A dam breaks within me.Tears soak my pillow and sobs wrack my chest, but I don’t even know why I’m crying.
I knew my marriage to Romeo wasn’t for love.I knew happily ever after was never something I could obtain.I knew being wed didn’t mean complete freedom—I’d still have to see my father on holidays and other outings—but I never thought he would purposefully sabotage my chances of a peaceful future before I even had a chance to forge my way.
I cry until my head throbs and throat aches.Exhaustion sweeps over me, and I fall asleep between one breath and the next.
When I wake up disoriented and covered in sweat with screams echoing in my ears, I can’t tell if it’s from my nightmares or my shattered heart.
I’m broken, but not because my uncle miraculously rose from the dead and threatened to make my life a living hell.
It’s because I’m already there.
I’m so deep in the fiery pits of purgatory that marrying the man who betrayed my family and promised to hurt me for the rest of my days sounds more appealing than the future my father has planned for me.
If my life is going to be a living nightmare, I may as well do it with the devil, right?
My first crush and newest enemy.The man I trusted most as a child but hold only hatred for now.A cruel spirit with the power to seduce my body and steal my control.
Mario Luciano.
I don’t know how I’m going to survive, but there must be a way.
Chapter 6
Mario Luciano
I growl and slam my laptopclosed again—I’ve watched her reaction to my gift an exorbitant number of times throughout the night—before almost yanking the fridge door off its hinges as I open it for a bottle of water.
She’s sulking like a child.
I expected more from her.She acts so bubbly and mature in social settings, but one mild scolding from her father and a harmless gift from me sent her into hysterics.It’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen.
I twist the cap off my water.The plastic gives a satisfying crack.Cold water splashes over my hand and the tip of my loafers.
God, I hate this outfit, but blending in is the name of the game today.The polo shirt, tan slacks, and ugly-ass shoes belong on an old white bastard born with a silver spoon in his mouth, not a hardened mafia mercenary on the path of revenge.
I sigh and flick the drops off my hand before chugging the entire bottle.The icy liquid cools my throat and stomach but does nothing to dampen my rage.
Valentina will not ruin my plans.She can sulk, pout, and throw as many tantrums as she pleases; nothing will stop me from repaying them for their betrayal.
I check the time, grab another bottle of water, down it, and scoop my laptop into my bag before striding out of the kitchen.Leaving the lights on since Noah programmed them to turn on and off automatically, I lock the front door, swing my bag onto my shoulder, and descend the steps as I scan the area.When all seems normal for the mix of business and residential buildings, I stalk down the sidewalk to my car and eye the three townhouses with attached garages with envy.
Giorgio Vivaldi, the new don of one of the five New York City founding mafia families, bought them with a subsidiary company before I ever had a chance.When I realized it was him behind the purchase, I backed off and found the next best option, which was a four-story brick townhouse several houses south.
It wasn’t exactly what I wanted, but with a little money—which I have plenty of—and a few months of TLC, I finished the basement and remodeled the inside to fit my needs.Whether it’s where I settle down or if it becomes a temporary living space, it will always be an asset in my robust portfolio.
I toss my bag into the back seat and drop behind the wheel of the luxury sedan I drove home last night.
After sending a quick text, I pull out of my parallel parking spot and fight my way through the busy streets, taking several detours to ensure I don’t have someone tailing me, and pull into the underground parking deck for several apartment buildings.I park near the elevator but take the stairs up to the main lobby before scanning my badge and riding the VIP elevator up to one of the higher floors.
After several turns down the posh hallway, I type in the door code and slip into the apartment Noah spends most of his time in.
Although the place is spotless, I find proof he ate by the wrappers in the kitchen trashcan, and by the humidity and smell of body wash in the bathroom, he showered recently, too.The fitness room has a blue mat on the floor that wasn’t here before and a sweat rag hanging off the pull up bar but is otherwise clean.
The bed in the guest room looks hastily made, but the master hasn’t been touched since the last time I was here a week ago.With a sigh, I drop my bag on the bed and choose an appropriate briefcase to swap my essentials into before carrying both in search of my right-hand man.
I find him sitting in front of the row of monitors in his office.
“Hey, boss.You’re looking… preppy today,” he teases.
