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Deep down, I’d had my suspicions, but I’d turned a blind eye. So damn stupid. I think she wanted me to find out about her infidelity and to confront her. She thrived on drama and power. And, I’m sure, there were quite a few infidelities, but I only knew about the one. It was all I could handle at the time, anyway.
I immediately broke off our engagement and moved out of the loft we’d been sharing. She didn’t seem all that heartbroken about it and had told me to get over myself. Then she’d asked me if I had really expected her to only have sex with one man for the rest of her life.
“Hell, we’re not even married yet and you’re already acting like a ball and chain,” she’d joked.
She’d continued to demasculinize me in every way possible, telling me how I’d never been able to fully satisfy her. All her barbed words hurt and I took them far too personally. But how could I not?
After walking away that night, I broke into a million little pieces. I locked myself up in my old apartment, refusing to see or talk to anyone, and I mourned the loss of our relationship. Or, the idea of what I thought our relationship had been. Over time, I put myself back together, but it was a process and I’d promised myself that I would never open my heart to another woman again.
It just wasn’t fucking worth it.
Ignoring my glass, I reach for the whiskey and take a swig straight out of the bottle. Cynda hadn’t been worth it, a little voice says, but maybe Hannah is different. Maybe she’s worth the risk.
Squeezing my eyes closed, I shut that dangerous thought down fast and continue to drink myself into a stupor. But even drunk, I dream about my Angioletto.
The next day I’m more hungover than I ever remember being in my life. After swallowing down a handful of aspirin and taking a quick shower, I get dressed. Very slowly because my entire body aches and my head pounds like there’s a marching band in it. From the fight with Caleb to the bottle of whiskey I demolished, I physically feel like shit.
I’d almost forgotten my brothers and I have a meeting with the Five Families today. Normally, I don’t go to these, but since things have changed, Miceli expects my presence and support.
Luckily, the meeting isn’t until noon and by that time I’m feeling a smidge better. At least like a human being again. I drive over to the secure location which changes constantly. This time, the five most powerful families in the city meet in an Italian restaurant that’s currently closed to the public. When I walk in, the scent of garlic bread and spicy tomato sauce hits my nose, and I lay a hand over my stomach, telling myself to hold it together and not retch all over the floor.
It’s going to be a while until I touch whiskey again. Hell, until I eat or drink anything again.
There’s a large, round table set with plates and it looks like we’re getting lunch. No thanks. My vicious hangover has cured me of any desire for food. At least, for the moment. My brothers and Carlotta are already seated and I pull out a chair between Miceli and Enzo and sit down.
“You look like shit,” Miceli states.
“Worse than shit,” Enzo adds.
“Gee, thanks.” I grumble and touch my temple. A headache is throbbing and it feels like a toy soldier is in my head, banging his drum against my skull over and over, alongside the damn marching band that’s still playing.
“Are you hungover?” Angelo asks with a smirk.
Carlotta, sitting on his opposite side, leans around him to look at me, nosy as ever. “What happened to you?”
“I almost drank myself to death last night, if it’s anyone’s business,” I whisper-hiss.
“You’re an idiot,” Miceli says in a low voice, and I sink down into my chair and cross my arms, not in the mood to hear everyone start bitching. Because it’s inevitable and happens in every meeting I’ve attended so far.
Once everyone appears situated, Miceli welcomes them and starts the meeting. My brother is a take charge kind of guy and runs this city smoothly and fairly, but with an iron fist. He doesn’t tolerate bullshit and if someone is causing trouble, they tend to disappear.
“It’s been brought to my attention that Caleb Durant is threatening to move in on Rossi territory, specifically my family’s wine company. Does anyone have any specific details for us?”
What? I slowly sit up straighter in my chair and listen as the others offer any intel they have. There’s only one reason Durant would target our most successful business.
“It’s because of me and Hannah,” I say under my breath.
“Explain, please,” Miceli says, and it’s not a request.
The representatives from the Bianchi’s, the DeLuca’s, the Caparelli’s and the Milano’s focus on me, as well as my own family. I clear my throat and say, “I outbid Durant at an auction and he hasn’t taken it well.”
“Auction?” old man Caparelli echoes, sounding confused. “He wants to destroy you over losing a piece of art?”
“She’s definitely a piece of art,” I murmur. “Her name is Hannah and he’s obsessed with her. He’s also pissed that he lost out on winning her virginity.”
“Ahh, the White Auction.”
I didn’t want to get into details about why I spent over one-hundred grand on her and how nothing happened that night. It’s none of their business.
