“Getting breakfast, why don’t you join him—soak up some of that alcohol?” I mock.
“You’ve made yourself right at home, haven’t you? Funny how he has a thing for dancers—pole or otherwise. Both bought and paid for,” he spits, venom crawling across the room, trying to poison me.
“We’re nothing alike. Serena was a whore he paid to fuck.” I curl my lip.
“Isn’t that what you are?”
“Be careful with your words. The last man who spoke to me like that bled out in the dining room. Luca may have my hand in marriage for a price, but the sex I give him for free.”
Scoffing, he takes a step toward me again. “You think that makes you special? You’re just a product—someone to control and use. He’ll tire of fucking you and go back to paying for it.”
“You sound hard up, Antonio. What’s the matter? No one fucking you even when you offer to pay for it?”
“Bitch,” he growls. “My brother said you were feisty. Said you like it rough.”
My heart pounds. Luca wouldn’t tell him that.
My phone vibrates with an incoming message, drawing his eyes to my pocket.
“Since it’s also my money paying for you, maybe I should fuck you too—show you just how rough it can get,” he sneers, lurching forward.
I’m quick.
Dropping to grab the gun from under Luca’s desk, I aim at him before he reaches me.
“You wouldn’t fucking dare.” He laughs, taking another step.
I lower the gun to his foot and shoot.
“You don’t know me,” I remind him as he drops to the ground, wrapping his hands around his bare foot.
“You shot me.” He looks up at me astonishment.
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I open Hannah’s message while keeping the gun aimed at the prick.
She sent a video.
I click open and take a couple steps away from him to concentrate on what I’m seeing, the door opens, and Marcello enters. Looking to Antonio, he rushes over to him. “What happened?”
“You’re right about the bitch being feisty. She fucking shot me.” My eyes snap to Marcello.
“You said that?” I glower, the news inciting nausea. I thought he liked me?
“He interprets shit.” Marcello rolls his eyes, coming to me and taking the gun.
“What are you watching?” he asks, coming around me to watch over my shoulder.
My breath hitches when his image comes on the screen. He’s getting out of a car at Hannah’s house and going inside.
The cameras switch to him in her kitchen washing blood from a knife.
“I’m really fucking sorry you had to see that, Alyssa. This is going to pain me a lot more than you,” he whispers in my ear.
Just as Luca hurries into the room, shouting, “No!”
Marcello’s knife stabs into my back.
Pain, sharp and pulsing, explodes within my flesh, spreading like a wildfire up my back and abdomen.
Shocked eyes of the man who promised me safety will be the last thing I see.
The fire steals my breath. My mouth opens, but only a squeaked, inhuman noise exits.
I’m going to die here.
Warm, crimson coats my clothes, spreading out across my pretty white dress. So much it runs down my leg, pooling at my feet.
I want to scream, call out.
My lungs squeeze. There’s no air.
Noise, loud and pulsing, echoes around me.
Roars of anger shatter the air, splintering my mind.
I’m falling, the corners closing in, dark shadows chasing away the light.
Shots are fired.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
The world spins, fading…
How can it end like this?
I was a queen.
His queen.
And his kingdom killed me.
Chapter Forty-Five
Luca
“What’s Hannah doing here?” Marcello asks, following me through to the dining room and taking a seat as we leave Hannah and Alyssa to talk.
“She doesn’t want Alyssa to marry me,” I grunt, thinking back to her text.
She has a point—I’m a dangerous man—but I have a feeling she doesn’t realize Alyssa’s a dangerous woman.
She was drawn to the beast inside me because there’s one in her too.
“Did you know she was pregnant?”
Almost spitting his coffee, he says, “How do you know that?”
Filling a plate, I shrug. “I took her to the hospital with Alyssa. She was distraught. Did you know?”
Shaking his head, he scratches his jaw. “I didn’t. Then again, why would I?” He shifts, and it’s the first time I’ve seen him uncomfortable.
My god.
“Tell me that wasn’t your fucking baby.” I blow out a breath, losing my appetite.
His throat bobs. “It may have been.”
Motherfucker. “When the hell did that start?”
“It’s nothing. A couple times when she was working late.”
Pushing my plate away, I wipe my mouth and walk from the room, Marcello following behind me. “I think I’m going to wait and speak to Hannah, ask her about the baby,” he informs me, jerking a thumb in the direction of my office.
“Fair enough, meet me at your mother’s. She’s going to help sort arrangements for my father’s funeral,” I tell him, still in disbelief he was fucking Hannah.