Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
I glare at him, but it does nothing to ease his chuckles. “You could’ve gotten me pants that fit.”
“I could have,” Matteo agrees, grinning like the devil himself. “But where’s the fun in that?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, fighting not to fracture Matteo’s. “If you had walked a little further down the corridor, I wouldn’t look like an idiot. Elio is a foot shorter than me, so why the fuck did you bring me his pants?”
Matteo shrugs, all innocent. “I didn’t want to wake Camille.”
“Bullshit.”
I don’t elaborate on my reply. He knows he’s full of shit. He doesn’t even bother pretending for more than a second. Matteo thrives on chaos. He’s the definition of the wild middle child—born to stir trouble, poke bears, and set fires just to see what burns.
And the worst part? He’s good at it.
“You live in a separate wing of the compound as Camille and me,” I remind him. “You could’ve grabbed a pair of your pants. You wear the same size as me, and you wouldn’t have disturbed Camille.”
He smirks. “I guess I could have, but again, where’s the fun in that?”
I don’t dignify that with a response. I mostly refuse because I can’t be fucked wasting my breath, but also because Camille is the one thing in this world I’d drop everything for without hesitation. If his loud stomps had awoken her, I wouldn’t be here, rummaging through Lucia’s minimal belongings.
I look around, the ache in my chest heightening. Her “home” was abandoned before she even moved in. A single chair, a mattress, a duffel bag in the corner, and a cracked mirror.
That’s it.
She didn’t leave a trace behind. There’s no perfume or lotion on the vanity sink. No trace of her except the faintest hint of the citrus truffle she stole at the sweets store, and that might be my imagination playing tricks on me. I purchased every single truffle that matched the scent of her breath when she sighed in surprise to Camille’s declaration of thanks.
Matteo stands, dusting off his trousers on the way. “So…” He stretches out the word, bored. “What’s the plan, Brother?”
I don’t answer right away because the truth is, I don’t have a plan. Well, I do. Just not one I can articulate without sounding unhinged.
I want to find Lucia, toss her over my shoulder, and demand an explanation as to why she left. I want to understand why I feel like I know her when we’ve barely spoken.
I want her.
And that last want is the issue.
I spent the past week convincing myself that if I took my time this time, I wouldn’t repeat the mistakes of my past. That part of my downfall with Camille’s mother came from us being strangers, riding the high of biting into the forbidden fruit.
I’d recently closed the deal of the century, and I wanted to celebrate my victory as every red-blooded male does.
Beneath the sheets with a bevy of women.
All my plans went to shit when I saw Anna. She was the most beautiful and captivating woman in the room. It was a given that she’d be the center of attention. It was, after all, her masquerade-themed hen’s party.
The “wife-to-be” sash is a beacon for horny single men. I should have seen it as a warning. She was engaged to someone else, so I should have walked away.
I didn’t.
Recalling the mistakes I made slowed my roll the past week. I tried to think logically instead of with my dick.
Again, all cognitive thoughts vanished the second my eyes landed on Lucia. The thrill of the chase ran rampant through my veins. The Caruso men aren’t known for yearning. When we want something, we go after it lock, stock, and fucking barrel.
My tactics worked on both Anna and Lucia.
I’m just praying like fuck for a different outcome this time.
Nico studies me with that too perceptive gaze he pretends he doesn’t have. “You’re fixated.”
I try to deny his claim, but I can’t.
My head refuses to shake, so there’s no way I will vocalize a denial.
He whistles low. “You need to tread carefully, Dante. The last time you were this hooked on a woman, it didn’t end well.”
My stomach flips. He doesn’t have to say her name. The ghost of that mistake still lingers in every corner of my life.
For almost five years, I searched for the nameless woman who had occupied my dreams every night, convinced fate would bring us back together.
Every time I thought I caught a glimpse of her in a crowd, my heart would race, only to crash when I realized it was someone else. I began to wonder if she existed at all, or if I’d conjured her from a loneliness I didn’t realize I had.
Then, one rainy afternoon, Anna showed up at my door.
She didn’t resemble the woman I’d spent years searching for. It could have been because a large feathered mask no longer covered her face, but it felt deeper than that. Her spark was gone, replaced by exhaustion and another emotion harder to name.