Page 5 of Marriage of Revenge

My lungs seize. I must have misheard him. But the ice in his gaze says otherwise. My fingers dig into the table’s edge, trying to keep from toppling over.

Forget happily-ever-after.

This is my nightmare. And there is no pretty pink bow around it.

CHAPTER 2 – ANTONIO

The club's music poundsthrough the air, each beat a visceral reminder of my heart still fucking thundering, despite everything.

Italy—land of exquisite pleasures and deadly secrets.

My home.

A place I clawed my way back to, covered in scars, with blood still crusted under my fingernails.

My blood. Others' blood. The kind that pooled around me while my former stepfather whispered how he was keeping me alive as an example. How betrayal has a price. How love makes you weak.

How I was paying for the sins of my mother, for my own sins, for tempting his daughter, too.

I lean against the bar, the cold surface a welcome contrast to the heat radiating from the two women clinging to me. Their laughter is high and sweet, tinged with a note of reverence. They watch my scars, like they're fascinated, turned on by the violencecarved into my skin. Little do they know, I’m not the kind of man who makes scars beautiful. I’m the one who leaves them.

Rosa, the brunette with dark eyes full of promises she can’t possibly fulfill, presses against my side, her breath hot on my neck. She tilts her head, her perfume wrapping around me, thick and cloying. “Antonio,” she purrs, her voice a silken whisper, her accent drawing out every syllable like a caress. I feel her hand drift lower, nails dragging over my shirt, testing my patience.

Because she's not what I want. Never has been. My jaw tightens as the necklace around her throat catches the light. A delicate silver music note. Isabella had one like it.

Back when I first met her: she was sixteen, I was nineteen, and she was dancing barefoot on marble floors, her laughter loud and free.

Back when after playing piano for her, my fingers traced that damn necklace while she arched into my touch, both of us pretending we weren't playing with fire. Before she twisted a knife in my fucking back. Before my father made sure his message about loyalty was carved into my flesh permanently.

Before she became the princess who ruined everything.

She’s twenty-one now. And I feel like I’m a fucking thousand years old.

“Antonio,” Rosa repeats, her voice coy, desperate for my attention. I want to punish her for being here, for reminding me of Isabella, and I will. But not yet. My grip tightens around my glass, and I down the rest of the scotch, savoring the burn, pretending it’s enough to obliterate the past. Spoiler alert: it’s not.

The crowd shifts, parting as Franco approaches, his expression grave. Even in the chaos of the club, my second knows how to command respect. He leans in, his voice low. "Boss," he says, shooting the women a cold glance. They hesitate but eventually step back, their amusement fading. Good."Isabella and her father will be in Naples in three days. They've already wired a significant amount for the auction. Looks like they're fully committed."

The scar tissue pulls tight across my face as I clench my jaw. Memories of screams still echo in my nightmares. Of begging. Of lessons about loyalty carved into flesh.

"Are you sure? They backed out the last three years at the last minute."

“I’m sure.”

Three days. Seventy-two hours until I see her again. My cock twitches at the thought of her being so close again. Her in flesh and blood, not these ghost memories I've been torturing myself with. Sick, isn't it? After everything, my body still betrays me—wanting to possess her even as I plot to destroy her.

No matter how many bodies I pile up between us, I can't seem to untangle desire from vengeance.

I turn to Rosa and her friend, Liliana, and let my gaze rake over them, calculating. It’s not them I crave, but they’ll have to do.

"Okay," I tell Franco, my voice a growl. "We'll be ready. I don't want to win—I want to fucking dominate. Make sure our men are placed strategically at every event. I want to know every breath she takes, every move her father makes. This isn't about winning an auction. It's about watching them realize, step by step, that they're trapped in a game they didn't know they were playing." Franco nods, understanding my meaning, and melts back into the crowd.

Rosa slinks back to me, emboldened, her lips brushing my ear.

“Take us upstairs, Antonio,” she murmurs, her hands already working at my belt. Liliana sidles up, her fingers slipping beneath the hem of my shirt, nails raking over my abs. Their hunger is palpable, and I feed off it, even as my thoughts drift to Isabella. To punishing her. To taking what’s mine.

With a brutal smile, I grab Rosa by the hair, dragging her close. Her mouth parts in a gasp, and I take her lips, kissing her hard enough to bruise, my teeth nipping her bottom lip. “You think you can handle me?” I whisper, my voice rough. She nods eagerly, hips grinding against mine.

Liliana laughs, but I cut her off, twisting her wrist behind her back. Her eyes widen, but there’s nothing but arousal there, and I lean in, my breath hot on her ear. “Both of you,” I command. “Now.”

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