16. Vin

It's official. I am the world's biggest jerk. A completely selfish asshole who just crushed the sweetest woman's heart.

After losing all self-control, causing a scene at the restaurant and then fucking Hannah in the car, I tell her I don't do relationships or forever. Even though I know that's exactly what she wants.

"Am I just a game to you? Another notch on your bedpost? Or, do you see a potential future with us?"

Her words still sting but the answer to all of those questions is—has to be—no. I can't give her what she wants or needs. Being vulnerable once before nearly destroyed me. I refuse to do it again despite hurting us both in the process. At this point, I'm in self-preservation mode.

And, yeah, I am a stubborn fuck. So despite how much this hurts, I'm not changing my mind.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I skip past my endless wine collection and go straight to the top-shelf whiskey. Tonight, I plan to get stinking drunk and I'm going to drink until I stop feeling so awful. I fully plan to pass out on my couch and wish that I'd never crossed paths with Hannah Everson.

No, that's not completely accurate. Because if I hadn't won her at that auction, she would've been at Caleb Durant's mercy. And, I don't think that ruthless sonofabitch possesses an ounce of mercy. Hannah is too sweet to be left to his devices.

Which has me wondering all over again why she went out to dinner with him tonight. I never did get an answer. She clearly didn't want to be there with him, she looked utterly relieved when I showed up, yet she'd merely said I wouldn't understand.

Dropping onto my couch, I kick my shoes off then wrestle out of my suit jacket. My hand wraps around the glass of whiskey and I take a nice, long soothing sip. I think I've managed to screw everything up so royally between Hannah and I that it's officially over.

Suddenly, I sit up straighter and curse. What if she quits? Would she do that? Not come back to a job she likes and is good at because of me?

"Fuck," I hiss. I suppose it won't be a surprise if I receive a resignation letter from her. And that pisses me off all over again. But, I'm not angry at her. I'm angry at myself for being such a complete idiot and handling everything wrong.

I really couldn't have done a worse job,I think and take another drink.

"You really suck," I tell myself. "On an epic level."

I don't want to see or talk to anyone, so I turn my phone off and focus all of my attention on feeling sorry for myself. If Hannah doesn't return to the office, what can I do? Hunt her down and force her to work for me? No, that's not an option. Although, it is tempting.

God. I shake my head then lean it back and close my eyes as I ponder what a complete madman I've become since the night Hannah walked into my life. I've always had iron self-control and a logical thought process. But with Hannah, that all goes up in a puff of smoke. She makes me crazy with the need to protect her. I want to make sure she's okay at all times and I don't care what rules I have to break or who I need to beat up to make sure she's cared for.

Speaking of which…

I run my fingers over my face and flinch slightly. That bastard Durant got a few good punches in and there will be bruises tomorrow. Pulling up the edge of my shirt, I look down at my aching side and cringe. Yep, it already looks black and blue.

"Fucker," I grumble, drop my shirt back in place and take a long drink of whiskey. The alcohol will dull the pain soon. And, eventually, I'll pass out and forget all about the absolute shit show that today turned out to be.

And tomorrow you'll remember it all over again, I remind myself. Maybe, but for now, I'm done. Time to drink until I can't feel any longer. Until I'm in a drunken stupor where I'm not caring anymore.

Because that's the problem. Hannah is making me feel things that I haven't felt since Cynda. I keep comparing the two. I can't help it. After meeting Cynda Drake, I fell hard and fast. And, I thought she had too. That was my first mistake—believing that bitch had actual feelings.

With hindsight, I was young and stupidly hung up on her because I thought she was beautiful and her family was powerful. She wasn't even half as lovely as Hannah, though. Cynda's beauty was cool and distant. There was an icy quality about her that I chose to ignore and, instead, I focused on how hot we were between the sheets.

It didn't last, though. Cynda grew bored and went elsewhere to find a new thrill. Someone new to conquer. When I walked in on her fucking an acquaintance of mine in the coat room closet of a fundraiser we were attending, I couldn't believe what I was seeing. My supposed woman propped against the wall with her legs wrapped around another man's waist, moaning and writhing as he thrusted into her. At that point, we were engaged.

I remember the way her left hand hung over his shoulder and how with each thrust, it jerked and the diamond engagement ring on her finger caught the light just right and glinted.

Bang, glint. Bang, glint. Bang, glint.

I'm not sure how long I stood there, rooted in place, watching my fiancée getting the shit pounded out of her. Eventually, her gaze caught mine and instead of gasping or stopping or, hell, showing any kind of remorse, she smiled.

She fucking smiled at me with another man's dick inside of her. And then she came in his arms, shuddering and grinning at me. I remember turning around, feeling dazed, and I stalked into the nearest men's room where I walked into a stall and hurled up my dinner.

Cynda Drake's betrayal left me wrecked. That moment of walking in on her in the middle of having sex with another man broke something inside of me and it hasn't been the same since. I'd thought I loved her and believed she loved me back. I truly thought we were going to spend our lives together. I should've known better and, with hindsight, there were signs. Signs I chose to ignore because I wanted to believe in her—in us—so badly. I wanted to trust her even when she would often disappear. Or, when she'd turn up much later with her hair askew and makeup slightly mussed.

Deep down, I'd had my suspicions, but I'd turned a blind eye. So damn stupid. I think she wanted me to find out about her infidelity and to confront her. She thrived on drama and power. And, I'm sure, there were quite a few infidelities, but I only knew about the one. It was all I could handle at the time, anyway.

I immediately broke off our engagement and moved out of the loft we'd been sharing. She didn't seem all that heartbroken about it and had told me to get over myself. Then she'd asked me if I had really expected her to only have sex with one man for the rest of her life.

"Hell, we're not even married yet and you're already acting like a ball and chain," she'd joked.

She'd continued to demasculinize me in every way possible, telling me how I'd never been able to fully satisfy her. All her barbed words hurt and I took them far too personally. But how could I not?

After walking away that night, I broke into a million little pieces. I locked myself up in my old apartment, refusing to see or talk to anyone, and I mourned the loss of our relationship. Or, the idea of what I thought our relationship had been. Over time, I put myself back together, but it was a process and I'd promised myself that I would never open my heart to another woman again.

It just wasn't fucking worth it.

Ignoring my glass, I reach for the whiskey and take a swig straight out of the bottle. Cynda hadn't been worth it, a little voice says, but maybe Hannah is different. Maybe she's worth the risk.

Squeezing my eyes closed, I shut that dangerous thought down fast and continue to drink myself into a stupor. But even drunk, I dream about my Angioletto.

The next day I'm more hungover than I ever remember being in my life. After swallowing down a handful of aspirin and taking a quick shower, I get dressed. Very slowly because my entire body aches and my head pounds like there's a marching band in it. From the fight with Caleb to the bottle of whiskey I demolished, I physically feel like shit.

I'd almost forgotten my brothers and I have a meeting with the Five Families today. Normally, I don't go to these, but since things have changed, Miceli expects my presence and support.

Luckily, the meeting isn't until noon and by that time I'm feeling a smidge better. At least like a human being again. I drive over to the secure location which changes constantly. This time, the five most powerful families in the city meet in an Italian restaurant that's currently closed to the public. When I walk in, the scent of garlic bread and spicy tomato sauce hits my nose, and I lay a hand over my stomach, telling myself to hold it together and not retch all over the floor.

It's going to be a while until I touch whiskey again. Hell, until I eat or drink anything again.

There's a large, round table set with plates and it looks like we're getting lunch. No thanks. My vicious hangover has cured me of any desire for food. At least, for the moment. My brothers and Carlotta are already seated and I pull out a chair between Miceli and Enzo and sit down.

"You look like shit," Miceli states.

"Worse than shit," Enzo adds.

"Gee, thanks." I grumble and touch my temple. A headache is throbbing and it feels like a toy soldier is in my head, banging his drum against my skull over and over, alongside the damn marching band that's still playing.

"Are you hungover?" Angelo asks with a smirk.

Carlotta, sitting on his opposite side, leans around him to look at me, nosy as ever. "What happened to you?"

"I almost drank myself to death last night, if it's anyone's business," I whisper-hiss.

"You're an idiot," Miceli says in a low voice, and I sink down into my chair and cross my arms, not in the mood to hear everyone start bitching. Because it's inevitable and happens in every meeting I've attended so far.

Once everyone appears situated, Miceli welcomes them and starts the meeting. My brother is a take charge kind of guy and runs this city smoothly and fairly, but with an iron fist. He doesn't tolerate bullshit and if someone is causing trouble, they tend to disappear.

"It's been brought to my attention that Caleb Durant is threatening to move in on Rossi territory, specifically my family's wine company. Does anyone have any specific details for us?"

What?I slowly sit up straighter in my chair and listen as the others offer any intel they have. There's only one reason Durant would target our most successful business.

"It's because of me and Hannah," I say under my breath.

"Explain, please," Miceli says, and it's not a request.

The representatives from the Bianchi's, the DeLuca's, the Caparelli's and the Milano's focus on me, as well as my own family. I clear my throat and say, "I outbid Durant at an auction and he hasn't taken it well."

"Auction?" old man Caparelli echoes, sounding confused. "He wants to destroy you over losing a piece of art?"

"She's definitely a piece of art," I murmur. "Her name is Hannah and he's obsessed with her. He's also pissed that he lost out on winning her virginity."

"Ahh, the White Auction."

I didn't want to get into details about why I spent over one-hundred grand on her and how nothing happened that night. It's none of their business.

"Anyway, we, ah, started spending more time together and I hired her to work at Rossi Vineyard. Apparently, Durant didn't like that. He started following Hannah and she'd get upset and call me." Well, until that last time. She didn't call and, instead, willingly got right into Durant's car and went to dinner with him. My already unsteady gut churns.

"It makes sense," Milano says. "Caleb has always been a vengeful fuck who doesn't deal well with rejection."

"He's always been jealous of us and our control," Aldo DeLucca, Alessia's father, adds. "Personally, I don't do business with him and I never will. He's an arrogant prick who can't be trusted."

"So we make sure he's no longer a threat. To any of us." Miceli looks out over the others. "We start by destroying his business."

"And if that doesn't work?" Gabriella Bianche asks. She's a feisty one. Cousins to Rocco Bianche who Micelli killed after he'd kidnapped Alessia.

"It'll work," Enzo responds. The two of them stare at each other a moment too long and I wonder if I'm the only one who notices the tension there. Hmm, very interesting. I'm going to have to ask my little brother how he feels about the lovely Ms. Bianche.

"Then we take him out permanently," Miceli states, interrupting my thoughts. "Anyone have an issue with that?"

No one says a word.

"Good."

Until recently, I've stayed out of the meetings and political BS when it comes to the Five Families. I know what we all do, what we're capable of doing, yet I've kept my distance and ignorance. But sitting here now, seeing how things are handled and how they get done sends a chill down my spine. Honestly, I've never been happier to be the second-born son. If I have my way, I'll focus on running our legit business, Rossi Vineyard, and leave the "permanent" stuff to the others. I was never meant to be a mafia leader and I'm quite content that role fell to Miceli.

The ruling families are more bloodthirsty than I knew and they would never let an enemy usurp even a fraction of their power or hold on the city. And, though I normally don't feel the need to defend my territory or fully embrace the breadth and depth of the mafia power my family holds, I remember the rage I felt at the restaurant earlier. How I stormed up to Durant and wanted to kill him. Wanted to destroy him with my bare fists. He brings out my mafia blood, making it boil, and when I picture his smug face, I know I'm just as capable of doing the horrific things that everyone else in this room is, too.

If Caleb Durant touches one hair on Hannah's head, I will end him. Permanently and with zero remorse.