Page 199 of The Thorns of Seduce
I tap play on the video Luka sent. The screen fills with a crowded auditorium, packed with people in caps and gowns. Graduation day. How quaint.
There’s D, striding onto the stage like he owns the place.
I scoff out a laugh. “What are you up to now, you dramatic bastard?” I mutter, taking another sip of espresso.
The camera pans to Wren, standing frozen at the podium. Her eyes are wide, darting between D and the crowd. She looks like she’s deciding between fight or flight.
D drops to one knee, and I can’t help but roll my eyes. “Really? You’re going for the full cliché, aren’t you?”
He’s talking now, his words inaudible over the crowd’s growing murmurs. Whatever he’s saying, it’s making Wren’s face cycle through emotions faster than a stoplight. Shock. Anger. Confusion.
“Come on, Wren,” I find myself saying. “Tell him to fuck off. Make this interesting.”
But then her expression shifts. The hard lines of her face soften just a bit. Her lips twitch, fighting a smile.
“Ah,suka,” I groan. “Don’t fall for it.”
But she does. Of course she does. She nods, and the crowd erupts. D leaps to his feet, sweeping her into his arms for a kiss that belongs in a bad romance movie.
I close the video, shaking my head. “Congratulations, D,” I mutter. “You’ve officially lost your balls.”
I drain the last sip of my espresso, letting the bitter edge of the coffee settle on my tongue as I glance out over the small, pathetic town. Positano clings to the cliffs like it’s barely hanging on—just like everyone here. Small town, small minds, small lives. It’s quiet, too quiet. A place where people like me don’t belong, yet here I am.
I place the cup down with a sharp clink, eyes flicking toward the horizon. The sea is endless, sure, but it’s nothing compared to the depth of the game I’m playing. Luka and D might be content to settle down, drowning in this bullshit called love, but me? I don’t play those games. I never have. I don’t chase fairy tales.
My phone buzzes again. I don’t bother checking it. Luka probably sending me more wedding crap. All thisYob tvoyu mat’love bullshit is starting to make me nauseous. I’d rather spend my time breaking bones and closing deals.
But her…Lucia di Fuoco. She ran. And no one runs from me.
I’ll make her surrender.
And I’ll make her pay.
I swipe open my iPad, the screen lighting up with a series of coordinates, all leading me straight to her. Five years. She’s been hiding in this postcard town for five fucking years. Does she really think she’s safe here?
That I wouldn’t find her?
The corner of my mouth twitches.
She thinks she’s smart, slipping away from Chicago, blending into the quiet. But this isn’t a game she can win. Not with me.
My thumb hovers over the screen. The last ping of her location was a few blocks away, tucked in some little Italian villa she probably thinks I can’t touch.
She doesn’t know me.
I push my chair back, the sound scraping across the cobblestones like nails on a chalkboard. This town might look serene, but underneath, it’s just as ugly as anywhere else. The difference is I know how to dig out the rot.
Lucia probably thinks she’s outsmarted me.
But I don’t forget.
And I don’t forgive.
This isn’t aboutlove.No, it’s aboutownership.She’s mine, even if she doesn’t know it yet.
And when I finally get my hands on her? I’m going to enjoy every second of making her remember that.
THE END
