Chapter 19

19

Olivia

"Nothing happened. We had a casual fling, we parted. End of story." He pulls himself up to his full height. "It happened. I moved on. Just like you did."

I gasp. It's like someone took a hot knife and stabbed it into my chest. I can't blame him, though. I'm the one who told him I was in love with someone else. And I was right in doing so. He's the Mafia, remember? And you swore not to have anything to do with the likes of him. Not to mention, I was disfigured by the accident. One bullet and my entire life fell apart. I went from being the leading lady of a musical headed for the West End, to someone who had to start all over again. Story of my life. I always seem to take two steps forward and one step back, to end up where I started. I need time to figure out what I'm going to do next.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to come out that way." He reaches for me, and I evade his grasp.

"It's fine. We both moved on. I just didn't expect to see you engaged to my sister. Do you even love her?" Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Why did I ask that? Do I even want to know the answer? And why my sister? Of all the people in the world, why her? "Do you?" I turn to him.

"It's an arranged marriage, decided by the heads of the Camorra and the Cosa Nostra, " he murmurs.

"And you went along with it?"

He tilts his head.

"Bullshit. You're not the type to fall in line with someone else's plan."

"You're right." He rakes those piercing gray eyes of his across my features. "I wouldn't normally agree to have my destiny decided by someone else, unless it were Nonna."

"Your grandmother? What does she have to do with it?"

"She wanted all of us brothers to be married within a month of her death. Also, it was her dying wish to settle the feud between the Camorra and the Cosa Nostra ."

"So, you offered yourself up as a candidate?"

"Little did I know, when I proposed to you, I was potentially fulfilling both of her wishes." He takes a step forward into my space, forcing me to tilt my head further back.

Good God, I'd forgotten how big he is, how imposing. How his shoulders block out everything else. How the heat radiates off of his big body and slams down on my chest and pins me in place. How that earthy, musky scent of his, mixed with the spicy notes of his cologne, goes to my head when I draw in a breath in his presence. I press myself into the counter of the sink behind me, not that it helps. He's not touching me, but he may as well be, the way he drags his gaze down my body, alighting upon every nook and cranny and curve and dip, like he's remembering how he touched me with those rough fingers of his.

"What are you doing?" I gasp.

"Nothing. Yet." He shakes his head. "You go to my head, you know that? I only have to see you to forget about my responsibilities... Who I am. What I want out of life. You make me want to throw you down and rut into you until you're screaming my name over and over again."

"Massimo, please don't." His name on my lips conjures up visions of dark nights, heated glances, sordid whispers and the filthy things he could do to my body, which would shred me from the inside out.

He notches his knuckles under my chin and lifts it, so I have no choice but to meet his gaze. His soul-stirring, thigh-clenching, toe-curling gaze.

A current runs up my body, lighting up each cell under my skin. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. My breasts ache, and my chest hurts. Every muscle in my body goes on alert.

"Massimo," I whisper as he lowers his mouth to mine.

Don't do this. Don't do this. You let him go, and he's marrying your sister now.

His breath mingles with mine. He positions his lips so close, our eyelashes tangle, but he still doesn't kiss me. He stays there, peering deeply into my eyes, into my soul, seeing the secrets I hadn't had time to reveal to him. The past I was running from. The future I had wanted with so much passion; all gone. In one single second. And now, all I have is broken dreams. And shattered memories. And maybe… maybe this one last kiss. Fuck it. I lean in, when there's a knock on the door.

We break apart so quickly, I almost fall over. I grab hold of the counter at the last second and stare at him. His chest rises and falls, but otherwise, he seems unaffected by the intrusion. A pulse beats at his temple, the only sign that something just happened. But then, nothing did.

"Nothing happened." I square my shoulders. "Nothing. Happened," I repeat again.

"You trying to convince yourself or me?"

"Both of us." I tuck my elbows into my sides. "Nothing. Happened."

"If you say so."

More banging on the door, then, "Massimo? You guys in there?" a man's voice calls out. Probably Adrian, come in search of us.

Massimo draws in a breath.

"This—" I wave a hand at the space between us. "This can't happen again."

His lips twist. Then he spins around and walks to the door and flings it open. "What?" he snaps.

"They're all waiting."

"Fuck that."

"You know that's not possible. You committed to this marriage. We're about to solemnize the engagement. Both families are gathered here. You have to go through with it, fratello ."

"Fucking fuck!" Massimo roars.

I turn to take a look at the mirror and wince. The scar stands out like a slash of red against my pale skin. My eyes are always drawn there first, as are everyone else's, I'm sure. The doctor had suggested plastic surgery, but in a fit of defiance, I'd turned it down. It's only a scar.

On a man, it would be called dashing. On a woman? It's something to be pitied, the cause of whispered conversations whenever I walk into a room. Well, fuck that. It is only a scar. Soldiers have come out of war with far worse wounds and carried on with their lives.

Surely, I can move on after what happened to me? I'm still in one piece, physically. Mentally, it's another matter altogether. I have PTSD from the incident when that asshole shot at me, which is to be expected. What I hadn't realized was how difficult it would be to actually engage myself with life and do the things I once found exciting. I wanted to be an actress, and now, the thought of facing a camera with this face makes me break out in a cold sweat. And the thought of appearing on stage again? I can't even fathom that.

So instead, here I am, wearing the most outrageous dress in my closet, and acting out my frustrations on my family. Who deserve it, by the way. No question. Still, what was I thinking, flouncing in here, ready to take them on? Or maybe, I wasn't thinking at all. I simply wanted to be there for my sister. I hadn't intended to steal her fiancé.

Her fiancé.

He's going to be her fiancé.

And I almost kissed him again. A trembling grips me. I press my fingers into the edge of the sink. He's going to marry her. And I'm going to spend the rest of my life watching the two of them together. Fuck!

Footsteps approach and Massimo's face fills the mirror.

I lock my gaze with his. "Did you know you were going to marry her when we?—"

"When we fucked?" He searches my features. "What do you think?"

"I'm asking you, aren't I?"

"Do you think I'd have slept with you if I knew that I was going to get married?"

"You tell me."

His jaw hardens, his lips flatten and a coldness enters his features. "The answer is no. I resisted the idea of an arranged marriage, hoping to find someone of my choosing. And I did. Only she's in love with someone else, isn't that right?"

I swallow, hesitate, then nod. "That's right."

He narrows his gaze. "Which is why I moved ahead with the arranged marriage."

"Within days of our breaking up?" Not that we'd been together. A one-night stand does not a relationship make. I curse myself for saying that aloud. Jesus, how insecure do I sound? But I can't help it. The scar on my cheek is not even properly healed, and he's moved on.

It hurts; I admit, it hurts. I thought when I forced him to walk away from me it was heart-breaking. That's nothing compared to the claws that have dug their hooks into my soul and are playing merry havoc. It's like my insides have been put through a wood-chipper, and mutilated beyond recognition.

"You told me you didn't love me." His shoulders flex and he steels himself. "And my family needed one of us to go through with the arranged marriage. Considering Adrian, here, is nursing a not-so-secret crush on Michael's housekeeper, it seemed I was the person for the job. Besides, I needed to get over you fast."

A nerve pops at his temple. His silver eyes are so light they are like colorless pools of glass. Yet, his stance is relaxed, as if he fought an internal battle with himself and won it. As if he's moved on already.

"And, are you over me?" I hold his gaze in the mirror.

He tilts his head, a serious look in his eyes. "Yes."