chapter 3

~~~~Luca's POV~~~~

I walk through my front door at two in the morning, and there she is. Waiting.

Monic.

She wears something red and thin, the kind of fabric that leaves nothing to the imagination. Her hair is down, spilling over her shoulders. She's been drinking—I can smell it on her from across the room.

"Finally," she purrs, pushing off the couch. "I've been waiting all night."

I can't answer. My head is still back in that shabby house, watching Anne bleed on the floor while she chooses death over me.

Monic doesn't notice. Or doesn't care.

She crosses the room in three quick steps and presses herself against me. Her arms loop around my neck as her lips find my jaw, then my throat.

"I missed you," she whispers.

My hands stay at my sides, not touching her. I can't. Every nerve in my body is still on fire from her. From Anne.

But Monic keeps going. Her mouth finds mine, and she kisses me soft at first, then harder. Her fingers tangle in my hair. Her thigh presses between my legs.

Anne. Anne. Anne.

The name rattles around my skull like a bullet.

She shot herself. Rather than come with me. She'd rather bleed out on that filthy floor than let me touch or look at her.

Six years. Six years of candles, grief, and guilt. And she was alive the whole time. Laughing and living somewhere. Without me.

Making me feel guilty all these while.

I kiss Monic back.

Not soft or gentle. Hard and rough. My hand grips her waist, yanking her against me. She gasps in surprise, then pleasure. Her fingers dig into my shoulders.

She hitches her leg around my hip, riding herself against my thigh. A soft moan escapes her throat.

This is what Anne didn't want. What she threw away. Someone who wants me. Someone who stays.

I kiss her harder. My teeth catch her lower lip.

She never loved you. She used you. You were a ticket out of nothing.

I bite down.

Monic yelps and pulls back. Her hand flies to her mouth. When she lowers it, there's blood on her fingertips.

"Luca—"

I step away from her.

"I'm not interested."

Her eyes go wide. Hurt. Then anger. "You bite my lip until I bleed, and then you say you're not interested?"

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. Taste copper.

"Go home, Monic."

"Is there someone else?" Her voice cracks.

I don't answer. What is there to say?

She laughs, bitter and sharp. "I am the only one who gets to marry you, Luca. And if I get those bitches of yours, I'll murder them all myself, so stop playing around. We are to marry in three months."

"I know."

"Then act like it."

She grabs her purse from the couch, storms toward the door. At the threshold, she stops.

"I'll be back tomorrow, Luca. And you won't push me away again."

The door slams.

I stand in the middle of my living room, alone, the taste of her blood still on my tongue.

Anne.

I hate her. I hate her for making me feel this way. For making me cruel. For making me into a man who bites his fiancée's lip until she bleeds because he's too furious about his past.

I pour a glass of whiskey but don't drink it. Just watch the amber liquid catch the light.

You want to be dead to me, Anne? Fine. I'll make it true.

---

My phone rings an hour later. I almost don't answer.

"Father."

"Come to the estate. Now." His voice is hard. No greetings or warmth. There never is.

"I'm busy."

"You've found her, I see."

My grip tightens on the glass. Of course he knows. He always knows.

"How do you know about that?"

"I have eyes everywhere, Luca. Don't make me wait."

He hangs up.

---

My father's mansion hasn't changed since I was a boy. Dark wood, heavy curtains, the smell of old money and older grudges.

Lucinda meets me at the door.

She looks fragile this morning. Wearing a pale blue dress with her hair soft around her face. Her eyes go wide when she sees me.

"Luca." She opens her arms, pulls me into a hug before I can step back. "You look exhausted, my dear. Are you eating?"

"I'm fine."

She cups my face with both hands, her thumbs brushing my cheekbones. "I've raised you since you were a child. I love you like my own. It breaks my heart to see you like this."

Like my own. I've heard those words a thousand times. They mean nothing. She means nothing. Just a woman who married my father for security and now plays the grieving saint.

"Where is he?" I ask, stepping away from her touch.

"In the study." She sighs, dramatic and wounded. "He's in a mood, Luca. Please don't fight with him. He only wants what's best for the family."

What's best for the family. Not what's best for me. Never that.

I walk past her.

---

My father sits behind his desk like a king on a throne. Don Vittorio. Retired, but still acting like the world bows to him.

He doesn't stand when I enter. Doesn't offer a drink. Just looks at me with those cold, knowing eyes.

"You went to see her."

Not a question.

"Yes."

"Luca, how will I make you understand that this life you live in isn't for you alone? Running around with some cheap maid—"

"Maid? She isn't a maid."

"But she was—"

"Was is different from is. And she isn't."

He sighs. His eyes reading mine. "Hmmm. It seems like no matter what I do, you still render yourself weak."

Weak. The word cuts deeper than it should have.

"I just needed answers."

He stands. Slowly, like he has all the time in the world. He walks around the desk until he's standing in front of me. Close enough that I can smell his cologne—the same brand he's worn since I was a child.

"Answers?" He laughs. "You went because you're still in love with her. Still obsessed. Still weak."

"I am not weak."

"You're standing in my study, looking like death, because she broke your heart again. What do you call that, then?"

My hands curl into fists.

"She doesn't have my heart."

"No?" He tilts his head. "Then why are you here, Luca? Why didn't you just let her go?"

Because I can't.

But I don't say that. I swallow the words like broken glass.

"I'm here because you summoned me. Like a dog."

His eyes narrow. "Watch your mouth."

"Or what?" I step closer. "You'll ground me? Take away my allowance?" I laugh, and it comes out bitter and cold. "I am the Don now, Father. I give the orders. I make the decisions. Not you."

"This family—"

"This family is mine. You retired. You handed me the reins. You don't get to grab them back every time you disagree with my choices."

His face reddens. "You're throwing everything away for a slave who was only using you, then disappeared. Does she even deserve it?"

The words hit like punches.

I used you, Luca. Your money and status. You were a ticket out of nothing.

I force my face to stay neutral.

"Then I have nothing to throw away."

Father studies me for a long moment. Then he smiles, slow and cold.

"Good. Then you won't mind if I handle her myself."

My blood goes cold. "What?"

"I don't need the heir of the Italian empire being vulnerable at the moment. You know what is at risk."

"You will not touch her."

"But I thought she meant nothing."

I open my mouth, then close it. He's trapped me, and we both know it.

"Stay away from her," I say finally. "This is my business. Mine alone."

I turn and walk out before he can answer.

---

Lucinda is waiting in the hallway.

"Luca—"

I walk past her. Don't look back.

My hands are shaking by the time I reach my car. Not from fear. From rage.

She did this, I think. Anne did this. She made me look weak in front of my father. She made me defend her when I should be destroying her.

I slam my fist against the steering wheel.

I hate her.

The words feel good. Clean.

I hate her. And I will ruin her. Every person she loves. Every memory she has. She will pay for making me feel this way.

I start the engine.

This isn't over, little angel. Not even close.

---

My phone rings as I pull out of the estate. Marco.

"Don, we found something."

"What?"

"Anne's been working late night shifts at a club. The Velvet Room. Dancing, maybe waitressing. She's there most nights until two or three in the morning."

I grip the wheel tighter. A club. She's been dancing in some filthy club for money.

"Why?"

"She's struggling, Don. Living alone, working double shifts. No visible support."

She could have come back to me. I would have given her everything. Instead, she chose to bleed on a dirty floor.

"Where is this club?"

Marco gives me the address.

"Prepare. We're going there tonight."

I hang up.

Anne.

I hate her. I hate her for choosing poverty over me. For choosing a bullet over my touch. For making me into this—this monster who bites his fiance's lip and lies to his father and can't stop thinking about a woman who never loved him.

I will ruin you, I promise silently. Every part of your miserable life. I will tear it apart until you beg me to stop. And then I won't.