Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 125243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
His snicker knocks the air out of me. I can’t speak or think. I can’t do anything except replay the image of Matteo with that blonde.
The jealousy inside me burns so intensely that I feel physically sick.
I spend the entire drive striving to suppress the anger that rises in waves. On repeat, I remind myself that this is all part of the game, that Matteo can do whatever he wants with whomever he wants. I have no right to feel anything about it, but the logic does little to ease the pain in my chest.
By the time the limo pulls up in front of a small pastry shop tucked between two shuttered boutiques, my anger has dulled. However, it is no less painful. When Antonio slips out and signals for me to follow, I do. Partly because I’m too tired to argue, but mostly because I need a distraction.
“We can talk here,” he says, leading me inside. “In private.”
Softly lit and cozy, the shop has a warm atmosphere. The smell of sugar and espresso fills the air, transporting me back to yesterday and the bakery across from the bridal shop.
The pain of the memory is so intense that I have to swallow hard.
Antonio acts like a gentleman—another unfamiliarity. He orders two large slices of cake before sliding the bigger one toward me. His gesture is so deliberate that I can’t help wondering if he saw Matteo and me at the bakery yesterday.
Is he copying something he thinks worked?
Needing to keep my hands busy, I dig the fork into the cake and veer a sizeable chunk toward my mouth. Antonio watches me with an intensity that prickles my skin.
It isn’t in a good way.
I inhale chocolate flakes into my lungs when he whispers, “I missed you.” He smiles as if I am choked up over his confession. That’s not me. I’m trying not to die from suffocation. “I didn’t realize what I had until it was too late.”
His words should carry weight. Trigger a response. They should be significant.
They don’t.
It’s not because I think he’s lying—though he probably is—but because I can’t concentrate on anything he’s saying since something outside the window has caught my attention.
A motorcycle sits in the shadow of a streetlight. The engine is running, and a helmet covers the motorcyclist’s face, but his build is unmistakable.
I would recognize it anywhere.
Matteo is here.
Watching.
Waiting.
Burning holes through the glass with a narrowed gaze.
“Azra,” Antonio says, endeavoring to secure my attention. “Did you hear what I said? I want you back.”
Slowly, painfully so, I drift my eyes back to Antonio. “What?”
His smirk is seedy. “I want you back.” He slides his hand across the table, stopping just short of the finger he ripped a six-carat diamond ring from only days ago. “Do you want that, too? Do you still want to be Azra Adami?”
My heart screams at me to say no, to shake my head, to reject his offer, but all that comes out is a squeaked, “Yes.”
Before I can blink, the bright eye of a motorcycle headlight whizzes past the pastry shop’s window with a familiar growl that vibrates through my bones.
Chapter 28
Matteo
Acold, damp room in the basement of my family’s home has always been my refuge. It’s the only place where the noise of the world fades to a level where I can think.
Or at least, pretend I’m thinking.
Tonight, the silence feels louder than any explosion I’ve ever heard, and the walls echo with every thought I’m trying to outrun.
Trophies I collected before my life got complicated clutter my man cave, though I’ve never liked calling it that. The centerpiece is the only one I’ve earned since a woman with fire in her eyes and a plan in her pocket walked into my world and rearranged the furniture in my mind. It is Don Adami’s hand.
With my veins flooded with enough alcohol and cocaine to take down King Kong, I rearrange my trophy shelf, searching for a place to put the trophies I plan to collect from Antonio the instant he’s out of Azra’s orbit.
He would have already been dead if it weren’t for my older brothers. It took both Giovanni and Dante to hold me back when they saw me storming down the stairwell. They said Henry Gottle Sr. would throw the book at me, that Antonio is protected by the same rules that will protect Azra if she goes back to him, and if I cared about her at all, I’d understand their importance.
I understood what they meant. Full-heartedly. But I was so angry that she had played me, I needed to disperse that fury on something.
Antonio’s face seemed like a good starting point.
Although I postponed my plan for another day, I still kept it on the agenda, which is why I am finding the perfect spot for Antonio’s hands on my trophy shelf.