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“What do you want from me?” she suddenly blurted like she had been holding the question inside and couldn’t anymore. “Sex? Begging? Pain… my humiliation? My tears? I want to understand what you hope to get from me with all this.”
I noticed how she ignored my warning, but the honest frustration in her question rang true.
I took a deep breath. I wasn’t a good man, and fuck knows, I had enough blood on my hands to cement my place in hell for the rest of eternity. But sitting across from this woman, I found I couldn’t lie.
I had no intention of hurting her. I’d missed her. I’d wanted to see her again.“I want you to repay what you stole.”
“Because a million bucks and some surveillance photos for a new client will make a huge difference to the Luciano bottom line?” Her tone was scathing, and she wasn’t wrong.
The money was a drop in the bucket, and now that the entire New York underworld knew I’d taken her, they’d assume I’d assuaged the debt between us. My reputation was restored. When it came down to it, my vengeance and need to make her pay for it was nothing to do with either.
She’d walked away from the single most intriguing connection I’d ever made with another person. She’d been playing at liking me when I’d fallen ten feet under for her.
“I want you to be sorry you ruined that night. I want you to apologize,” I said levelly.
Surprise flashed in her eyes, and a frown echoed deeply between her brows.“That’s it? You want an apology?”
No. I want you, every single part.
I nodded. “A sincere one,” I warned. I gestured for her to continue. “Come on, let’s hear it.”
She was silent a long moment and then, to my astonishment, shook her head. “No.”
“No? No, you won’t apologize or no, you don’t mean it?”
“Neither. I won’t apologize because I don’t mean it. I’m not sorry for what I did, and I’d do it again if I had my time over,” she said.
I stared at her, annoyance and intrigue and a whole lot of other things boiling in my blood. What the fuck was Chiara playing at? “If you don’t apologize, I’ll be forced to make you sorry in other ways,” I warned her, an empty threat, though she didn’t know that.
She nodded, looking resigned, and then simply shrugged. “Do your worst,” she said, repeating last night.
With that, she turned to her plate, and I was summarily dismissed. Chiara De Luca was going to drive me insane, and there was little I could do about it.
CHAPTER8
Chiara
The rest of dinner went about as well as expected, considering I’d thrown the opportunity to apologize back in Antonio’s face. The grifter Giacomo had trained had urged me to do it. A doe-eyed apology with some glittering tears to ram it home, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t lie to this man’s face again, not after what had passed between us. He wasn’t wrong about any of it. I’d felt it too, and I’d found my limit for lying where I least expected it. I’d have done the same again because Antonio had no idea what my brother held over me. I’d had no choice. Guilt sat heavily on my shoulders as I avoided his eyes on the way to the car.
He held my car door open, and I slid inside. The dress was tight as hell, and I could have felt exposed in it, but Antonio’s eyes on me constantly made me feel something else. Beautiful. Sexy. Things I usually never liked to feel. Tonight, it made me feel powerful. Or maybe it was being on the arm of one of the most powerful men in a dangerous city. Either way, it was heady. Antonio got in beside me, and we started moving through the dark streets.
“So, what does Giacomo want you to get from me this time?” Antonio asked in a lazy drawl like he was bored of De Luca family drama.
I got that. I was too. This intelligent man wasn’t fooled by my brother’s pathetic act.
I shrugged. “He hasn’t told me yet.”
“Well, I expect he will soon, considering you’re to leave on Friday. I suppose, whatever it is, you’ll do it without question.”
His dark mutter made frustration and anger rise in my chest. Something inside me snapped, and the distance I’d tried to keep between us was suddenly too heavy to hold up. “Of course I will. That’s all I’m good for. A pretty little puppet, dancing on her master’s strings,” I muttered, my loathing for my life clear in my tone.
Antonio tensed and turned his dark head toward me, piercing me with his fearless eyes. “If you hate it that much, tell me why. People who hate their lives try to change them—”
“Spoken like a powerful man. Like a son. You might hate being a spare in the Luciano family, but you’re still a man. You still qualify. You have no idea what it is to be a woman in a family like ours.” I bit out.
I swallowed a gasp as Antonio’s hand landed on my shoulder, wrenching me to face him as I tried to hide my face in the corner against the window. His palm was huge and hot, and his grip firm. It held such strength. I wanted to melt into it for a moment and disappear.
“Tell me. Tell me, and let me do something about it.”
