Chapter Twenty-Three CHIARA
The first thing I noticed was that Angelo smelled expensive. Not safe. Not kind. Not clean. Expensive.
His cologne reached me before he did, something sharp and smoky layered over citrus and cedar, the kind of scent that belonged in private clubs, black cars, and rooms where men made decisions that ruined women.
It wrapped around me as soon as I stepped out of the service corridor and into the lower lobby of the hotel, clinging to my throat until I almost turned around. Almost. But then I saw him.
Angelo Moretti stood near the far wall beneath a chandelier made of long, dripping crystals.
He wasn’t hiding. Of course he wasn’t. Men like him didn’t hide.
He lounged there in a dark suit, hands in his pockets, his mouth curved like he’d known exactly when I’d arrive. Like he’d known I would arrive.
A terrible chill passed through me. Still, when his gaze found mine, relief hit so hard my knees nearly weakened. I had made it.
I had gotten out of Leo’s penthouse. Out of his tower.
Out of his locked rooms and glass walls and suffocating silence.
I had stolen Sergio’s keys with my pulse pounding hard enough to make me dizzy, slipped through a door I was not supposed to open, and run as far as my shaking legs could carry me.
I should have felt free. Instead, I felt like I had stepped into another cage and simply hadn’t found the bars yet. Angelo smiled.
“There you are,” he said softly. “The runaway wife.”
I hugged my coat tighter around myself. It was too big, stolen from a closet near the penthouse entrance, and it swallowed my body to my knees.
I had no purse. No phone. No money except the few bills I’d found tucked into the pocket.
My hair was loose and tangled from the wind.
My hands were numb. And I was still wearing Leo’s ring.
I curled my fingers into my palm before Angelo could look at it.
“You said you would help me,” I said.
“I did.” His smile widened, charming enough to make my stomach twist. “And here I am.”
He crossed the lobby toward me with easy confidence, moving like the whole hotel belonged to him. Maybe it did. Maybe every building in this city belonged to some monster with a beautiful smile and blood under his fingernails.
When he reached me, he didn’t touch me. That should have reassured me. It didn’t. His gaze moved over my face, my throat, my coat, down to my bare legs and the shoes I had shoved on in a panic. Too slow. Too aware.
“Jesus,” he murmured. “You look terrified.”
“I am terrified,” I admitted.
His expression softened in a way that seemed almost believable. “Of Leo?”
My throat tightened. I wanted to say yes. I wanted it to be simple. I wanted Leo to be the villain and Angelo to be the rescue and myself to be the girl clever enough to know the difference.
But Leo’s face flashed in my head before I could answer. The way he had looked at me when I trembled beneath him. The way his hands had stopped when I broke. The way he had watched me like he wanted to ruin the world for making me cry.
Then another image came. Papa pale in a hospital bed. Leo’s poison. Leo’s lies. Leo’s voice telling me I belonged to him.
“Yes,” I said, forcing the word out. “Of Leo.”
Angelo studied me for a second too long. Then he nodded, as if I had passed a test.
“Come upstairs,” he said. “You’re shaking.”
“I don’t want to go anywhere private.”
His brows lifted, amused. “Chiara, sweetheart, if I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn’t need privacy.”
The words settled between us. Soft. Polite. Awful. My fingers tightened around the coat.
Angelo seemed to realize his mistake, because he gave a small laugh and lifted both hands, palms out. “That came out wrong.”
“No,” I whispered. “I think it came out exactly right.”
Something flickered in his eyes. Not anger. Not yet. Interest. He liked that I noticed.
“You really are wasted on him,” he said.
I swallowed. “On Leo?”
“On all of us,” he muttered. Before I could respond, he turned and walked toward the elevator. He didn’t look back right away. He knew I would follow. I hated that I did.
The elevator doors opened soundlessly, revealing a mirrored interior that reflected me from every angle. Pale face. Wide eyes. Swollen lips from biting them. A girl pretending she hadn’t just run from one dangerous man into the arms of another.
Angelo pressed the button for the top floor.
Of course. My stomach sank as the doors closed.
For a moment, there was only the hum of the elevator and the faint sound of music drifting from somewhere below.
Angelo stood beside me, close enough that I felt the warmth of him, but not close enough to accuse.
“You did well getting out,” he said.
I stared at our warped reflections in the mirrored doors. “Did I?”
He smiled. “Better than I expected.”
That made me look at him. “What does that mean?”
“It means Leo’s security is usually more competent.”
“Sergio trusted me,” I whispered.
“He won’t make that mistake again.” Angelo winked at me.
The thought of Sergio’s face when he realized what I’d done made guilt pinch sharply beneath my ribs. He had been kind to me in his own blunt, silent way. He had left his phone for only a minute. His keys for even less. And I had taken both.
“What will Leo do to him?” I asked before I could stop myself.
Angelo’s mouth curved. “Still worried about Leo’s men?”
“I asked what he’ll do,” I insisted.
“To Sergio?” He shrugged. “Depends how badly your husband panics.”
My husband. The word pierced straight through me.
“He won’t panic,” I said.
Angelo looked at me then, really looked at me, and the amusement in his eyes made my skin crawl.
“Oh, cara,” he murmured. “You have no idea what you are to him, do you?”
The elevator chimed. The doors opened into a private suite that smelled like leather, liquor, and rain against glass.
The room beyond was enormous, wrapped in dark windows overlooking the city.
Lamps glowed gold in the corners. A fire burned low along one wall, too sleek and modern to be comforting. Everything was beautiful.
Everything was wrong. Angelo stepped in first and gestured lazily. “After you.”
I moved inside slowly. The door slid shut behind us. My heartbeat changed. Not louder. Lower.
He walked to the bar and poured water into a crystal glass, then set it on the table nearest me. I stared at it.
Angelo laughed under his breath. “He really did a number on you.”
My gaze snapped to his.
“You think everything is poisoned now?” he asked.
I said nothing. His smile softened again, almost pitying.
“Leo loves making people afraid of ordinary things. Food. Wine. Medicine. Gifts.” He picked up the glass and drank from it himself. Then he poured another and held it out. “Better?”
It should have been. It wasn’t. But my throat was painfully dry, and my hands shook when I took the glass. I drank too fast. Cold water slid down my throat, settling hard in my empty stomach. I hated that my eyes burned. Angelo watched me over the rim of his own glass.
“Sit,” he said.
The word hit differently from Leo’s mouth. Leo made commands sound like chains. Angelo made them sound like invitations you were foolish to refuse.
I sat on the edge of the sofa, careful not to sink too deeply into the cushions.
My ankle throbbed from the escape, the old bite aching like a warning.
The room was too quiet. Too high. Too much like Leo’s penthouse.
Angelo took the chair across from me, one ankle resting on his knee.
For a few seconds, he only looked at me.
“You’re prettier when you’re angry,” he said eventually.
My spine stiffened. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Talk to me like that,” I said.
He tilted his head. “Like what?”
“Like I’m something you’re considering buying,” I hissed.
His smile returned, slow and pleased. “I wondered how long it would take for your claws to come back.”
“I didn’t come here for this,” I reminded him.
“No,” he agreed. “You came here because Leo broke your heart.”
The words landed so unexpectedly I almost flinched. “He did not break my heart.”
“No?” Angelo leaned back. “Then why do you look like that?”
“Like what?” I fought back.
“Like a woman who found out her monster was actually a monster.”
I looked away. The city glittered beyond the windows, cold and endless. Somewhere out there, Leo was probably discovering I was gone. Somewhere, Sergio was realizing I had used him. Somewhere, men were being ordered into cars with guns beneath their jackets.
And part of me hated myself because I wanted to feel Leo coming. I wanted the air to change. I wanted that terrifying certainty that he would tear through anything between us. I pressed the heel of my hand against my chest.
“You told me my father was dying,” I said. “You told me Leo poisoned him.”
“Because he did.”
My breath caught. Angelo’s face had gone still. Not playful now. Not charming. Truth looked ugly on him.
“How do you know?” I asked.
“Because Leo does what Leo always does. He poisons problems.” Angelo’s mouth tightened. “Your father became a problem.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because Lorenzo Ventura is an idiot who thought he could threaten a Moretti and survive it.” Angelo shrugged. “Big mistake.”
My pulse drummed painfully. “Threaten him how?”
Angelo’s gaze narrowed slightly, as if he hadn’t meant to give me that much. Then he smiled again. “He didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?” I asked, confused.
“Oh, that’s delicious.”
“Angelo.” My tone was pleading now, and I hated it.
He lifted his hands. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not the husband who keeps you locked in a tower.”
“No,” I said quietly. “You’re the man who wanted me to leave it.”
“And you did,” he reminded me.
“Why, Angelo?” I insisted.