Page 45 of Keeping My Bride

Chapter 30

Luca

ICAN’T CONCENTRATE. Verona has been gone all day long, and it’s been bugging the fuck out of me. Dante answered only one of my texts saying that she was at her father’s house, and that was hours ago. All other texts have been ignored. And even though he’s being paid by the Moretti family, I am going to reprimand that prick the moment I get my hands on him.

He drove my wife out of here without my permission. I don’t give a fuck who he works for. He lives under my fucking roof. He eats my food. He shits in my toilets. He will listen to whatever the fuck I say. And if he doesn’t like it, he will be out on his ass. I don’t give a fuck how much Verona wants him as her bodyguard.

I demand order and control in my life. If I don’t have those two things, then my world feels like it’s spiraling into utter chaos. And the sooner Verona learns that, the better.

Eight o’clock rolls around, and I’m on my fifth glass of scotch when I see the black BMW pull into the garage on the security footage. I watch impatiently on my laptop while Verona exits the car after Dante opens the door for her. Then, I track her movements through the garage and the house. She walks up the stairs to her bedroom without even so much as a glance into any of the rooms to look for me.

I’m seething, my hands clenched in anger as I stalk out of my office and go to find Dante.

He’s in the kitchen, rooting around in the refrigerator when I approach him. “You took my wife without my permission?” I throw the accusation out there calmly even though I’m anything but calm on the inside.

“I didn’t know it was against the rules,” he says sarcastically, exaggerating the last two words and pissing me off even further.

“Let me make it clear for you. What my wife does or doesn’t do is my business, not yours. From now on, you’ll clear everything with me first, or you’ll be out of a job.”

“You can’t fire me,” he says, pulling a few things out of the fridge to make something to eat. “I don’t work for you.”

I shoot him an angry glare. “You don’t work for me, but I can still kick your fucking ass out of my goddamn house.”

“Verona wouldn’t like that very much,” he says, flashing me a cocky grin.

Dante is tall, but I’m taller and bigger than him. I doubt he’s had the type of training I have had in my lifetime. It might be a struggle at first, but I know I could overtake him. I would like nothing more in this moment than to beat him into a bloody pulp. “I don’t give a fuck what she likes or doesn’t like. And the same goes for you. Run shit by me, or you’re out of here. Got it?”

“Sure thing, boss,” he says, and it takes every ounce of strength in me to not walk over to him and knock that smile off of his face along with a few teeth out of his goddamn mouth.

“And if the other night wasn’t an indication of whose dick she wants, then I don’t know what will wake you the fuck up,” I hiss at him. That statement stuns him into silence, and now I’m the one smiling before I turn and leave the room.

I walk straight to my wife’s bedroom. I startle her when I slam open the door. Her petite body is wrapped in a towel, her long hair dripping wet as she emerges from the adjacent bathroom.

I’m beyond the point of calm now. I’m fucking furious. “Where the fuck were you all day?” I roar. I want to hear the words from her mouth in case Dante was bullshitting me.

“I went to see my father. Is there a problem?” she asks calmly, seemingly not affected by my anger.

“Dante is not to take you anywhere without my permission,” I demand.

Now this gets a rise out of her. She goes from calm to angry in two-point-five seconds. And I can’t help but notice how cute she looks when she’s pissed. “I have to ask for your permission to leave the house to see my father?” she exclaims indignantly. “Luca, that is absurd!”

“It’s not absurd. It’s smart. You know what kind of world we live in, Verona. You’re not safe out there,” I warn.

“I had Dante with me the whole time!” she counters, her voice raising to new levels.

And I don’t know why, but it pisses me off that she relies on her bodyguard to keep her safe and not her own husband. Although, I guess I haven’t given her many reasons to trust me. Hell, I’ve given her every reason not to trust me.

Trying to calm myself down, I pace the floor of her room. “Why did you go to see your father?” I ask even though I think I already know the answer to that question.

“To find out information about your mother.”

I stop pacing and turn to look at her. “And?” I prompt.

“He denied any wrongdoing. He had no part in your mother’s death.”

“And you believe him?” I scoff.

“Of course I believe him! I was there. I looked into his eyes. He wasn’t lying to me. He was telling the truth!”

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