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Salvatore turns.
“Diego,” I choke out. “We’re involved. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I should have said something when it started. I wanted to make sure it was real. I love him.”
He stares at me, and my deceit bubbles deep within my gut.
What am I doing?
Saving Diego’s life,I tell myself.
Protecting Grace’s heart,I argue.
Keeping my promise to Charles,I conclude.
It’s a little white lie that will forever alter multiple lives, but deceit can’t be condemned if it's forged in righteousness. I just hope Diego sees it that way.
Men in our world pick their wives all the time. If I’m being forced into matrimony again, why can’t I do the same? Diego is my safest bet.
I think.
I hope.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
DIEGO
Ipause on the threshold of Lorenzo’s office. My face gives nothing away, but concern settles in my stomach, and I despise the feeling. I like control. I live it every day. I don’t let any situation panic me. I take in the threat and react after careful consideration. Deliberation may take five seconds or five days. It’s all dependent on the urgency of the risk staring me down. I act calmly, never leaving room for error.
The split second of hesitation has shown too much to the three men before me, and even though I would trust each of them with my life, my strength is my obscurity. The fewer people who can read me, the safer I am in the world I’ve built my home.
“Door open or closed?”
“Open. Gabriella isn’t home.”
It’s no secret that Lorenzo Caruso doesn’t keep secrets from his wife. His ambiguous comment, therefore, tells me more about this meeting than I knew only seconds ago. It revolves around me and only me.
Dipping my chin, I take the only seat left in the room, directly across from Lorenzo.
The room has been renovated since I was last here. Granted, the last time I stepped foot in Lorenzo’s office, the windows had been shattered by gunfire, and two bloodied and lifeless bodies decorated the carpet.
The flooring has been replaced, the walls repainted, and the windows repaired.
Vincent sits on the large sofa on the edge of the room, one ankle resting on his knee, his elbow leaning on the armrest, and his head resting against his palm. His middle finger moves back and forth over his bottom lip in quiet contemplation.
Leonardo has taken the seat beside the one I’ve just settled myself, his chin lifting in greeting. I ignore him.
“I need you to go to Chicago.” Lorenzo puts me out of my misery and starts talking almost immediately.
I work to hide the tremor of anticipation that slides through my body when he mentions Chicago. But Lorenzo smirks, so I know I didn’t hide it well enough. My guard has lowered too much around him. My loyalty to the boss is fucking with my head, and I roll my shoulders in irritation at the realization.
“Of course.” I clear my throat.
Leaning back in his chair, he pinches his bottom lip with his thumb and forefinger. “You’ll be making wedding arrangements.”
I sit up straighter, ignoring the mirth that dances along Leonardo’s face. “Sorry?”
“Did I mumble?”
My jaw clenches, and it takes everything I have inside not to grind my teeth. “Wedding arrangements?” I echo his words. “For who?”
