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Rage boils and I dig my nails against the kitchen bench. If he’s the last obstacle I face in this life, then so be it. “Fuck you.”
A dark chuckle runs down the line.
“Don’t flirt with me, Ara. You know that’s my favorite part about you. Those sinful lips were made just for me. When you’re ready to talk. You can come to me, Ara. I’ll be waiting.”
The line cuts, and I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I’d clung too. I roll down the back of the front door and hold my knees close to my chest.
“Fuck!” I scream as I throw my phone across the room. It was all going so smoothly until my fated encounter with Luca in his mansion. He should’ve never been there that night. Now he looms over me like a grim reaper. Every time I shift, he’s ahead of me.
Am I fooling myself to think I can really take on a mafia boss?
Not just any… Luca Armani is out of his goddamn fucking mind.
29
LUCA
Isit behind my desk in the main office of my finance company, Armani Inc. The interviewer across from me is playing with the edges of her skirt and trying to draw my attention purposefully as the interview is nearing an end.
The questions are always the same. To what do you owe your success? What’s upcoming? How’s the expansion in Italy? It was on loop. I found it incredibly intriguing how many people chase money by asking for advice opposed to taking matters into their own hands. However, that’s what separates us. Where they narrow themselves into the rules of society, I bend them to my will.
Hell, in New York I create half of the rules.
“A question I’m sure many are waiting to hear about. What’s your relationship with Arabella Barone?”
This catches my attention. Considering I’ve personally been leaking most of the photos of our time together, I’m surprised it took someone this long to ask.
I flash a boyish smile. “I think she would rather me not say. We prefer to keep our relationship private.”
A red blush streaks across her cheeks as she daringly asks, “So you’re confirming there is a relationship.”
I think of Ara’s perfect little lips on my cock. “Of sorts.”
She seems happy enough with the response, but I know exactly what will hit the tabloids next. Either Mr. Barone will force his daughter’s hand in the upcoming weeks or he’ll finally meet me head-on.
“She’s a lucky girl,” the interviewer says when she switches off her recording device. “Thank you for taking the time out to speak with us today, Mr. Armani. I wish you further success in your endeavors.”
I wonder if Ara considers herself a lucky girl. She didn’t seem all too impressed with the gift I sent her. When the woman leaves, I open my phone and scroll through the hundreds of photos I have of Ara.
Photos of when she’s going about her day. The ones I took personally when she was sleeping. Her breakfast meet-ups. All of it. And on every unsuspecting angle she’s perfect in so many ways.
Ara only has the choice to do one of two things. Fight or flight. Sure, my little present might’ve spooked her, but I was curious as to what she might do. How dedicated to her cause was she? Because no matter what, it would bring her back to me. Even if she did try to escape, I would bring her back to me.
30
ARA
That psychopath. An interview had gone live, and it was Romi who sent me a link. My emails are overflowing today with the success and early launch of one of our apps, and yet I find myself clicking on the stupid little gossip link. I feel like a teenager in my own office prying into the feature.
The article is mostly around Luca’s success and I can’t help but sneer at the public’s ignorance. If only they knew most of his success was from all his underhanded dealings. At around mid-section it goes into speculation about our relationship.
The non-existent one.
The one that, in the way of romance, I’m sent body parts.
I shudder at the memory. One of his men was over in five minutes to remove the present, and just like that it was gone. The ever-burning memory of those body parts were not. I couldn’t sleep. Even though I sat under the hot shower for an hour I couldn’t scrub clean the filthy sense it left me with.
In the article, although Luca doesn’t outright label a relationship in the interview, he insinuates it, and that’s bad enough—especially if my father gets a hold of it. Because Luca Armani is definitely not the man he’d approve of. Not that I give a shit about what my father thinks of my future spouse, considering I probably won’t be around long enough for a wedding.
