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I can’t tear my eyes from her.
Nobody else matters as I stare hungrily at a woman that has occupied my dreams for the past two years.
I love her.
It happened so fast and hard it took me a while to understand what that means. I will do anything for her, and it takes every ounce of self-control I possess not to jump up and go to her, tearing her hand from the man who deserves to die in the most horrific way.
I’m not the only one who can’t tear their eyes from the scene and as Massimo holds her hand and leads her through the tables like the most precious bone china, I barely manage to conceal my rage when I see the purple bruise that covers half of her face. The marks on her neck almost make me lose my mind, but it’s the fear in her once sparkling eyes that sends me over the edge.
Despite everything, though, my soul weeps bitter tears for the woman I love, for the life she has endured since she left my side and for the pain she must suffer daily because ofhim.
I can’t even look at him because one second of my attention away from Winter is a second wasted and I drink in every drop of her features and feast on a dish I have craved for so long it hurts.
The fact they can’t see me provides me with a golden opportunity and I stare so hard she must surely feel it from where she’s standing.
She looks so frail, so battered, and so weary. Not the effortless, cold beauty my friends described. There is no love in the gaze that lingers on her face when she turns to her husband. She is a prisoner of circumstance and I intend on blasting the door wide open and so I bite back my anger and gain strength from her weakness. I feed off it to use against the man she stands beside, and I make a vow that he dies today in the most painful way I can make happen.
Winter
I’m not sure how I can even walk. My legs are shaking so much. The restaurant is packed, and I don’t miss the nervous glances thrown my way as we pass through the tables. They must be horrified by my appearance because it looks as if I’ve been in a car wreck. I’m certain of that, and I wonder why Massimo flipped the way he did. There must be a reason for it, there always is, and yet why would he want these people to see me this way?
We take our seats and I stare at a beautiful, graceful woman who looks at me with a shocked smile. The gentleman beside her has a familiar appearance that I can’t place, and he is staring at me with a curious fascination that’s a little unnerving.
I don’t miss the frostiness between him and Massimo, who says tightly, “Don Majerio. I wasn’t aware you knew Portia.”
The name jumps out and hits me far harder than Massimo did.
Majerio.
Alessandro Majerio, the beast I fell in love with. Frankie’s father and the man I left my heart to keep forever.
As I stare at the gentleman who bears the same name, it only reinforces the similarity. Is this his father, grandfather, an uncle perhaps? The similarities are breath-taking and my heart flutters and then starts galloping as his husky drawl enters the conversation.
“Don Delauren. It’s been many years.”
“You never answered my question.” Massimo snaps, and the hint of amusement in Don Majerio’s face makes me curious.
He turns to Portia and rests his arm along the back of her chair and says lazily, “Portia is a good friend of mine, too.”
“Friends with benefits, I’m guessing.” Massimo fires back and I can tell he’s nervous just from the tapping of his foot under the table.
Massimo clicks his fingers and the waiter heads over as if he’s running the 100m and Massimo says sulkily, “A bottle of your finest vintage champagne. It appears we have a celebration on our hands.”
“We do?”
Don Majerio arches his brow and Massimo growls, “Yes, today we celebrate friendship and new beginnings.”
I turn my attention to Portia, who is looking mighty uncomfortable, and she grabs her glass of water and almost drains it entirely, which Massimo seizes on immediately.
“You appear nervous, Portia. Is there a reason for that?”
His cool tone obviously registers with her, and she says shakily, “No, it’s just, well, I wasn’t aware the two of you were acquainted.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Her eyes widen as Massimo snarls, “In fact, I’m making an educated guess that you set this whole thing up, Portia.”
She looks startled and moves back a little as if to distance herself, causing her guest to lean forward and say with an undercurrent of danger, “Back off Massimo. Portia has nothing to do with this.”
