Chapter 22

22

Massimo

Let her go, let her the fuck go. What are you doing following her? I saw her leave and rose to my feet. Michael stared at me, and I knew he wasn't pleased. But I risked a glance at her face as she'd passed and saw the glimmer of tears on her cheeks. My heart contracted, and my stomach tied itself in knots. I had to follow her to make sure she got to where she was going safely.

Maybe she's going to meet her boyfriend, the one she's in love with.

Jealousy sliced through my veins, and I nearly unbalanced my chair as I pushed it back. I needed to see where she went, and if that meant I was acting like an unbalanced stalker, so be it. Once I made sure she reached her destination safely, I'd leave. I'd return home, to my life, to my fiancée. I wince.

Fuck. I haven't spoken a single word to her. Couldn't bring myself to look her in the face. Not when my mind is filled with thoughts of her sister. Something I needed to purge myself of before I upset everything. The eyes of everyone in that room were on me as I walked out. Not that anyone would stop me.

I'm the soon-to-be son-in-law for the Camorra, after all. The key to them acquiring a lot more power overnight. My actions won't be questioned by them. And if my fiancée thinks it's strange, she'll keep her thoughts to herself. No, it's my brothers whose disapproval I felt keenly as I walked out of there and to my bike, just in time to see her vehicle disappear down the driveway. I managed to follow her without losing sight of her Porsche. The woman has style and guts, and she drives bloody fast.

I accelerate, and my Harley leaps forward. It was a last-minute thought to jump on my bike today. Probably the thought of being chained to a woman—one I don't know at all—for life prompted it. Either way, now it serves me well as I weave in between the cars, keeping her in my sights. I'm sure she's spotted me, but fuck that. She knows I'm pissed at her and I need to—have to—settle whatever it is between us so I can move on with my fucking life.

She drives through the town and keeps going until she reaches a bar at the edge of the city. I frown as she parks the car and strides in. What the hell is she doing here? Doesn't she know it's dangerous for her to be here alone?

I park my bike, hook my helmet on the handle—no motherfucker would dare touch what belongs to the Cosa Nostra , not even here—and walk inside the establishment.

The smell of alcohol, sweat, and stale, unwashed bodies fills the air. It's gloomy, and at this time of the afternoon, not crowded. My gaze alights on her instantly. She's a flash of light, a beacon in the dark sky, my very own Bat-Signal calling to me as she leans into the bar and orders a drink. I stalk over to the bar, making sure to keep enough distance between us. I order a whiskey, nurse it as she knocks back a shot of tequila, and another. She reaches for the third, and finally slows. She places the small bag dangling from her wrist on the bar and bows her head. If she's waiting for someone, I can't tell. If she knows I'm here, she's doing a hell of a job hiding it. I watch her as she stares into the depths of her glass.

A man slides onto the stool next to her. He tries to talk to her, but she turns away and tosses back her drink. Orders another. And she was already tipsy when I met her in the morning. He continues to try to get her attention, and I squeeze my fingers around my glass. She turns her back on him, so he reaches out and touches her shoulder. My vision tunnels. Adrenaline laces my blood. The glass cracks, the whiskey spilling over my hand, and I stalk toward the stronzo. I reach for him as he crumples to the floor holding his crotch. I glance up to find her glowering at me.

"I can take care of myself," she snaps.

"You kneed him?" My balls shrink at the thought.

"I know how to fight. Took self-defense courses for a character I was auditioning for. A part I didn't get," she laughs bitterly, "but guess it had its uses." She turns back to the counter and reaches for her glass again. I sidestep the guy on the ground who's curled up on his side, and snatch the glass from her.

"Hey, what the fuck are you doing?" she protests.

"You've had enough," I say through gritted teeth.

"You're not my keeper," she snaps back.

"I am marrying your sister. I have the responsibility for taking care of the rest of her family." The words burst out of me and— fuck, fuck, fuck, I didn't mean for it to come out that way. Or maybe I did, for her features crumple. Maybe I wanted to see some reaction from her. Maybe I wanted to find out if she's hurting as much as I am inside.

She tugs on her arm, and this time, I release her. We stare at each other, then she seems to pull herself together.

"That's right." She glances away. "You are marrying my sister, and it's best for both of us to remember that."

"This isn't how I wanted to see you again. I had no idea you were part of the Camorra ."

"Not something I go about shouting from the rooftops." She folds her arms around her waist.

"And your accent..." I shake my head. "You have an American accent. How do you have an American accent when you grew up in Italy?"

"I went to the American school." She rolls her eyes. "Why are we even talking about my accent?"

"You're right, let's talk about how you lied to me when you said you were in love with someone else," I snap.

"I did not." She tips up her chin.

"Oh, yeah?" I prop my hands on my hips. "Where is he, this man you claim to be in a relationship with?"

She blinks, then firms her lips. "None of your business."

"Everything about you is my business."

"As you said, you're marrying my sister, so you don't have to worry about who I'm with."

"Look Via?—"

"The name's Olivia," she snaps.

"Via—" I firm my lips. "I already told you that the only reason I agreed to an arranged marriage with your sister is so I could fulfill the promise made to my Nonna. Also, she was keen we make our peace with the Camorra ."

"How convenient for you," she snaps.

"You're upset." I sigh. "Listen, you're part of the Camorra, and now you're one of the family. I can't have you risking our reputation by going off and fucking any random man."

"But you can?"

I want to tell her she's not some random woman I fucked, but she beats me to the punch.

She tucks her elbows into her sides then tips up her chin. "He's not a random man; he's my fiancé."

Olivia

His jaw hardens and he lowers his gaze to my left hand. "I don't see a fucking ring."

"It was, ah… too big for me, so he had to have it resized." I blink rapidly. Jeez, and I thought I was such a good liar. Surely, he's able to see through me right away. "But I do have a ring."

He looks me up and down. "If you're engaged, where is this fiancé of yours?

"Uh, he, ah, is not in the country."

"He's not in the country," he deadpans. "Couldn't you get a little more creative with your lies?" He snorts.

"It's not a lie." I draw myself up to my full height, which still means I'm at the level of his chest. Damn, this man is huge, like the biggest guy I have ever come across. He's so tall that I have to tilt my head all the way back to look at him.

His eyebrows draw down, and the tendons of his throat are so taut, I'm sure they're going to snap any second. He looks pissed-off, and honestly, I don't know why. It's not my fault I turned up at my sister's engagement party to find he's her future bridegroom. So what, I didn't tell him I have more in common with him than he realized? Why would I, when I was so sure I wanted him to turn his back on me and never want to see me again?

"Another lie?" He leans forward on the balls of his feet. That dark testosterone-laden scent of his laps at my senses. My belly flip-flops. He's so close, I can make out the fine lines that radiate out of the corners of his eyes. So close that I can see the silver sparks in his eyes. In this light, they seem more green, like a stormy sea just before the clouds open up and the rain pours down. He's unpredictable that way. You'd think he was calm and serious on the surface, but look below that mask he wears to the world, and the tightly leashed emotions are there, waiting to burst out. Waiting to lash me, and sear me, and mark me, and brand me. The more time I spend with him, the more I'm liable to forget what he's going to be soon— married to my sister. As part of the arrangement between the two families. I need to convince him that I won't have anything to do with him.

"It's not a lie." I tip up my chin. "My fiancé is an actor, a very well-known actor, actually. He travels often for work. It's why I haven't seen him in a while." And the lies keep coming.

"Where was he when you were injured and lying in the hospital? Where was he when you woke up and found yourself injured?" His gaze lowers to the scar on my cheek. "Does he know what happened to you? What you've been through?"

"What's it to you?" I retort. And w hy do I keep digging myself deeper and deeper into this lie?

"Answer the question, Via. Has he seen you since the incident?"

I wince, but don't glance away. "I've FaceTimed him," I snap. Which is not untrue . The person I'm hoping will help me out of this situation I've trapped myself in—as if that's even possible—is someone I FaceTimed with not long after the accident.

"FaceTimed?" A pulse pops at Massimo's temple. "You need someone with you all the time, especially at night, when you're bound to have nightmares from the incident."

"Nightmares..." I open and shut my mouth. "How did you—" I shove my hair back from my face. "Doesn't matter. I don't have nightmares."

"Bull-fucking-shit!" He peers at me closely. "You have dark circles under your eyes, and under that pancake you've slapped on your face, your skin is pale. How long has it been since you had a full night's sleep?"

"Too long." I glower up at him. "You're crossing a line. It's not good for us to be seen together. You shouldn't have followed me out of the house. You left your own engagement party. Do you know how awful that looks?"

"No one questions me."

"That may be the case. But remember, this is an arranged marriage between two of the most influential Mafia families in Italy who have been bitter rivals forever. You can't afford to screw it up. Also, it doesn't feel right meeting like this. You're marrying my sister."

"Not yet," he says in a hard voice.

"A technicality. The deed is as well as done."

"I don't have to go through with it." His features take on a determined set. "You could marry me instead. It would still mean the two families are united. I'd be marrying a different sister."

"And what about Solene?"

"What about her?"

"How would she feel about this? Have you thought about that?"

"She'll find someone who's actually in love with her."

"But she wants to marry you," I burst out.

"Only because she hasn't looked at other options. Only because it's been drilled into her that she needs to do what's best for her family."

"You marrying Solene is what's best for our families." My heart stutters, and a tsunami seems to build in my chest. What am I doing? Why am I pushing him toward her? Why am I turning my back on him again? He's right, this is my chance to take what I really want. Him.

And give up the chance to figure out what I want to do with myself? I need to reinvent myself, find my focus, and I can't do that if I plunge straight into a marriage with him. It's why I turned him down in the first place. "I don't want your pity." I curl my fingers into fists. "I don't need you marrying me because of what happened to my face."

" Gesù Cristo , is that what you think? That I proposed to you because I feel sorry for you?"

"I know you did."

"That's not true."

"Can you look me in the eyes and tell me it didn't cross your mind even once that you marrying me would solve a lot of my problems?"

He hesitates.

"That's what I thought."

"You're twisting my words. I wanted to marry you so I could protect you, so I could ensure something like this never happened to you again."

"I don't need your protection. I've already been hurt, so it's not likely it's going to happen again, and the only reason they came after me is because they thought I was Jeanne." I square my shoulders. "Besides, you're fulfilling the promise made to your Nonna. You're going to marry my sister."

His lips firm, and a pulse thuds at the base of his throat. Those golden sparks in his eyes seem to recede so they turn into chips of ice. A shiver crawls up my spine. Jesus, he looks so angry, so mean. He squeezes his fingers at his sides, and his biceps bulge. His shoulders seem to grow bigger, until it feels like I'm surrounded by him.

"Don't do this. Don't throw away this opportunity."

"All I see is the man who's supposed to marry my sister, making a fool of himself," I say lightly.

Anger leaps off of him. The planes of his chest seem to swell, until his jacket is straining at the seams.

"You are going to regret this," he growls.

"The only thing I regret is meeting you again. Now, if you'll excuse me..." I brush past him, take a step, another, putting distance between us. The tension begins to drain out of me when something hard circles my wrist.

"I'm not done with you."