Page 76 of Runaway in the Mafia
“What’s his name?”
I shook my head wildly. If I told him. He would link everything. Get to Papa and blast him with the truth. He didn’t understand our culture. Subtlety was as bred in him as gentlemanly skills. He had zero inclination to think of another man’s health. He would charge in and take what he thought was his and leave disaster behind. “I can’t.”
“Doesn’t matter, my pretty little fiancée. I’ll find out.”
He shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out his phone. “Sergio, get the fuck over here, my fiancée needs a ride back.” His glare shifted to calculated maliciousness. He switched languages and let out a stream of Sicilian. He kept me caged in his arms while he spoke. Harsh sounds. It didn’t sound anything like the beautiful language I was used to. When he ended the call, he was geared up. Fresh kill swam in his eyes. Dark energy vibrated within it.
He was boiling with a murderous rage, but his touch contradicted it with how gentle it felt. His index finger trailed my jaw from my right ear to the dip of my chin. He hovered close. Didn’t kiss me, but inhaled like I was his reason to breathe. Then he stepped back. Time crawled at a snail’s pace under his watchful gaze. Dark with intent. Seconds crawled into minutes,and neither of us uttered a single word. What could we say that could change the course of this path? But within our silence and painful breaths, words crept through unbeknownst to us.
I couldn’t fathom this man. Couldn’t understand his obsession when he could so easily walk away. He could have anyone. Someone who wasn’t broken or tied down. By responsibilities or a monster at a dead end.
His refusal to give in scared me. It made me believe things. Made me hope. And hope was dangerous when you paired it with me. I had to keep it away from me to walk the path I was meant to. So I fought to believe something else. Something that couldn’t hurt me. It was his arrogance, I told myself. That was it. He never lost, and he wasn’t going to start with me. Even if he might discard me soon enough. Because for him, I was just another notch on his arm. For me, he was what could bring down my family with one word. I would not let him get away with it. He could stare at me all he wanted. I’d never give him a name.
The sound of a horn cut into our dark bubble. It should have been relief I felt spark to life within my chest.
“Go on.” He jerked his head towards the door. “Get out. Isn’t that what you wanted to do all along?”
I eyed him worriedly. “What are you going to do?”
He shrugged angrily. “Nothing I can do if you don’t give me a name. Right?”
Right.
I backed away hastily and stumbled to the door. But his words stopped me right in front of it. “You should know a little something, though, about your fiancé.” I gripped the handle. Couldn’t bring myself to turn around. “Any man who touches you, I will kill. But a man who used you as a punchbag…” He paused. I glanced over my shoulder and regretted it. He was in the middle of the living room, glass in hand, murder in his eyes. “He’d better pray to be eaten alive before I get to him.”
I didn’t hang around. Pulled the handle down and slammed it shut behind me. But just as it did, the noise of shattering glass reached me. It was as deadly as a gunshot in a dark alley.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
VITALE
Crimson dripped down on to my white Carrara, but I was unaware of the pain. Shattered glass lined the floor like crystals. Bits and pieces etched into my calloused hands. In front of me, my view distorted into a million diamonds. Fucking safety glass. I had to have a go at it thrice to get the damn thing down.
Ahana. Ahana. Ahana.
Her name was etched into my heart. Her moans echoed in the hollow of my chest. Her scent travelled in my blood. So how the hell could I accept that she was bound to another man?
I couldn’t.
That was the only fucking choice.
I’d known she’d been assaulted. I’d known she was running away from a monster. I’d known it couldn’t have been her Papa because the way she clutched her locket every time she was sad told me things she didn’t voice. But she was fucking married? To a wife beater? And the worst part? She wanted to go back tohim. If she wasn’t telling me why, then I was coming to my own conclusions.
Conclusion: My wife-to-be had lost her damn mind. Somewhere out there was a man who’d beat her. Still living. Still breathing. Still holding on to his limbs. I couldn’t allow that.
The fact that she wanted to go back to him made my insides boil. Made the monster in me rattle with unbidden rage. Brought back memories. Even if it wasn’t like before. Mamma had refused to walk away. Ahana had walked away. She was strong. She had to be, to do it. That meant he had something on her. A threat? Blackmail? A fucking knife to her throat? It didn’t matter, anyway. I’d take him out, and the problem would be resolved.
Six times. Six fucking times. Six feet under.
It was sickening to think of her as another man’s wife. Made my skin crawl like a disease. She was mine. That was final.
I wanted her so badly I could taste her on my lips. Like the aftertaste of an aged whiskey. Every breath I took pulsed with the need. For her. To possess her. This lust that whirled inside me was insatiable. I couldn’t tone it down if I wanted to. And I didn’t even want to. I wanted her, and I was having her. Carlo’s greed had travelled down to me and doubled in size, no doubt about it. I understood him, finally, after all these years. Even when I had thought I was exactly like him, there was a big part of me that couldn’t fucking understand him. Why could he not have been loyal to Mamma? Why did he have to fuck every woman in our fucking town? Why did he have to do it in front of his family? But almost a year after I had put a bullet through his head, I fucking understood him. This uncontrolled behaviour, this obsession, this was him. The irony of it didn’t miss me. Could have saved myself the trouble and let him live and just killed myself. The world would be a better place for it.And apparently the woman I desired as much as my next breath could live without me.
No fucking way.
The chair was in my hands before I knew it and found its way to the shattered panel between the house and the garden. There was no satisfaction to be gained by watching it flying through and rolling further onto my perfect lawn. Perfect house. Perfect everything. Imperfect woman, but in her imperfection, all I found was perfection.
I was fucking tired of being taken for a ride.
