And yet, letting down my guard and testing the waters on that side of the fence gave me a whole other perspective. One that wasn’t about how we were perceived but was about camaraderie and not giving a fuck what anyone thought. If someone wanted to judge us, that was their problem. We were having a phenomenal time, and that was all that mattered.
That night when I went to bed, I realized I wasn’t sure who the girl in the mirror was anymore.
Lucky for me, the best part about Vegas was serious shit, like an identity crisis, could wait until I got home. I ignored the pesky questions stalking in the recesses of my mind, shoved aside my annoyance over being disappointed when I didn’t hear from Matteo, and slept like a narcoleptic on Ambien.
Our last day in paradise, we decided to tour some of the other casinos. Val was the only one of us who hadn’t already been to Vegas, but it was still enjoyable seeing the behemoth resorts, no matter how many times we’d each been to the city. We went to the Stratosphere observation deck for a view of all of Vegas, then to the Bellagio for the fountains and Giada’s Ocean’s Eleven obsession. As New Yorkers, we had to run by the New York-New York. It was in need of some renovations, but still enjoyable with its clever touches like steaming manhole covers and Nathan’s hot dog stands. Last, but not least, we had our limo drop us at the Venetian where we could see the canal and do yet more shopping.
“We have to take a gondola ride!” cried Sofia, grabbing me and Alessia by the arms and tugging us toward the host station the moment we entered the canal system.
“Are you serious?” I gaped. “We’ve been to Italy—this is like a cartoon version of Venice. It’s not even remotely realistic.”
“And? It still looks like fun. They even sing during the ride. Come on, we are totally doing this. G, are you three going to take a ride? I think we can only get four in a boat.”
“You three go ahead. I think we’re going to stay here and have some wine.”
“Sounds good. We’ll be back in twenty, and then we can have dinner.” Sofia paid for our tickets, and we lowered ourselves into the long wooden boat as the gondolier welcomed us on board.
Using his long pole, he pushed us away from the boarding platform and eased us into the canal while launching into a soulful Italian melody. The arching faux night sky was lit for dusk and swarms of visitors crowded the busy Venetian corridors. People-watching in Vegas was unparalleled, and the gondola provided the perfect viewing opportunity. Women shopped in their swimsuits, as if strutting in public in your underwear was acceptable just because it was Vegas. Men of all ages ogled said women. Young people, who had started their festivities far earlier in the day, were already stumbling precariously close to the water’s edge. Old people sneered at the loud partygoers, likely wondering why on earth they’d come to such an obnoxious, smoke-filled den of debauchery.
Vegas was pure magic, and I loved every bit of it.
As I watched the crowds, my eyes landed on a familiar profile—a man crossing one of the pedestrian bridges arching over the canal. He was older, early sixties, but fit and moving with purpose, rather than the leisurely stroll utilized by the crowd around him. An eerie familiarity had the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.
It couldn’t be, could it?
What were the chances I’d run into Sal thousands of miles from home? Infinitesimal. Preposterous.
And yet, my muscles coiled in response to what my mind could hardly fathom. A slight turn of his head was all it took for the truth to set in.
It was him.
Sal Amato was there, fifty feet from me, in the Venetian hotel.
Attempting not to draw attention to myself, I casually turned back to the gondolier. “I need to get off the boat.” I spoke quietly but firmly, an icy chill to my voice.
The man looked down in surprise, his brow narrowing as he registered my severe expression. “There’s another dock just after the bridge.”
“No. I need to get off now. Pull the fucking boat over,” I hissed, starting to lose my cool as I pointed to the walkway where Sal had disappeared into the crowd.
Alessia’s hand grasped my arm. “Maria, what’s going on?” she whispered forcefully, not understanding why I was making a scene.
“What’s going on is Sal is getting away because this asshole won’t pull over the goddamn boat!”
Her eyes rounded, then darted to the crowd while her skin drained of its rich olive coloring.
Between my verbal assault and Alessia’s fear-filled visceral reaction, our tour guide finally maneuvered the boat toward the canal wall. The second it was within reach, I leapt to the edge and tore off in the direction I’d last seen Sal.
My eyes desperately scanned for the light blue dress shirt he’d been wearing. He couldn’t be far. Surely, after weeks of searching, fate wouldn’t have thrown me this bone just to steal it away.
Who was I kidding?
Fate, God—whatever you wanted to call her—was absolutely that cruel. Sometimes indifferent and fickle but rarely reliable or just. There was no buying her favor and no sparing the innocent. If there was a supreme being in this universe, I found no rhyme or reason to her actions, and today only furthered that conclusion.
People began to openly stare at me as my growing desperation showed in my frantic attempts to locate the man who had betrayed my family—left my sisters for dead and had stabbed my father in the back, if not physically, then in every other sense of the phrase.
Sal needed to pay for his sins, and penance would not come cheap. His list of transgressions was longer than my own, and that was saying something.
But like spotting a single flurry in a shower of snow, one glance away, and the man was gone.
My steps slowed, and I pulled out my phone with hands jittery from a surge of adrenaline. I dialed my father’s number, relieved when he answered after a single ring.
“Maria?”
“I just spotted Sal at the Venetian hotel. I tried to catch up with him but wasn’t able to get to him in time before he disappeared.”
“Did he see you?”
“No, I don’t think so. He seemed to be in a hurry to get somewhere.”
A long exhalation sounded across the line. “This is good. At least we know where he’s gone. And if he didn’t see you, he won’t be expecting us. I’ll send a crew down immediately, and we’ll start reaching out to local contacts.”
“I can stay here. I don’t have to come back with the girls,” I offered readily. Aside from my natural desire to catch the man who had hurt my family, I also felt some ownership in corralling him when I’d been the one to stumble upon his location.
“No,” he countered quickly. “You have a wedding to prepare for in a week. I want you back here.”
“There’s nothing I need to do before the wedding—Mom’s handling everything.” Going back to talk about flowers and seating charts felt like a colossal waste of my time when something so important was happening thousands of miles away.
My father’s voice morphed from polished satin to deadly dagger. “Surely, I don’t need to remind you how crucial this wedding will be? This union will affect hundreds of lives, not just your own. We need you to be here, head in the game, and ready to play your part. Sal is just a pebble in my shoe compared to the mountain that is your wedding. It may feel minor in comparison to the action and excitement of Sal’s capture, but the intricacies of a strategic alliance are far more challenging and important. Do you understand?”
I smothered my own protests, knowing he was right. Sal’s proximity and likely capture was an alluring prospect, but he wasn’t the only matter of business on our agenda. “You’re right, I know. I just hate knowing he’s so close and not going after him.” My eyes continued to scan the area, unwilling to accept that he was gone.
“Get your sisters and yourself home safe; that’s more important than anything.”
“All right, we’ll see you back home tomorrow.” I hung up without waiting for a reply, my mind a mix of e
motions.
Sal was within our reach, and my soon-to-be husband would be waiting for me back home.
Chapter 10
Maria
Seeing a lockbox on my front door when I arrived home was a rude awakening. I was the one who had set up the sale of my apartment with a realtor, but that had felt so abstract. Seeing the box made it real. Made all of it real.
In less than a week, I would be getting married.
The thought should have stirred some emotion, but after the weekend I’d had and enough jet lag to put an elephant in a coma, all I could muster was lukewarm indifference. I shuffled my bags in my hands to retrieve my keys and let myself inside.
The second a sliver of light became visible through the cracked door, I pulled the comb from my hair and dropped my purse, never taking my eyes from the door. Because of the damn airplane, I didn’t have my gun on me, so I’d have to manage without. The realtor had said she’d let me know when she showed the apartment. I’d had no word from her and was absolutely certain I’d left the lights off before heading to Vegas.
I quietly stepped to the side and pressed the door open. When no one ran at me, I peeked around the corner, immediately spotting Matteo sitting regally in my corner armchair. My muscles instantly relaxed, and I lowered my weapon.
“Jesus Christ, De Luca. Are you trying to get yourself killed?” I tossed my comb into my purse and grabbed my suitcase to wheel it inside. When I turned around, he was stalking toward me.
“I’d love to see you try.” His severe eyebrows shadowed intense green eyes, but his voice was a velvet tease.
“That could absolutely be arranged, but not today. I’m too tired. Just because I told you when I was getting in did not mean I was inviting you over.” I tossed my keys and mail on the counter, turning back to him with my arms crossed over my chest.
I wasn’t wearing anything sexy. I was a firm believer that airplane rides were for T-shirts and jeans, especially after a weekend of sun and drinking. But that didn’t seem to matter. Matteo drank me in like he’d been the one in the Nevada desert, parched within an inch of his life, and I was a crystal-clear glass of Dasani.
One step closer. Two. He stalked forward until I could smell his minty breath and feel his radiant heat warm my exposed arms.
“Less than a week, and we’ll be living under the same roof, no invitations needed.” His voice was husky. Seductive. Dangerously tempting.
“But that’s still a week away. For now, my life is still my own.”
“Technically, the movers come in two days.”
That was news to me, but I couldn’t summon a single fuck to give. “Whatever. I’m too tired to argue with you, so just tell me why you’re here.”
His eyes flashed, and for a second, I could see our spanking session replayed in those dark depths. My skin heated, goosebumps dancing down my arms.
“I came to welcome you back and to give you this.” He reached into his suit jacket and withdrew what looked like a black jewelry box—perhaps a necklace or a bracelet—long and narrow with a designer name embossed on the top. “I thought it could be your something blue.”
I took the box in my hands, noting it was a tad heavier than I would have expected, but that was because I’d been totally wrong about its contents. Inside lay a fixed tactical knife with a sapphire blue handle, just big enough for a woman’s hand. I scooped up the gleaming blade, allowing the discarded box to drop to the floor. The quality was unsurpassed. Perfectly balanced weight with a carbonite handle and gleaming steel blade.
Far more precious to me than any jewelry ever could have been.
“It’s beautiful, Matteo,” I breathed, still engrossed with the gift.
When he didn’t comment, my gaze eventually drifted up to his, where unabashed triumph lit his eyes. His hands clasped either side of my face and pulled my lips to his. I not only let him, I abandoned all restraint and surrendered to the kiss.
His mouth tasted like paradise. Savory and dangerous and all man. I tasted sleepless nights and the slow burn of hard liquor mixed with temptation and untold secrets. Some mine, some his. Together, it was irresistible. Our tongues danced and reveled in the feel of one another, breathing life back into me. Overriding my exhaustion and stirring a fire in my belly.
When he pulled away, he didn’t go far, resting his forehead against mine. “That’s the first time you’ve called me by my first name.”
It was? I tried to think back but hadn’t paid enough attention to recall. “I don’t know what to say. This is the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever received.” I pulled back, dropping my gaze to the knife in my hands between us. I wanted to examine the blade, but I also needed to escape the intensity electrifying the air around us. It magnified my emotions so profoundly that I couldn’t breathe.
He used his knuckles to lift my chin, raising my eyes back to his. “You’re not like any other woman, are you?”
There was heat in his eyes, and I knew he meant the sentiment as a compliment, but I’d spent a lifetime being all too aware of just how different I was from everyone around me. I wasn’t exactly the black sheep—more like the venomous toad in a pond full of graceful coy fish. There was no comparison.
I stepped back and retrieved the box from the floor. “I appreciate the gift, but if movers are coming Wednesday, then I have a busy couple of days ahead of me, so I better get to bed.” I offered a tight smile, feeling the frigid organ in my chest solidify back to its icy status quo. Frozen. Unfeeling. Safe.
At my retreat, a black veil descended across Matteo’s gaze, masking his response to my withdrawal. We went from scalding liquid magma to brittle volcanic rock in a matter of seconds, and as usual, it was all my fault.
I ruined everything good I ever touched, and that was exactly why I allowed Matteo to leave without a word. Better he learned now just how defective I was, rather than later, when my heart could no longer recover from his rejection.
***
I spent the next two days entrenched in acquiring and analyzing security footage to track down Sal. It was the perfect distraction from the chaos of the wedding. Mom was popping Xanax nightly like they were Skittles and racing around each day like a meth-head on a binge, setting up last-minute wedding details and avoiding planning pitfalls.
She’d survive, but I still felt a twinge of guilt that such an enormous burden had fallen on her shoulders. Not enough to step in and relieve some of the workload, apparently, but guilty enough to stay out of her path. I was pretty certain she preferred it that way. That was one of the few ways we were alike. We were both control freaks when it came to what mattered most to us. I refused to leave the scouring of video footage to anyone else, and she would never be comfortable trusting anyone with the finer details of event planning.
Every hour or so, I would take a break to pack up my apartment. Matteo had offered to send movers to do all the work, but I preferred to pack my own boxes and simply leave the heavy lifting to the hired help.
We didn’t see each other during those couple of days. He had his hands full with my mother since the reception would take place at his home. Despite the last-minute invitation, over eight hundred guests had RSVPed for the after party. Between Matteo and my mother, all necessary arrangements had been made—parking attendants, caterers, rental equipment, flowers and décor, staff for serving and clean up—the list went on and on.
When my alarm went off early Wednesday morning, I nearly threw my phone across the room in my haste to make it go away. Had it not been for the movers coming bright and early, I would have rolled back over and passed out. Long days and short nights were catching up with me.
Instead, I forced myself from bed and threw on leggings and an Under Armor workout tank I’d set out for the day. Two cups of coffee later, and I was ready to relocate my life to the home of my future husband and his boss, one of the most brutal, deranged made men in history.
I had completely ignored the existence of Angelo Sartori until that morning. I’d had
too many other things to think about. But if I was honest with myself, I could admit that my avoidance was primarily owed to fear. Most men didn’t scare me, but Angelo wasn’t any ordinary man.
He was evil incarnate.
Saying he was the Devil would imply at some point the man had been an angel and simply fallen from grace. That was too kind for Angelo. He was rotten to the core.
What did that say about men like Matteo who followed his rule? The answer left an acidic tang in my mouth that made me want to rinse and spit.
That was the other reason I’d been so hesitant to contemplate my new housemate. A growing part of me wanted to like Matteo. Wanted to let him inside my walls and welcome the opportunity to not defend my borders alone. But how did I reconcile the Matteo I’d started to know with a man who would take orders from a monster? A monster who had beheaded his own wife when he suspected her of desiring other men—not even having an affair, just the paranoid delusions of a madman. Was this something he did under the cover of night in a fit of jealous rage? Nope. He’d gathered his men at the very house I’d be living in, calmly explained her crimes, then used an axe to sever her head and left it on the back porch as a lesson in treachery.
Our families may not have been close, but word gets around about something so heinous. Especially when it wasn’t the first time he’d responded in a grossly irrational manner.
Angelo Sartori was a lunatic.
I hadn’t been exaggerating when I told Matteo I’d walk if Sartori so much as looked at me funny. I’d keep a bag ready, my gun on me, and the wall to my back.
Cozy, huh?
For that reason alone, I had packed a week’s worth of clothes along with my essentials so that I could stay at my apartment until the bitter end. Matteo didn’t know this, but he’d figure it out soon enough.
It took the movers all of an hour to load up my life’s belongings, sans furniture. I decided it would be best to sell my apartment furnished rather than try to cram my stuff into his place. I wasn’t the type to grow attached to material possessions, so I was good to sluff the extra like an old skin.
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