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"Don’t make me out to be something I’m not." I stare at the sea that stretches into the horizon. "If I were a good mother, I wouldn’t have landed in this situation at all."
"Don’t allow someone else to define what a good mother is. You can’t change the past, but I can help you ensure the future is more to your liking."
I turn to find him leaning against the doorframe.
"You’re in my future, so I’m not sure that’s going to happen," I mutter.
His jaw tics. He straightens, then takes a step forward, only to pause. He shakes his head. "It’s been a long day. I’ll let you get some rest." Turning, he leaves.
I shouldn’t have said that, after all he gave me a ring. Not just any ring his nonna's ring. Worse, I like the ring. Why is he trying to be nice to me? He manipulated me into marrying him, after all. And then, he was understanding when I told him about my proclivities. I had expected him to throw a fit, maybe tell me the wedding was off… A part of me had hoped he’d say he couldn’t go through with the marriage any longer, considering I’d confessed to liking kink. And don’t these Mafia guys like their brides to be virgins? Which I, clearly, am not. I’m a mother, and I’m divorced,andI confess to skulking around in S&M clubs. Maybe I hadn’t slept with anyone there, but still, I’d been a voyeur, and then a participant. Not very Mafia-bride-like behavior, if you ask me. But he wasn’t fazed by it. Instead, he offered to be my Dom. And I don’t think he said that just to make me feel better. I have a feeling he knows exactly what that means.
A shiver runs down my back. We haven’t had a chance to discuss that further.
Why can’t he continue to be an asshole—which would make it easy for me to continue hating him? Instead, he’s trying to be understanding, and the problem is I like that part of him too much.
I grip the window frame, then blow out a breath. He’s just up the corridor; I should go and apologize. Much as I want to stay angry with him, I’m already regretting my outburst. I blow out a breath, then walk up the corridor and to his bedroom. I peer inside, but he’s not there. Eh?
Did he leave the house? Where could he have gone? I walk down to the living room, then peek into his study but there's no one there.
I return to my room and begin to pace.
It was Nonna's funeral today, and instead of being empathetic, I was nasty toward him. Sure, he gave me a ring, but he only did it to make sure our engagement seemed genuine to his family. I can hardly fault him for that. All I did was piss him off… And he left. Damn it, he could have argued with me. He could have confronted me about my remark. Instead, he turned on his heel and left, not only my room, but apparently, this house.
In all likelihood, he went to Venom, the place where we met the first time. And I imagine, as I wear a hole in the carpet, he’s with another woman. Someone who would be all sweetness to him and lend him a shoulder to cry on. No doubt, while I dither and try to figure out what to do, he’s stripping her... and kissing her... and pushing her down to her knees, and— I shake my head. Why am I torturing myself with these images? There’s only one way to find out.
I pull out my phone and call a cab.
16
Seb
I aim the gun at the target and fire again and again. I don’t stop until I have emptied all of the bullets. Then I lower it, pull out my earplugs, and pull the paper target toward me. All of my bullets, except one, found their mark. Huh? That’s never happened before. Not that I’m a bad shot. It’s just… I’ve never managed to hit all of them on the bullseye before.
The sound of clapping reaches me. I glance up to find Luca walking in my direction. "And I thought I was the crack shot here."
"I missed one," I point out.
"That’s as good as me on a bad day," he humblebrags.
"Fuck you very much, too," I growl.
"Everything okay, ol’ chap?" he murmurs.
"We just buried Nonna, who was shot by a rival gang’s bullet. Do you think I’m okay?" I lean forward on the balls of my feet. "Also, what’s this ‘ol’ chap’ bullshit? You’ve been spending so much time with our resident Brit, you’re beginning to sound like him."
Massimo walks over to join us. "Were you envisioning the head of someone in particular?" He gestures to the figure on the paper target, now riddled with bullet holes.
I tear off the paper, then crumple it and toss it aside.
I head for the exit… A-a-and, here comes Adrian.
"Just the person I was missing—the man who never seems to lose his temper, no matter how messy things get." I glower at him.
"Hey." He holds up his hands. "What did I do?"
"Nothing, and that might be the problem." I make sure my shoulder bumps his as I walk past him and into the adjoining bar. Rarely do I contemplate the fact I belong to the most famous family in Italy and have enough money to rival the economy of a third world country. Today, I can assure you, is not one of those days. Today, I am fucking grateful we’re rich enough to have our own bar and adjoining shooting range. Both are situated on the top floor of the building that houses Venom, the nightclub owned by our family. We spent so much time in Michael’s office above Venom, he eventually refurbished the entire floor. In addition to the shooting range and the private bar, there’s also a gym, a pool room and a sauna. All of the comforts under one roof, without having to go anywhere outside the building.
This way, we don’t have to compromise on our lifestyle. And we don’t have to come in contact with the rest of the populace. Especially important on a day when I’m liable to point my gun at whoever gets in my way. Not that I have anything against killing people… But I do prefer to take a life when there’s a real reason. Like someone who is out to get me or one of my own. Someone who has hurt her. Someone like thatcoglione, Fabio Costa.
