For Angelo (Full-Length Standalone Italian Billionaire Romance)

by Marian Tee

  Telling himself that he would play it cool, he looked down at her, ready to ask her how she was.

  But the words died in his throat the moment their eyes met.

  Terror.

  She was terrified of him.

  Angelo was stunned.

  He had been ready for her to be furious, scornful – maybe the foolish, selfish part of him had even hoped to see her in pain because it would mean that she still loved him.

  But this –

  Lane being afraid of him—

  So goddamn afraid her face had completely lost color and her body shaking so damn hard it was as if she had developed a temperature in a second.

  “Lane—”

  She flinched.

  He was aghast. Was he different to her now because they had broken up? Because she believed he didn’t love her?

  “Lane?”

  She shot to her feet and started backing away.

  He knew he should let her go, but he just couldn’t.

  “It’s alright—”

  Her steps quickened and she started bumping into other lawyers, but she didn’t even turn to apologize. It was as if she had to keep her gaze on him the entire time, as if she didn’t trust him not to stab her in the back the moment she turned.

  “Lane—”

  “P-Please go away.”

  He reached for her, and she shuddered like he was about to hurt her.

  Angelo’s arms fell to his sides. What the hell was happening?

  He threw his Rolex away.

  But she kept backing away.

  He threw his wallet out and his mobile phone. “Not rich anymore,” he tried to joke unevenly, but the mere sound of his voice only seemed to add to her terror.

  “Please.” Her voice was thin and shaking. “P-please g-go away.”

  His jaw clenched. “I can’t.” And he realized then it was true. He had no strength to let her go for the second time. He started for her—

  “No!”

  Her cry was of pure terror, and the people around them turned to stare.

  The whispers started.

  But he didn’t give a damn about any of it.

  All he cared about was her, and the moment she broke into a run, he didn’t even hesitate.

  He ran after her. “Lane!”

  She ran even faster, pushing her way through the exiting crowd of lawyers, her small frame enabling her to slip and wriggle herself to the front.

  But still, he was faster and stronger, and with Angelo not hesitating to shove people out of his way, he reached her just as she was about to step out of the hotel building—

  His fingers wrapped around her wrist, and she let out a keening cry.

  He forced her to face him, whispering achingly, “Lane, please, it’s me—”

  She started to cry. “L-Let m-me g-go.” The fight had gone out of her, and she was staring at him like an irreparably broken doll in the hands of its master.

  No.

  He looked at her—

  “P-please. P-please. P-please.”

  Her pain broke him.

  It shattered his fears, shed light to his darkness, and stopped him from being so goddamn blind.

  Angelo whitened. “Dio.”

  And it was that moment he realized that he would never have the power to hurt her this much, would never have had the power to inflict the kind of pain that went beyond what he felt when Jaike chose another man over him—

  She wouldn’t be hurting this much—

  If she didn’t love him just as much.

  The knowledge devastated him, and he let her go.

  She spun around and ran away.

  Dio.

  He loved her. All he wanted to do was love her and make her happy, so why did he fail to realize that making her happy was allowing her to love him?

  No matter what the world thought of them.

  A second later, and he was chasing after her, heart thundering against his chest as he fought and prayed for another chance.

  One last chance, God.

  Let me burn in Hell for all my sins, but don’t let her suffer because of me.

  Give me a chance to love her in this lifetime.

  Just one last chance.

  If she would have me.

  He reached her just as she slammed the car door shut, and when the car started to move, Angelo didn’t hesitate, sprinting to block its way with his own body.

  The car screeched to a stop.

  As soon as the driver stepped out, shouting at him, Angelo tore around its side and opened the passenger door.

  She shrank away at the sight of him, mute and wide-eyed in her terror.

  He ached to hold her, ached to beg for her forgiveness, but he knew just by looking at her that he would not be able to reach her that way.

  He said hoarsely, “Please come with me.”

  She shook her head wildly.

  “I thought I was doing the right thing,” he said bleakly. “I thought that if I really loved you, I should let you go and find someone normal.”

  But she only stared at him, and it was like seeing himself in her eyes, the way he had been so goddamn unreachable to her that night.

  He remembered the way she begged him, remembered how she had whispered the words that made his heart shrivel—

  I’m proud of the way we love each other. C-can’t you be proud of it, too?

  “Tesoro,” he choked out.

  She was crying again. “S-stop. S-stop. S-stop.”

  “I’m proud—”

  She started screaming as if his words were killing her.

  “I’m proud of the way I love you—”

  “S-STOP!”

  “And if y-you could love me again—”

  She covered her ears. “B-begging y-you, p-please s-stop.”

  Ah.

  Dio.

  She was so damn close to completely breaking down, and they had so little time before her family found out what was happening. They were so damn overprotective, he was pretty sure they’d send the cops after him.

  An idea came to him, his last shot at redemption, and he knew, if after that, she would still be afraid of him—

  One last chance, God.

  It’s all I ask.

  He looked at Lane. “Mi dispiace, tesoro—” He swallowed at the way she flinched at the term of endearment. He sucked his breath and said roughly, “I’m sorry, Lane. But I have to do this.”

  He hauled her to him.

  She screamed, and the look on her face almost made him change his mind.

  But he forced himself to ignore it, telling himself that they both deserved this one last chance.

  He knew he had fucked up, but he also knew that their lives would only get more fucked up if they were apart.

  One last chance, God.

  He got her out of the car using brute strength and started dragging her with him even as the sound of her anguished sobs threatened to drive him to his knees.

  It took ten damn minutes to find what he was looking for, and he knew he had so little time left.

  He shoved the door to the salon open and forced Lane inside. The place was empty except for the gaping stylist, and Angelo warned him, “Don’t interfere.”

  His ominously soft tone had the stylist nodding shakily.

  Angelo made Lane sit in a chair. “Stay there.”

  She only looked at him, but the terror in her eyes told him she wouldn’t be able to move.

  Keeping his gaze on her, he reached for the electric shaver—

  “Oh my God,” the stylist moaned. “Please don’t do anything—”

  “Shut up,” Angelo snarled.

  And then they heard it, the sound of police sirens—

  Lane jerked in her seat, her gaze flying to the windows behind him, and Angelo knew she was trying to muster the courage to make a run for it.

  He switched the electric shaver on.

  Lane’s head snapped towards him.

  He started shaving the back o
f his head, hoping to God he was getting it right—

  The wailing of sirens had become deafening, followed by the sound of doors crashing open and the police shouting for Angelo to drop his weapon.

  He almost laughed.

  Weapon?

  What fucking weapon?

  Didn’t they fucking realize Lane was the only one who could kill him now?

  He turned to Lane as the police started making their way towards the salon.

  She whispered, “W-what a-are y-you d-doing?”

  Before he could answer, several police officers had decided to lunge towards him at the same time, and all hell broke loose.

  She saw Angelo go down—

  Lane screamed.

  Nellie was suddenly beside her, hugging her, telling her everything was going to be okay.

  But it was not, it was not, and Angelo was struggling so hard the officers had to hit him again—

  Why had he brought her here?

  Why?

  The police managed to cuff him, and they forced Angelo to face the door—

  To face her—

  Their eyes met.

  And his was telling her something—

  Something a part of her was too frightened to understand—

  Lane bit her lip hard as the police shoved him, forcing Angelo to move.

  He kept looking at her—

  What?

  What?

  What?

  “Stop looking at her, asshole,” an officer snarled as he thumped Angelo on the head, forcing him to look the other way.

  And that was when she saw it.

  The back of his head was a complete mess.

  A bleeding mess.

  She choked back a cry as she realized what she was staring at.

  A complete, bleeding, spelled mess.

  The letters were incomplete, but she could read them just fine.

  L. A. N. And perilously close to his right ear, a half-finished E.

  The walls she had built to make herself forget started to crumble.

  And she remembered the way she had gone insane—

  I’d rather shave my name on your head before I let you go to another girl.

  And she understood that this was Angelo going insane—

  Because that was how love worked.

  It wasn’t always beautiful, wasn’t always neat or easily defined.

  Sometimes, it was painful, twisted, and insane.

  The way she loved him and the way he loved her.

  A cry broke out of her and, pulling away from Nellie, she started to run—

  She reached Angelo just before the officers could shove him inside the back of their car. “W-wait!” The officers stopped moving, and she pushed past them.

  So many words she wanted to say, but they disappeared the moment she saw him—

  Really saw him, and it was like seeing the sun after being buried for so long.

  Lane swallowed back a sob.

  A crowd of onlookers had surrounded the salon, drawn by the presence of police, but he didn’t give a fuck about any of them. Even with all their phones trained on them, recording every fucking second, he only had eyes for her.

  Angelo asked hoarsely, “Lane?”

  She shook her head.

  He froze. Had he been wrong? Had he failed to reach her? Did he not have any last chance—

  And then he heard her whisper tremulously, “C-call me…”

  He inhaled deeply as he realized what she wanted to say.

  “C-call me…” Her voice broke. “Y-your Lane.”

  Ah.

  He fell to his knees.

  And she followed him, like she always did, because she was who she was, and he was who he was.

  “I’m sorry—” And his own voice caught because he felt too, too much.

  But still, he tried again, because she deserved the words. “I’m sorry—” His chest felt like it was about to explode. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

  “I’m s-sorry, t-too. That I d-didn’t realize w-why you wanted to hurt me.”

  Tears streamed down her face.

  He moved forward, his cuffed hands behind his back making him clumsy.

  He licked her tears, and she started to cry harder. She raised one shaking hand to his hair, and her sobs became uncontrollable. “Your h-hair…”

  “Promise me you’ll finish it?” he managed to tease.

  She shook her head.

  “You have to.” His voice became flat. “Because…it’s proof…that I’m…” He swallowed hard. “I’m your fallen angel. Aren’t I?”

  And it was in those last words that she heard the doubt which still lingered, that still made a part of him believe she might change her mind and leave—

  She threw her arms around him.

  His head touched her shoulder.

  His tears kissed her skin.

  She closed her eyes and promised him, “I’ll finish it. Because y-you’re my fallen angel a-and I’m your Lane.” She tightened her arms around him. “I’m t-the g-girl…for Angelo Valencia, from the very start.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  It was a wedding that no one would ever forget.

  The church was almost stark in its simplicity, unheard of for a billionaire’s wedding. And oh, there was also the rather startling dress code, which actually forbade the guests to wear any kind of jewelry.

  So many odd things about this wedding, really, but the guests who were lucky enough to be invited simply took it in stride.

  In the end, what mattered was that they were invited while the rest of the world wasn’t. It was something worth bragging about for years.

  With the bride yet to make her appearance, everyone’s attention was on the groom. He was tall, dark, and handsome, an Italian billionaire whose impending matrimony was making countless women around the world sob in envy and heartbreak. They had hoped, secretly or openly, that they would be the one to bring him to the altar, and yet in the end the one who had prevailed was a curvy brunette whose name didn’t even ring a bell.

  When the doors of the church finally opened, everyone oohed and aahed at the sight of the blushing bride. She was radiantly beautiful in a simple white gown. No long trail, no lace veil to cover her face, just a woman whose eyes shone with love for the man waiting for her at the end of the aisle.

  The guests dabbed at their eyes, all of them swept away by the romance of it.

  Angelo solemnly took Lane’s trembling hand and drew her to his side. He then offered his other hand to Norman, murmuring simply, “Thank you.”

  “Just take care of her,” the older man said gruffly.

  And then it was Nellie’s turn, and she was already crying even before he could say anything.

  Beside him, Lane started crying, too.

  “Love her forever,” Nellie managed to say. “Please.”

  “You would have to kill me first before I stop.” He was smiling as he said the words, but his gaze was straightforward as it met the older woman’s.

  And then finally, they were alone, and as he drew her to their seats in front of the priest, he asked, “Happy?”

  She smiled up at him. “Impossibly s-so.”

  And it was true, he knew, just as he knew that it wasn’t enough. There was the faintest shadow in her gaze, telling him that he had hurt her too much, and the wound he had left hadn’t completely healed.

  And that was fine.

  Because Angelo knew what to do now, because now he understood that the cliché was true—

  Sometimes, you had to lose something to know how to keep it forever.

  And for his Lane, to love her was to be what he thought wasn’t ever possible, what he believed could never be safe or rational.

  To love her and be loved by her was…to be himself.

  A sadist.

  And when it was time for them to exchange their vows, Angelo gave her the words that he needed to say and she needed to hear.

  “From here on, I promise to make you cry—”


  Lane choked.

  The crowd gasped.

  Nellie cried out.

  But Angelo only had his eyes for his bride. “I promise not to call you when I need to work overtime—”

  “Oh my God, I think I’m going to faint,” Nellie moaned.

  “I promise to always do what is right even when it means making you feel abandoned—”

  He saw the way her eyes widened and started to shine with tears.

  “I promise to do what I can to hurt you—”

  The crowd was in an uproar, but he didn’t give a damn about it. Lane’s tears had started to fall, but she was also smiling, and that was all he needed to see.

  “But all this, I promise you, is never to be cruel.” He took a deep breath and slowly reached for her hand. “All this I will do because you are what you are…” He brought her hand to his lips. “And I am what I am, and I’m damn proud of how we love each other.”

  And because he could no longer bear it, he pulled her to him.

  His arms closed around her, his Lane, his love, his life.

  “Only a few people will understand us,” he said rawly, “And that’s fine. I don’t need them to understand us. The only thing I need is for you to understand – to remember that I’m here for you. Whenever and wherever you need me, I’m here. Ask me for my fortune, my pride, my life – it’s yours. But you will never need to ask for my love because that, my Lane, will always be yours.”

  He cupped her face.

  “Always.”

  And the priest, seeing that what was about to happen was inevitable, said hastily, “You may kiss the bride.”

  The groom’s mouth covered his bride’s.

  And this time, everyone broke in tears.

  So, so romantic, they thought as they sobbed, even though the Italian tycoon had promised to make his bride cry every day, well – it was still romantic.

  ****

  If the wedding had everyone talking, then the reception turned out to be more scandalous, with the guests blatantly staring and doing their best to eavesdrop as the newlyweds came face to face with Derek and Jaike Christopoulos.

  Such lack of manners, some of the guests thought about the latecomers.

  Serves the bitch right, being face to face with Angelo Valencia’s one true love, on the other hand, was the common thread of thought of Angelo’s numerous broken-hearted lovers, all of them – despite being uninvited – were nevertheless glued to their Twitter accounts, fuming as they waited for more news about the exclusive reception.