Page 65 of Keeping My Bride

“No, it was so much more than that,” I tell him firmly. I stop walking and so does he. When he looks down at me, I can’t help the feelings that are pouring out of me. “You made his life better. Look at him now. Without you, he’d still be waiting tables and be miserable.”

“Verona,” Luca growls.

I know he doesn’t like to be told he is a good man with a heart of gold underneath all of that hard, rough exterior, but I don’t care. First with the human trafficking ring he’s trying to stop and now with Leo… I just want him to know how much he means to me. “I love you, Luca Vitale,” I tell him softly.

His gray eyes widen at my words. A myriad of emotions cross over his face — shock, confusion, and disbelief. He opens his mouth to say something to me, but then Leonardo suddenly announces in a microphone that the show is about to begin.

People from the street begin to flood into the art gallery through the front doors. Luca pulls me close and says, “I want you to pick out a piece that speaks to you.”

Well, it’s not exactly what I wanted to hear, but that’s okay. I didn’t really expect Luca to say the three words back to me. I mean, he might never tell me he loves me. And honestly, I think I’d be okay with that. I know Luca isn’t ever going to be the overly affectionate type or the type of man to confess his feelings for me openly. Not willingly, anyway.

I push all those thoughts aside, though, because I’m more than excited to pick out a painting for our home. It feels like such a normal thing a couple would do, and every time we do anything normal, it’s one step closer to feeling like this is a real marriage that can and will work.

We take our time looking at each painting. I’m starting to think I’ll never find one that speaks to me…until I do.

The painting isn’t overly done or extravagant like most of the others. This one is simple. A light gray background with shadows playing around the centerpiece — a gilded birdcage. The door is open. There is no bird in sight, indicating that the bird is free and living its best life somewhere, no longer trapped in its cage.

“This one,” I announce to Luca.

He stops walking and stares at the painting for a long time. Then, he gives me a nod and says, “Yes, this is it.” Squeezing my hand, he looks into my eyes when he tells me, “You’re the bird in this painting, Verona. I never want you to feel trapped or alone again. I want you to always feel free.”

“I feel that way with you,” I tell him, squeezing his hand back.

He tilts his lips into a smile before he tells me, “I’ll make the payment arrangements. Be right back.” He places a chaste kiss on my cheek before leaving me alone with the painting.

The crowd of people has thinned out over the last hour or so, and I feel like I can finally breathe. I’m not used to being around a lot of people. When I lived in boarding school, there were a lot of girls there, but I mostly spent my time alone in my room, reading. And when I lived with my aunt…well, her idea of a fun time was sitting at home, knitting. We hardly ever ventured out unless it was to a thrift shop, and half the time I wasn’t even allowed to buy anything.

Tears fill my eyes as I stare at the painting. I was the bird. I was caged. I wasn’t free.

And Luca changed my life by marrying me. I feel safe with him. I feel like my little, closed-off world opened up into a much bigger and better universe that I never knew existed.

I step closer to the painting that Luca is currently in the process of purchasing and stare in amazement at each and every paint stroke that Leonardo put on the canvas. From far away, the painting looks like a picture. But up close, I can see all of his hard work, his heart and soul that he put into his work.

“Beautiful piece, isn’t it?” asks a deep voice from beside me.

I turn to the stranger, ready to agree with him and maybe brag about how my husband is paying for it as we speak, but then I see a familiar face and freeze. “Constantine Carbone,” I say out loud before I can stop myself.

“I see from the look in your eyes that Luca told you about me since our last meeting.” He smirks darkly. “I guess my reputation really does precede me.”

I go to move away from him, but he reaches out and grabs my arm. It’s not a bruising grip, but it is firm, like I don’t have a choice on whether to run from him or not.

Constantine Carbone is an attractive older man, but the fact that he traffics women and children makes him vile and ugly in my eyes. He’s a cruel and abhorrent monster, and I don’t want to be in his presence a moment longer than I have to.

“The last time we met you were begging for attention from anyone but your husband,” he says, bringing me closer to him. “What changed?” He searches my eyes for answers as I stare up at him, my breathing labored and uneven. “Ah,” he says as if he found the answers in my gaze. “You fell for him.”

With his free hand, he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, grazing my cheek, and I recoil in disgust from his touch. Those hands. So much blood and death on those hands.

He grins at my discomfort. “You know, Verona, if you were mine, I would treat you like a queen. We would travel the world together.”

“And you would pay for it from the blood of the women and children that you sell?” I spit back at him.

He chuckles at my response. “Feisty.” His eyes search mine before he adds, “I like when a woman puts up a fight. No wonder Vitale has kept you.” Leaning down, he runs his tongue along my cheek, tasting my skin. “I bet you taste like heaven and suck cock like a little whore,” he whispers into my ear. “If you wouldn’t want to be mine, I bet I could get a pretty penny for a cunt like yours.”

Grimacing, I pull away from him, hating that I can still feel his touch on my skin. “Stay away from me!” I warn him.

“Or what?” he asks with a smug grin.

“Or this,” Luca’s voice says from beside me. I can hear the gun cocking before I even see it. Luca pulls my back to his front and places a kiss on my temple before raising the gun to his foe. “You know better than to touch what isn’t yours…again, Carbone,” Luca hisses.

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