He chortles at my threat, holding his barrel stomach at my apparent hilarity. “You and what army, Amelia? You are nothing outside of the doors of an Abbiati home. You have no one.”
“Bruno,” I state, and I see Alberto’s eyes widen. Bruno’s departure from the family always scares them most because of what he knows. It’s another reason he doesn’t get trouble for his betrayal – he knows too much. “And I’m sure my knowledge of you and the rest of this family could very well be exchanged for immunity if I were to choose to sing like a canary.”
That rattles him some more. My blatant disrespect of keeping my already threatened place in the family.
“I should send you back in fucking pieces,” Alberto snarls, really unleashing the frenzy I’ve worked him up to. “I should take you downstairs and make you pay for the amount of stress you have caused this family. Girls like you don’t deserve sheltering from a life we have, they deserve to feel the entire pain it brings on them.”
“And that’s where you fail,” I say, applying a sweet, sarcastic tone. “You hurt me and there will be people willing to hurt you. I’m too damn valuable to this family to be hurt or disowned. Even my father saw that, but you are one kind of devil hell never made!” I then feel myself darken, my anger heating up more. “At least my father had some redeeming features. Hell, even Giovanni did, but you,” I pause to laugh mirthlessly at him, “You, Alberto, are going straight to somewhere far worse than hell!”
As I walk away, I hear him growl, “Your flight leaves in four hours, Amelia. You have to fucking pack."
"I've got my own business to attend to," I say, throwing the offhand comment over my shoulder. "Then I'll pack."
If only Alberto could see my face as I walk away. I am, by no means, as strong as I portray. I rock the boat but only because it makes me feel like I have some power in this family. Without that ability, I fear I’ll fade away. I make sure people know how defiant and heartless I am so I’m remembered. Because Alberto is right – without this family, I am nothing. I have nothing left to do but to cling on by my fingertips.
I shake away the feelings in me and replace my fear with the same stoic look I’ve worn for months. Lorenzo more than likely heard my altercation with my uncle, but he doesn’t need to see how heavily I wear the aftermath. That’s something I need to cope with alone.
“Bella! You really need to cool your anger,” Lorenzo says standing up to greet me. “It gets you nowhere.”
“I know,” I admit, meekly.
“Come here,” he urges and reaches for me.
I fall into his arms with ease, wanting nothing more than to forget everything and anything. However, Alberto bringing up Zane has me fighting such an inner battle that I’m scared will implode. As Lorenzo kisses me, tantalizing every piece of me with his hands and lips alone, I push away, refusing to fall into any sort of blissful state. It’s not lovemaking; it’s just sex to me. I love that rush of endorphins, but besides that, Lorenzo is not the man I want to settle with. I don’t want him to kiss away memories of Zane anymore, not like I have allowed him to do up to this point.
“Stop,” I whisper, my hand pushing flat against his chest. He gives me a small, doleful look. “Lorenzo, I’m going home today. We have to stop this now. We have no future. When I leave here, we’re over.”
“Then I follow,” he responds, his broken English sounding desperate for all the wrong reasons. “You leave, I follow.”
“No,” I tell him, shaking my head. “What we had was fun, but it ends here. We were nothing more than a fling. I can’t love you.”
“Well, I try to make you love me,” he says, not quite nailing the right translation again, but his sincerity overshadows that imperfection. “I can’t lose you now.”
I’ve done a lot of things in my time, but what the fuck have I done this time?
It’s like a dog with a bone; one I’m not going to get rid of soon and all because I couldn’t keep my panties on.
Fuck my life.
CHAPTER TWO
I’ve spent almost fourteen hours cooped up on a plane with an excitable twenty-seven-year-old tourist. That’s all I can call him right now. Lorenzo has bounded through the airport, excitedly jumped onto our jet, and hasn’t shut up about how amazing America will be. He seems to think this is a holiday for him.
He’s got another thing coming.
As the Bentley brakes, I look out of my blackened window and see the large, black iron cast gates begin to wobble as they open. Our driver puts his foot on the accelerator and when there’s enough room, he storms up the gravel drive, drawing us closer to my home. With every mile covered since we left the airport, my nerves have manifested into tiny demons, all clawing away within me. I’m haunted by them, and if anything, I think I might start to fucking throw up.