Chapter Sixteen LEO #2
“You did all this on purpose,” she sobbed.
“Yes.” I inhaled the sweet, floral scent of her locks. “I couldn’t resist you. I had to have you.”
A wet laugh escaped her. Broken around the edges. “I hate that you know exactly what you’re doing to me.”
I brushed my fingers slowly through her loose blonde hair.
“No,” I said quietly against the top of her head. “You hate that your body likes it anyway.”
She went silent after that. Not because she agreed. Because she couldn’t deny it anymore.
The room settled into softer silence around us, candlelight flickering low against the walls while the city glowed beneath the windows. Chiara stayed curled against my chest eventually, tense little inch by tense little inch relaxing beneath my hands.
I kept waiting for her to pull away again. She didn’t. Interesting. My hand drifted slowly down her spine, tracing soothing circles over skin I knew was still bruised from her father’s belt. Rage simmered low beneath my ribs again at the memory.
Someone had hurt my wife before she walked down that aisle tonight. Someone had broken something inside her. And I was going to find out who.
Chiara’s breathing deepened gradually against my chest. She was asleep. I studied her quietly for a long moment after her body finally softened completely in my arms. No fighting. No tears. No trembling. Just warm, sleepy little breaths against my throat while she unconsciously curled closer.
She was mine forever now. The possessive thought slid through me darkly.
Usually, sometime after midnight, the nightmares came. I already knew the signs now. The crying. The begging for her father to stop. Calling for her siblings. But it never came.
No frightened whimpers. No tears soaking into the pillow. No panic clawing through her sleep.
Chiara slept peacefully in my arms for the first time since I took her from Ventura’s house. And God help me, the realization pleased me far more than it should have.
Morning light spilled pale gold across the bridal suite by the time I opened my eyes. Chiara was still asleep against my chest. I stayed still for a moment, watching her.
Her face looked softer like this. Younger.
Not the furious little wife constantly trying to claw at me, but the exhausted girl buried underneath all that rage.
Blonde hair tangled across the pillow and over my arm.
Lips parted slightly in sleep. One hand curled unconsciously into my shirt like she’d grabbed hold of me sometime during the night and never let go.
Interesting. More interesting? No nightmares. Not one.
My gaze drifted slowly over the faint tension still lingering between her brows even in sleep. Something ugly twisted beneath my ribs again at the memory of the bruises on her back and how much her behavior had changed since our vows.
It was her Papa’s fault. I already knew. I just needed confirmation.
Carefully, I slid out from beneath her without waking her. Chiara stirred slightly, making a soft sound beneath her breath before curling deeper into the blankets instead. Cute.
I adjusted the silk sheets over her bare legs before crossing the suite quietly.
By the time I stepped into the hallway, Sergio was already waiting near the elevator. Of course he was. My right-hand man took one look at my face and snorted.
“Well,” he drawled. “You look terrifyingly pleased with yourself.”
I adjusted my cufflinks calmly. “Good morning to you too.”
“That good, huh?” he teased. I glanced at him flatly.
Sergio grinned. “So the wedding night didn’t end in murder. I’ll take that as progress.”
“She cried because I wouldn’t fuck her,” I admitted.
His eyebrows shot upward. Then he burst out laughing. A real laugh. Loud enough it echoed off the marble walls. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
“The innocent little Ventura?” Sergio whistled. “Seems like she’s as whipped as you are.”
“She’s not Ventura anymore. That’s Signora Moretti to you now,” I corrected coldly.
Sergio smirked harder. “Right. Your wife cried because you denied her your dick. Jesus Christ.”
“She’s hiding something.” That wiped the amusement from his face.
His expression sharpened. “You sure?”
“Yes.”
“You think Ventura told her?” he asked. Rage flashed hot beneath my skin so quickly I nearly welcomed it.
“I think Lorenzo Ventura filled her head with something before the wedding,” I said calmly. “And I think he’s going to tell me exactly what.”
Sergio went quiet for half a second. Then he smiled slowly. Meanly.
“Ah,” he murmured. “So that’s the mood today.”
I stepped into the elevator first. “Get the car.”
The drive took over an hour. Rain streaked slowly across the tinted windows while the city disappeared behind us mile by mile. Sergio drove in silence most of the way, though I caught him glancing toward me occasionally.
Probably because I hadn’t stopped thinking about Chiara since leaving the suite. Annoying.
Her tears from last night kept replaying in my head. Making me want things I had no business wanting. Softness. Possession. Protection. I hated all of it.
By the time the Ventura estate gates finally appeared through the rain, my mood had turned vicious again. Good.
The guards opened the gates as soon as they saw it was a Moretti car approaching, their loyalty to Ventura waning in my presence. Cowards.
The mansion loomed ahead exactly as I remembered it. Grand. Expensive. Pretending wealth erased weakness. It didn’t.
Sergio parked slowly beneath the stone entrance.
“You want me in the room?” he asked.
I nodded, and we stepped inside together. The staff scattered. Fear rolled through the mansion before I’d even spoken a word. Perfect.
Lorenzo Ventura was waiting in his study when the doors opened. He stood too quickly the second he saw me. Sweat already glistened at his temples. Interesting. Because technically?
He’d won. He got exactly what he wanted. Chiara married off. His reputation protected. His precious alliance with the Morettis secured. And a hefty part of my father’s empire. And yet he still looked terrified. As he should.
“Signore Moretti,” he greeted tightly. I ignored the greeting entirely and sat without invitation. Sergio moved silently toward the liquor cart near the window. Ventura’s eyes flicked toward him nervously.
“Relax,” I murmured. “If I came here to kill you, you’d already be dead.”
That did not comfort him nearly as much as I think he hoped it would. Sergio poured three glasses of bourbon smoothly. I watched Ventura carefully while Sergio handed me mine first. Then Sergio crossed toward Ventura. Right before the glass changed hands, I reached out lazily.
“Wait,” I said.
Ventura froze. I took his glass personally.
Then, while holding his terrified gaze, I adjusted the cuff of my sleeve with my free hand.
A small movement. Quick. Invisible. The capsule slipped soundlessly into the bourbon and dissolved.
Ventura noticed nothing - or if he did, he was too terrified to make a peep about it.
I handed the drink back with a faint smile. “There. Enjoy. It’s forty years old.”
His hand shook slightly accepting it. Good. I took a slow sip from my own glass.
“So,” I said conversationally. “Tell me what you said to my wife before the wedding.”
Ventura blinked too quickly. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Lie. I smiled faintly over the rim of my glass. “Try again.”
“I told Chiara what any father would tell his daughter before marriage,” he said carefully. “Nothing more.”
Sergio leaned lazily against the desk nearby. Watching. Waiting. Ventura swallowed hard beneath the silence stretching across the room. I let him stew in it for a while before speaking again.
“She walked down the aisle terrified of me.”
“That sounds like Chiara,” he said too quickly. “She’s emotional. Dramatic-”
“She cried in my bed,” I interrupted calmly. That shut him up. My gaze stayed fixed on him.
“She looked at me like something inside her broke before she ever reached that altar,” I continued softly. “So I’ll ask one final time.”
I set my glass down carefully. “What did you tell my wife?”
Ventura’s forehead glistened now. “N-Nothing.”
I sighed. Disappointed. Then I smiled. Coldly. “That’s unfortunate.”
His face paled slightly. “What?”
I leaned back in the chair casually. “Because you just poisoned yourself.”
Silence. Complete silence. Ventura stared at me. Then laughed nervously. “What?”
“The bourbon,” I clarified. “You really should stop accepting drinks from men called The Serpent.”
The glass slipped from his hand and shattered violently across the floor. Sergio grinned.
Ventura lurched halfway out of his chair. “You’re lying.”
“Am I?” I cocked my head to the side. Panic exploded across his face. His breathing turned ragged as he clawed at his throat.
“There’s no point trying to vomit it up,” I said mildly. “It’s already in your bloodstream.”
“You fucking psycho-” Ventura choked out.
“The next week,” I continued calmly, “is going to be extraordinarily unpleasant for you.”
Ventura stumbled backward into the desk. Sweat poured down his face now.
“You’ll start with stomach pain first. Then muscle failure. Fever. Hallucinations.” I tilted my head slightly. “Eventually your organs begin shutting down one by one.”
“T-That’s impossible-” he stuttered.
“No,” I corrected softly. “What’s impossible is surviving it without me.”
Sergio crossed his arms, watching the breakdown unfold with visible enjoyment. Ventura’s breathing turned sharp and panicked. “You’re bluffing.”
I smiled slowly. Right on cue, Ventura doubled over with a violent gasp, clutching his stomach. The poison always worked fast psychologically once fear took hold. Beautiful thing, panic.
“You bastard,” he choked. I stood slowly from the chair. Towering over him.