Page 68 of Cage the Storm
My fingers twitch. It’s instinct. The gun rests against my side, promising that all it would take is one pull of the trigger. One second of indulgence.
And he’d be dead.
The man who sent Carlo to kill me when I was a teen, executed my brother, wreaked havoc on my wedding day, and set me up so Carlo could finish what he failed all those years ago could cease to exist in less than a heartbeat.
But it would be a death sentence. Not just for him. For me. For Luna. For my family and everything that we’re trying to build. I breathe through it, knowing my control is what’s kept me alive this long.
He’s watching me, waiting.
I see it in the glint of amusement in his eyes, the satisfaction in knowing that my anger is burning beneath my skin. He wants me to lose control. Flexing my fingers once I drag my hand away from the temptation. Instead, I raise my glass and take a sip first. “You should have finished the job when you had the chance.”
“And, yet here we are.” There’s no remorse in his voice. No regret whatsoever. He doesn’t apologize because that’s not in his nature.
“For now.” I lift my glass in a mock toast. “To failure.” My tone remains calm, but I’m anything but. “May it never be repeated.” Then I tip back my glass and drain every last drop.
When Luna squeezes my bicep and Mateo swears under his breath, I decide it’s time to mingle and let my father-in-law regret the day he fucked with the Caputo family.
He silently watches us as we walk away. Because for the first time, he wonders whether or not he’ll be next.
The pause in conversation is intentional. Every lingering glance, every measured step is orchestrated, designed to force my attention. I feel her stare prickling the nape of my neck before I turn, meeting her eyes.
Bianca Russo was once my future. A deal made between families, a promise sealed long before any of us had a choice. She was meant to be my wife, the expected union between two dynasties. But when Giovanni died, everything realigned. And his widow became my wife.
Luna was promised to another man.
Yet here we stand.
Bianca takes in the sight of us, her gaze dancing over Luna with quiet cunning, measuring what kind of woman has taken her rightful place. “I wondered if I’d see you tonight.”
The heat of her palm sears through my shirt, fingers curling slightly against my chest. I grab her wrist to push her away, but it's too late. As her lips brush my cheek, it's slow enough to feel the catch of her breath. “You taste like regret,” she murmurs, her mouth hovering near the corner of mine. It’s not an accusation. It’s a dare. With her wrist still in my grasp, I push her away.
Bianca lingers, her hip angled toward mine, her laugh too familiar. She leans in, a performance for the crowd, her thumb tracing the rim of her wineglass like it’s my cock. “Still hate these parties, don’t you,amore?” she purrs.
Luna is already in motion, calculated and cold.
Her hand closes around my bicep, fingers pressing the exact point where my pulse leaps. No tremble. No doubt. Just cool, clean ownership. “Darling,” she says, her sweet voice hiding thesting.Her other hand rises to adjust my tie with a single tug. It’s a blatant sign that she’s fixing the mess Bianca just created.
The room holds its breath.
“Did that bother you, Mrs. Caputo?”
“I’m not bothered,” Luna smiles. “I’m entertained. Because watching you make a fool out of yourself solidified to everyone that you are nothing. Just a reminder of an arrangement never fulfilled?”
Bianca’s smirk stiffens. Luna doesn’t look at her. Doesn’t need to. Every inch of my wife is a statement: the tilt of her chin, the way her wedding band glints as she brushes nonexistent lint from my shoulder. When she finally meets Bianca’s gaze, it’s with a smile that never touches her eyes. “You’ll have to forgive us, we’re overdue for a dance.”
Her hand slides from my arm to my nape, nails scraping just enough to sting. The band plays something slow, and she pulls me close. “You let her touch you,” she says, lips brushing my ear. Her grip tightens when I tense. “Relax,husband. The show’s not over yet.” She laughs as her heel grinds down on my foot. “Smile. Then take me home andapologizeproperly.”
The threat isn’t in her words. It’s in the way she melts against me afterward; her cheek pressed to my throat, staking her claim.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
LUNA
The music subsides,and Nico’s grip remains firm against my waist. The heat of his body soothes me, even as we step away from the dance floor. I know better than to believe the night is done. Their eyes track our every move, and speculation fuels their whispers about what comes next.
Let them talk.
I don’t break my poise or adjust my pace, but my fingers press slightly into Nico’s arm, a silent signal, a reminder that I am aware.
