He gets into the car, slamming the door shut, and peels out, causing the tires to squeal on the driveway.
I sit in the passenger seat of his limited-edition car. He cherishes it. I wish I had eaten breakfast so I could throw up right here and now, but my stomach is empty. My heart shattered.
It’s time to go home.
I’ve dreamed of him telling me that before, but it wasn’t because he bought me. It was because he couldn’t live without me. My parents threw me to the wolves, knowing he could rip me to shreds.
How long has he been sitting on this? How long has he known he was gonna show up at my father’s house today and have my mother pack my things and remove me from the house?
Luca never does anything without thinking it through first. He’s been trained to think of every possible outcome. Every option. He was designed to get the most out of every situation. A part of me knows I can’t blame him. It’s not his fault his father is a Don. And he is to follow in his footsteps.
We remain silent in the car, except for his radio. “Devil’s in the Backseat” by Lostboycrow plays, and with every second that passes, my heart grows more heavy.
He comes to a stop, pressing a button on his dash, and the black wrought-iron gate pushes open. We pull forward, and I see the mansion he calls home before us.
It’s everything I ever wanted and everything that I despise at the same time. He drives underneath the breezeway that connects the house to the five-car detached garage, then pulls around the circular driveway in the back. A pool sits off to the left in front of a pool house.
He gets out and walks around to open my door, but I jump out before he can get to it. No need to pretend to be a gentleman.
He reaches for my hand. I go to yank away, but he’s faster. His grip tightens, and I flinch. He pulls me under the back porch, and I look over the lawn furniture that takes up the large space. It’s a cream color with burnt orange throw pillows. A hammock sits over in the corner tied off to two big palm trees. It has a state-of-the-art full-size kitchen with a brick fireplace. Only the best when it comes to a Bianchi.
He shoves the glass door open, and we enter the house. I take a quick look around. I’ve been here a thousand times. His father bought him this place after he graduated high school, which was convenient for us. It’s not like we had to hide our relationship before. His father didn’t care, and my mother turned a blind eye to my sex life. She liked to think it didn’t exist, and my father never seemed to disapprove. Now I’m wondering if this is why. Did he and Luca’s dad have this planned all along?
I would stay over, and when I’d wake, he would already be gone for the day. I would pretend I was his wife and run around the house in his T-shirt. It was a dream I desperately wanted to come true.
Careful what you wish for. Your dream can quickly become your worst nightmare.
He opens his bedroom door, and the moment he releases my hand, I come to a stop.
“Your things will be delivered soon.” His words are flat, but they cut me like a knife. He’s so cold. And I can feel his anger. “You have your own closet …”
“I’m not putting my things in here.” I finally find my voice.
He turns to face me. “Yes. You are.”
I shake my head. “I refuse …”
“Will you stop?” he snaps, making me flinch at the sharpness of his tone. He’s never spoken to me like this in the past. What did he do in Italy that changed him so much? “Stop acting like this scared little kitten, Haven.” He storms back over to me. “This is not a death sentence. This is our home now.”
I snort, finding that fire as well. “You think I’m gonna lie down and sleep with you in a bed you’ve fucked your whores in?” I ask tightly.
I hate the fact that I haven’t been with a single man since he left me. Now I wish I would have fucked anyone who looked my way. I know he has.
He leans in, his lips softly grazing my ear. His scent that I used to want to cover myself in now smells sour. “It’s never stopped you before.”
I fist my hands and shove him away from me. He doesn’t budge. Instead, his hands grip my head, and he tilts it back. His lips devour mine a second later. His kiss is like pain—it demands to be felt. So fucking much that it makes me weak in the knees.