Page 78 of Captive Rival: Armani
He crosses his arms, glaring at me with fury in his eyes. “Is that what you really think?”
“It’s what I was told! You were more than happy to give me a tour of the warehouses, even teach me how the shipping process works, but I didn’t know what you werereallyshipping until—”
“Until Sergio told you. And you believed him. Jesus Christ. Youwerethe one who told him about the shipment going out that day from our private dock. Jesus, fuck, Candi! My brothers were convinced it was you, and I defended you! And yeah, I had my own suspicions, but then someone else confessed to leaking that intel and I actually thought—I thought we’d judged you too harshly. I should have known all along that it was you who stabbed us in the back.”
“I did what I had to do. I did the right thing,” I insist.
A harsh laugh escapes his throat. “Jesus. Wow. I am honestly shocked at how easily my headstrong wife was manipulated by goddamn Sergio Bruno. But apparently that kind of accusation is enough to override your common sense, or any need for actual confirmation! Did it never occur to you to simplyask me if it’s true?”
“You would’ve just lied about it anyway.”
Advancing on me, he grabs my shoulders roughly. “All Sergio has to do is plant a seed and you just let it grow! You eat it right up, all his lies, anything he tells you about my family. Did you even onceconsiderthat he might be lying to make you think you were doing the right thing by spying on me?”
The more he talks, the more I have to consider the possibility that I’ve made a terrible mistake.
“I didn’t know what to believe,” I admit, looking up at him with tears in my eyes. “I’ve been going back and forth about all of this since the Brunos first hired me on. I never know what’s real and what’s not. What’s true and what’s bullshit. Which family is the good one, which is the bad one. All of you are mobsters, so how the fuck am I supposed to know?”
Armani lets go of me.
Slowly, gravely, he says, “This family has never—never—been involved in human trafficking. Not even when my piece of shit father was in charge. The Bellantis have never, and will never, partake in that kind of activity. Apparently my word means nothing to you, but that’s the goddamn truth.”
I see nothing but sincerity—and yes, indignant anger—in his eyes. And…if Armani and his brothers really were involved in trafficking, wouldn’t Frankie and Karina know it by now? Would Karina be so in love with Marco if his family was trafficking women? I know Frankie wouldn’t put up with it.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, my voice husky with emotion. “I’m so sorry. I’ve gotten everything so twisted. This has been an impossible situation since the beginning. Everyone around me is using me. I’m everyone’s fucking pawn. Nobody tells me the full story, not ever. But…I believe you. I do.”
Armani spreads his arms wide. “This is who I am, Candi. I’m not all bad and I’m sure as hell not all good. Take it or leave it.”
Before I can say anything in response, he grabs my chin, lifting it so I have no choice but to look him in the eyes.
“But if you take it,” he growls, “you take it all.”
Without even meaning to, I instinctively glance over at the bed. When I look back up at him, there isn’t even a glimmer of a doubt in my mind any longer. This is what I want. This iswhoI want.
A soft moan escapes me as I throw myself at him, lips crashing into his, my hands clawing at the hem of his T-shirt. Armani meets my desperation in kind as he leads me to the bed and pushes me down onto it. I watch him with bated breath as he peels his shirt off, drops his pants, and climbs on top of me.
Trapping me with one arm on either side of my head, he says, “I said if you take it, you take it all. All eight inches.”
My eyelids flutter as desire pulses through me. “Yes. Give it to me. All of it. Please.”
And then I submit completely as he takes control and claims my body, demanding an apology that I’m all too happy to give.
27
CANDI
Yes,I’m hungover. Yes, my head is pounding and I’m a tad queasy. But that’s okay.
Because today, I have no responsibilities other than having myself a long, luxurious bubble bath and drinking ginger tea with honey and snacking on the box of saltine crackers that Armani brought me from the pantry. Nobody has to know that I didn’t get out of bed until after noon. Nor that I’m wearing freaking sunglasses in the bathtub.
After I sink into the hot, sudsy water, I tilt my head back and let out a long, slow breath. I figure I might as well take advantage of this alone time and give some serious thought to the conversation I had with Juliana yesterday. It was easily the ugliest fight we’ve ever had. My cheeks still burn with humiliation when I think about the way she yelled at me and then hung up.
Was she lying to me about the Bellantis and the trafficked women? Has she been lying all along?
And why would she tell me something so completely horrible if it wasn’t true?
I meant what I said last night when I told Armani I believed him. I do believe him. Not just because I want to, either. My gut says he’s not bullshitting me.
Plus, there’s the complete lack of credible evidence to support Juliana’s accusations. They’re nothing but hearsay. I haven’t seen anything, haven’t heard anything, haven’t gotten any shady vibes from Armani’s brothers or their wives. Even Google has turned up zilch, despite there being copious archived news pieces about Enzo Bellanti’s criminal activities, none of which had anything to do with trafficking.
