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“We were having a conversation,” I say sharply.
“No, he was flirting with you, and you weren’t exactly stopping him.”
“I was being polite,” I say pointedly.
“It doesn’t count.”
“What doesn’t?”
“Being polite to someone who just wants to fuck you.”
“So, you don’t want me to be polite to you either?” I say, smirking and watching his jaw clench further in annoyance. I pull the cigarette out of his mouth, put it into mine, and walk away.
“Wait,” he says, grabbing my wrist. His face darkens in anger as he glances down at my wrist, the inked letter ‘A’ hovers under his thumb, and he stares at it for a second before walking away in disgust. I knew there was something I had forgotten to do.
The ‘A’ is a dedication to Anton. Mama had found the box under my bed with everything he had given me and burnt it to cinders, the tattoo is a permanent solution to make sure he is with me wherever I go. Normally, I wear a bracelet or used heavy-set concealer to hide the tattoo, but tonight I seem to have forgotten.
“Every great love starts with a great story…”
—Nicholas Sparks
IGREET THE OTHER DONS WHEN I WALK IN, THIS PARTY IS ONLY FOR THE ELITE OF NEW YORK AND NEW JERSEY.
As per usual, I receive a steady amount of ‘looks’ from other members of East Coast families who recognize me.
Rather than the smirks and looks of disdain, I used to receive they have now been replaced by grudging respect and somber nods.
Finally, I have made my mark and have their undivided respect. My eyes scan the room, but I can’t see Sophia and when I do notice her, I feel waves of lava erupt in watching her speak to that sniveling lawyer Henri. I don’t give a fuck if he is some blue-blooded aristocrat, at this point he could be directly descended from Jesus Christ himself and I still wouldn’t like him.
A thick veil of anger builds in me as I watch her eyes light up when she is talking, and the flirtatious manner in which she tucks her hair behind her ear as she speaks to him. I have always known I tend to stray on the possessive side, but at this moment, I feel like I could crush the skull of anybody who dare look in her direction. Of anyone who even dares to speak to her without my permission. I don’t want anybody looking or touching her, I want to own her irrevocably, and any man who dares to touch her will feel my wrath. Paolo’s eyes meet mine as he watches me survey the interaction between Sophia and Henri, and he gives me an icy glare of warning, but I ignore him.
She looks surprised when she sees me but doesn’t lose her composure. Up close, she is even more enticing than she is from a distance, and it takes all my willpower not to pull her into my arms. She twists a tendril of her wavy locks around her finger innocently as she gives me a small smile before taking the cigarette out my mouth. The desire turns to shock when I grab her wrist and see an inked ‘A’ inked into her wrist. Shebelongedto another man, not Pietro, not me, but she craved another and now carries his mark proudly.
Does her father know about this? I feel like marching up to Paolo and demanding to know why he has allowed his daughter to desecrate herself in this way. However, my sense manages to get a hold of me, and I understand just how fucking stupid I will look doing that; letting some broad get to me and she isn’t evenmine.
I let go of her wrist like it’s red hot, and she exchanges a steely look with me. I storm back into the house, but she doesn’t follow, for which I am glad. I regain my composure and toast to the newly made man along with the other captains of New York and New Jersey, and pretend that Sophia Falcone isn’t invading every part of my consciousness. I can see her in the corner of my vision and also notice every man here has their eyes on her, completely enamoured by her beauty. Knowing that she wants someone else, belongs to not just one man but two should have confirmed everything Dominic has said about her but instead it has surged a hunger so deep that it shakes me to my very core. Simply put, I want her because I can’t have her, but I am Rocco De Luca, and what I want, I get.
No matter what.
Several days later, I am sitting by my pool in Long Beach in an attempt to still my thoughts which is hard enough without Lucia sitting next to me, singing ‘Don’t cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me’every five minutes.
“You’re going to be very bored for the next forty years,” Lucia says from the deckchair next to me.
“Stop speaking in riddles,” I say irritably. My head is still pounding from the other night, I wasn’t hungover. Still, I felt punch-drunk.
“Angela Rossi has the personality of an Oreo, and that is putting it mildly. I give it six months tops,” she says smugly.
“You’re not exactlyMensamaterial either, Lucia,” I say crisply.
“She’s into BTS,” she says, snorting.
“What’s that like a dominatrix thing?” I say disinterested already.
“No, they’re a Korean pop group,” she says, biting her lip from laughing.
“Jesus Christ,” I say, groaning.
“She isn’t the girl for you.”
