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It’s a little disconcerting how much effort I’ve gone through to make her mine. And now, I’m doing things to make sure she doesn’t change her mind. The woman has me wrapped around her finger, and I can’t deny that I don’t like it. No one should have power over me like that. But I know she’s the one for me, and so I’m going to do what I have to do to make sure she stays with me.
When I arrive home, I pour a glass of scotch and then go to my room to change into something more casual, hoping it will make me look less like a Mafia Don and more like the man she ran away to be with.
Thirty minutes later, my order arrives. My guesstimate is that Aria will arrive in twenty minutes, so I put the food in the oven. I set the flowers out and put the champagne on ice to keep it cold. Then I wait. That’s another new experience, and it too is unsettling. I’ve waited a lot for Aria. I’ll make my apologies to her for my brutish behavior the other night, but I also will make her understand that I’ve done a great deal against my usual nature for her. She can’t question my commitment anymore.
Nearly thirty minutes later, I’m feeling agitated. Is she lost? Does she even know to come here? I’m getting ready to call Bruno, but my phone rings from him first.
“Where is she?” I demand.
“She’s at the airport.”
My heart drops. She’s leaving. I don’t like how it feels to know this woman I’ve put so much time and emotion into is betraying me like this, so I resort to the emotion I can manage best. Anger.
I have two options. Have one of my men who works at airport customs stop her and drag her back to me. Or I can let her go and never think of her again. I don’t like either option.
“I’ve called Arturo to keep an eye on her,” Bruno says of my customs agent. “Do you want him to stop her?”
Fuck. I do want him to stop her, but if I do, she’ll hate me. Normally, I might not care, but something about Aria makes me need her respect and affection. Plus, I’ll kiss my business in the United States goodbye, as Niko will burn everything I have there down. I could fight it, but my holdings there aren’t strong enough yet.
She doesn’t want me. That realization hits, and again I’m filled with anger that she’d treat me like this. I’m Don Luca Conte. I’m not going to be brought down by a woman.
“No. Let her go. I’m done with her.”
14
ARIA
Ifind a parking spot, not sure what sort of lot it is. Once I’m aboard the flight, I’ll message Luca and tell him where the car is. As I exit the car, I’m apprehensive. I’ve felt this for nearly the entire drive. I keep expecting Luca or one of his men to stop me. So far, no one has, but I’m not free yet.
Along with my apprehension is doubt in my judgment. I shouldn’t have been so impulsive to come to Italy. At the same time, am I being impulsive to leave without talking to Luca? He said I had a choice. I could ask him about that woman in the picture.
I pick up the pace to the terminal knowing that Luca has power over me. His gentle way and soft touches seduce me into compliance, manipulate me into accepting situations I wouldn’t normally accept. I need to leave now, before we’re married. Before the Mafia world sees me as his property.
I’m just about to the road that runs in front of the terminal when a man comes toward me, stumbles, and crashes into me. He knocks me off balance, and I fall to the pavement.
“Scusa,” he says, reaching down to help me up. He continues talking in Italian that I don’t understand.
I open my mouth to tell him it’s okay when I feel a pinch in my neck. My hand immediately presses against it as I look at him.
“Ti rilassi. Relax.”
My world tilts again, but this time it’s from the inside, not from being knocked down. I try to pull away, but he holds me, speaking in words I don’t understand.
“Luca said I could go.” I’m not sure if the words actually make it out of my mouth. My mouth feels like it has cotton in it, unable to form coherent words or scream. Why is Luca doing this? Why this way?
The man tugs me back to the garage. Inside, I’m panicking, but I can’t get my body to fight.
We reach a car, and he opens the back door and pushes me in. He then slams the door and climbs in the front seat. There’s another man in the driver’s seat and they’re talking. I grope around, but it’s like my brain and my body can’t coordinate. A fog is descending on me, and as much as I try to fight it, I can’t. Moments later, everything goes dark.
I wake. My first sensation is the pounding in my head. I go to press my fingers to my temple, but my hand jerks to a stop from restraints. I open my eyes and find myself on a bed, my hands cuffed to the headboard. The stench in the room nearly makes me vomit.
I tug at my restraints knowing I need to get free. My wrists sting and burn from the effort. I yell out, and the door flies open. I flinch, and instinct has me trying to recoil from the three men entering.
One of the men stands at the end of the bed. He speaks in Italian. I have no clue what he’s saying, but the tone and leering tell me it’s not good. He grabs my ankles, trying to force my legs apart.
“Stop!” I kick at him, one of my efforts hitting him in the chin.
He jerks back, violence shining in his eyes. He yells at me, slapping me against the face and spitting on me. “La puttana di Luca.”
