Code of Honor (Spontagio Family 1)

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I managed to distract myself for the rest of the night with bad movies and junk food, but I’m paying for it now. I’ve just finished what was easily the most intense session in my life. I pack my things into my bag, just as my phone rings.

“You are not going to believe this, Luce!”

“What?” I ask, more curious than concerned. Bella has a habit of being overenthusiastic. I’m half expecting her to announce that her favorite lip gloss company has released another color.

“So, I was so angry for you that I went to talk to Pietro—”

“You what?” I screech, stopping in my tracks. Embarrassed, I glance around the half-empty hallways of the studios before lowering my voice. “Bell, why the fuck would you do that?”

“Because he’s being a twat,” she announces triumphantly. “Now, shut up and listen to me. I get to your place and he’s not there. Neither is your dad. So, I ask your cook where I can find Pietro and he tells me he overheard a conversation between your dad and—”

“Bell,” I interrupt with a laugh. “Does this have a point?”

“New York,” she spits out. “He’s in New York.”

The blood drains from my face.

“He came back?” I mumble.

“No, Luce. He’s been there the whole time. Apparently, it was the only way your dad would let you go—if Pietro was over there too, keeping an eye on you.”

“No, he would’ve told me. He came to visit, for fuck’s sake. And my dad can be overprotective, but he wouldn’t do that.”

Even as I say the words I know how stupid I sound. This is exactly something my dad would do.

“Are you kidding me? This has Giovanni written all over it,” Bella says, echoing my thoughts.

“I gotta go. I’ll call you later, okay?”

I need time to think. I end the call and shove my phone in my pocket and lean against the wall just outside the studio. He’s been here this whole time. I glance up and down the crowded street. Is he watching me now? I shiver—both turned on and disgusted at the thought.

Holding tightly on to my bag, I make my way across the street to my apartment. I’m so angry with my father, it’s taking all my energy not to call him up and abuse him. But that would ruin everything. No, it’s better he doesn’t know that I know, especially with the plan I have forming in my head. I smile as I unlock my door, a shiver of excitement racing down my spine. My father ordered him to watch over me. I’ll give him something to watch.

This is going to be fun.

Chapter 17

Pietro

All week I’ve done my best to distance myself from her, and while I know it’s for the best, it’s tearing me apart. She’s tried calling and texting, all of which I’ve deleted. I watch her every day, and it kills me to see her looking so sad.

I’ve been sitting in the same spot for the last hour, staring at the blank TV. A half-full glass of Scotch remains in my hand, untouched. I don’t want alcohol. I want her. Standing up, I walk over to the window. I glance across to her apartment and stare at the thin stream of light escaping from the sides of her blinds. She’s in the living room. Her bedroom and bathroom are both dark.

The light in her bedroom flicks on and I watch with interest as she wanders over to the window. She looks out. I can make out her face but not her expression. I can’t tell what she’s thinking. The blinds rise higher as she reaches out to open the window. My throat tightens as her hands lift to the top of her shirt. Slowly, she undoes each button. I can’t look away, and even if I wanted to I couldn’t. What the fuck is she doing? The shirt comes off, and she stands there, her hair blowing softly in the wind. As her hands disappear behind her back I’m ready to explode. When her bra falls away from her perfect breasts it’s all I can do not to storm over there and slam down that fucking blind, and then kiss some sense into her. Hasn’t she got any idea how many men might be watching her right now? Men who, seeing her perfect curves and beautifully rounded breasts, are probably on the verge of jacking off to thoughts of her?

Men like—me?

I back away from the window. I can’t do this anymore. Every glance at her—especially now—is torture, and I’ve put myself through enough of it over the years. I walk back over to my chair and pick up the Scotch, slamming it down my throat.

Tonight I drink to forget.

—

“Mama!” I yell as the shot rings out. I swear her eyes meet mine as she falls. I saw the moment life slipped away from her. I saw everything. I’m frozen on the spot, unable to move. This can’t be happening.

The killer, hearing my screams, turns to me, his eyes meeting mine for a split second. I memorize his face, swearing to myself that I will never forget it until the day I die.