Page 61 of Loving Lucia

“No.” Rossi looks down at his watch, then glances up at me. “Emilio and I are going to meet with some associates for a game of cards. It should take a few hours, but I wouldn’t dawdle past midnight.”

He starts to move past me, but I grab his shoulder. “What’s your game?” I hiss at him. “Why would you tell me that?”

Rossi eyes my hand on his shoulder and carefully pushes it away. “Emilio would be insufferable if Lucia was unable to walk down the aisle.”

He couches it in those simple terms, but I don’t trust it. If Lucia is “unfit” for Pavone to marry, he’ll find another woman. He doesn’t care who it is he’s terrorizing.

“Maybe you’re the one falling for Lucia,” I taunt. “You straight boys are so easy. A girl shakes her breasts at you and you’re already in love.”

“I prefer flatter chests on women,” Rossi answers. “And I never said I was straight.”

I stare at him, but before I can come up with a response, he’s already on his way down the hall. I can’t call out for him without drawing more attention to myself, and he knows it. Way to drop a grenade and keep going. Does Pavone know he’s bi or gay? Doubtful. He wouldn’t have let Rossi so close if he knew. He might be willing to let me in, but that’s because he’s milking me for information about Victor.

I shake my head as he disappears, turning back for the hallway that leads to Lucia’s room.

Once there, I knock quietly on the door.

No answer.

Maybe she’s asleep. I hesitate, considering just leaving, but I still remember the numb look on her face after Pavone’s men had finished pissing on her and Rossi had hosed her down like a dog. I try the doorknob, and I’m surprised to find the door unlocked.

Probably one of Pavone’s rules, and it incenses me. She’s not safe if anyone wandering through the mansion can just help themselves to her room. I slip inside and lock the door behind me, wondering what the fuck possessed me to get the idea to come up here.

“Lucia?” I whisper into the darkness of the room.

There’s a light rustling sound coming from the bed, and I see a shadow as she sits up. “Angelo?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” I answer, slowly creeping over to the bed. I don’t want to freak her out too badly, so I sit down at the foot of the bed, well away from her. “How are you holding up?”

I don’t ask her how she’s doing. I know that she must feel like complete shit. But I want to hear her voice, I want to know that she’s going to bounce back and be the same Lucia who outsmarted the three of us.

Fuck, I should still be mad about that, but the pain and betrayal I’d felt that night of our date has slowly faded into an amused pride.

“Brilliantly,” she says, but her voice is thready. She shifts, drawing her knees up against her chest, and rests her chin down on them as she huddles there.

“I’m sorry, Princess,” I say.

For a moment, she’s silent, and the words hang in the air between us.

“You know,” she finally says, “I think that’s the first time you’ve apologized to me for anything. And it wasn’t even your fault this time.”

I don’t know if she expects me to apologize for everything I’ve done to her now. I’m not sorry I fucked her while she sobbed in fear. I’d do it again, if I knew we were safe, if Saint or Victor were around to comfort her after. But neither of them is here, and I’m the only one who can offer comfort.

“You want me to apologize for what I’ve done?” I ask wryly. “It would be as sincere as your apologies to me.”

She lets out a short, broken laugh. “I’ve never been insincere in my life.”

“I doubt that. But if you want me to be honest: I know what kind of person I am, Lucia. I get off on violence and blood. I won’t apologize for that. But I can promise you that when the time is right, I’m going to make Pavone cry harder than you ever have. He’s going to be begging for his life, desperate and afraid, and you can help me take him apart piece by piece. How’s that sound?”

“Pavone’s never going to cry,” she scoffs. “No matter what you do to him. He’s got too much pride.”

“Is that a challenge, Princess?” I ask, somewhat amused by her certainty. He’s only a man, and men break. “Because I think he’s a pussy.”

She lets out a little snort. “Only you would call Emilio Pavone a pussy.”

“Hey, he let his second-in-command refuse an order in front of half a dozen of his guys,” I point out. “He’s not as strong here as we thought.”

Lucia hums softly, but I can tell she’s distracted. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

---