way she’d swing her hips, just because she knew exactly the effect it had on me.
How she could’ve pulled me into a corner, in the middle of a party, and commanded my attention without words.
How she would’ve kept a gun close, because she wanted to protect me, or maybe she thought she did.
From imagining her hand on my arm, her presence slicing through the venom and smoke of this room. She should’ve been here. My queen. My fox. Mia Regina.
Instead… she was gone. And I was choking on the hollow she left behind.
“My king.”
Armani Esposito clapped me on the back, pulling me into a brief, perfunctory embrace.
His cologne hit like a blade. He said something—about business, alliances, who the hell knows?
I nodded, answered in clipped words. Half of it didn’t reach me.
My head was full of Amanda. Her laugh. Her voice.
The way she whispered I love you like she meant it.
I wanted to believe she meant it. God help me—I still did.
I shook him off, moved to the bar, poured another glass of whiskey. My hands didn’t shake this time. Rage steadied them.
“Adrian, my boy.”
The voice yanked me back from the edge. Vittorio Mancini eased up beside me, leaning in with a calm so practiced it was infuriating.
Suit sharp, smile warm—like a grandfather’s, like a friend’s.
A man who fed half the dons in this city, owned half the best trattorias, and moved like nothing could ever catch him off guard. Reliable. Harmless.
Tonight, even his calm grated on me.
“The plan is still in motion,” he said smoothly, swirling his wine like it was blood. “We’ll make the De Lacquas sweat tonight. Let them see the years of power your family holds.”
I forced a smirk, lips heavy. “Good. Let them choke on it.”
He chuckled, clapping my shoulder as if he hadn’t just spoken about war in the middle of wine and steak. “That’s the spirit. But I need you with me. Adjust a few details. Come to my office.”
Normally, I’d have brushed it off, told him to stick to the plan. But tonight… my mind wasn’t in this room. Not really.
It was back with Amanda. Her blue eyes, drowning in tears. Her whispered I love you, still echoing in my skull, haunting me like a ghost that wouldn’t die. Her betrayal—her betrayal—felt like someone had ripped my heart from my chest and left a raw, bleeding hollow in its place.
I couldn’t breathe without feeling her absence. Couldn’t move without feeling the empty space she had once filled.
I smirked again, hiding the ache that threatened to splinter me. “Okay. Let’s go.”
He smirked back, leading the way. I followed, whiskey burning down my throat but doing nothing to cauterize the wound inside me.
Because that’s what kings do.
We play the game. We wear the masks. Even while bleeding behind them.
And I followed him into the next room, the ghost of her with me, sharp as a blade, and heavier than any crown I’ve ever worn.