He’d been the venomous one then, sticking his knife into her with words that had left her as pale and broken as if he’d used a real knife to inflict the wound.
“Pour you another?”
Pulling himself out of his morbid thoughts, he met the barmaid’s stare and gave a sharp shake of his head.
What the hell was he playing at, wasting his valuable time thinking about Siena like this? Wasn’t it bad enough that he couldn’t stop his mind from going straight to her when he got into bed each night, and that when he was able to sever her from his mind enough to sleep, she invaded his dreams? He supposed it was understandable. He’d got used to sharing his bed with her. His nights had belonged to Siena.
He would not let her invade his working hours, too, something he was still furiously reiterating to himself as he escaped the nightclub through a fire exit, not bothering to check if his entourage was following him.
He was still telling himself the same thing when he reached the bottom of the iron stairs and stepped onto the pavement. Maybe he would have carried on telling himself the same thingif he hadn’t been striding to his car and happened to look across the street as his driver opened the door for him, and spotted a figure coming out of a restaurant that looked exactly like Stefano.
Elio stared hard at the figure. Hot, rabid blood pounded loudly in his ears.
“You okay, boss?”
He nodded absently, not even aware which of his men had spoken. He was also unaware of his legs moving. His attention was entirely on the man he was growing certain with each step nearer to him was the bastard who’d assaulted Siena and who’d conveniently disappeared the night Elio had seized the Espositos’ empire.
He did not doubt Stefano had only come out of hiding because, ten days on since Elio’s takeover, all the Espositos were still breathing, and none of their men or minor family members had been killed, not even those who hadn’t joined Elio’s army before the takeover. All had pledged loyalty to Elio.
Stefano was never going to be given that chance.
But these were only abstract thoughts. Seeing Stefano in the flesh had landed like a red rag to a bull.
This was the bastard who’d assaulted Siena. This was the bastard who’d hurt his wife. This was the bastard who’d dared lay a finger on her precious body.
Stefano saw him coming, but too late. And too late did he see the expression on Elio’s face. His cautious smile of welcome froze and then vanished under the weight of Elio’s fist.
The first punch didn’t knock him down, but the second one did.
The man had barely landed on the hard ground before Elio was kneeling on top of him and slamming heavy punches on the bastard’s face.
There was a distant scream. Shouts. A crowd forming. All just background noise in the red mist that had descended on him and that had his right fist pounding into the bastard’s face over and over.
The faint sound of a siren broke through the mist.
Grabbing Stefano’s collar, he yanked his bloodied face up and snarled into it, “That was for Siena. Touch her or any female again, and I will slice your cock off and stuff it in your mouth. Now get the fuck out of Naples before I change my mind and kill you like you deserve, you piece ofshit.”
He staggered to his feet. His car pulled up by the kerb. The siren was getting louder.
The back door of his car was opened. Ignoring the horrified crowd, he strode to it before changing his mind and doing a running kick into Stefano’s ribs.
“Don’t waste your sympathy on him,” he spat at the crowd as he slid into the car. “That man sexually assaulted a fourteen-year-old girl.”
His driver pulled away.
Adrenaline was pumping so hard that his driver had to speak three times before Elio heard what he was saying. “Shall I drive you home so you can change and clean up?”
“No.” He snatched a breath. God, it was almost impossible to breathe. “Take me to my wife.”
* * *
Siena picked at the carbonara she’d made for herself. How could such a seemingly simple, easy meal go so wrong? If Rocco’s carbonara was a ten out of ten, Siena’s attempt wouldn’t even begiven a one. The pancetta was burned, the eggs scrambled, the pasta undercooked, and she’d forgotten to add the garlic.
She supposed she could always go to Carlo’s and eat Rocco’s carbonara. She was reasonably confident neither man would be tempted to spit in it.
It was the chance of bumping into Elio there that stopped her. The odds were high. Too high.
She didn’t know when she would ever feel ready to face him again.
