Page 13 of Secrets of the Brother
I really was a monster.
Casting her aside to marry her sister, but then making damn sure no other man would claim what I still considered mine.
That no man touched what was mine.
And I still considered Bianca mine.
It defied all sense of moral decency. It flew in the face of all logic. It made a mockery of the vows I took before God. It damned me for a liar. And it laid bare that I was not the honorable gentleman I once aspired to be.
And I couldn’t care less.
She. Was. Mine.
No matter that she was living halfway across the world.
Fortunately, I had the money and the connections to keep tabs on every aspect of her life. I knew what she ate for breakfast. I knew the passwords to her computer. I knew her favorite cafe and the names of all her friends in New York. I had even made sure she was occupied beyond her usual schoolwork with business clients through various shell companies I set up so she would have no time for a social life.
I really was a fucking bastard.
If I hadn’t been so distracted with the cover-up of Renata’s murder and the rushed funeral, I would have been able to prevent Bianca returning from America before I was ready. I would have cancelled her credit cards or paid to have her passport flagged so she couldn’t fly.
Money bought a person all kinds of manipulative ways to get something done.
The first sight of her in the flesh after so much time apart rocked me to my core.
The one line I had refused to cross during these long, torturous months was I had never allowed myself to fly to New York to see her, even from a distance. I knew I would not have the self-control to stay in the shadows, and this afternoon proved it.
The moment I saw her, smelled her perfume, touched her, kissed her—I was like a man possessed.
All my careful planning for our future together had gone up in smoke.
I needed her now. In that moment. I needed to be inside her. I needed to finally claim her as mine. I was done waiting. I was over trying to pay for my mistake. I wanted the future I was supposed to have had with her. I wanted her as my wife. And if I were truly honest with myself, I needed to get her pregnant. I wanted her to bear my child. I wanted a blood tie to her. A bond she could never break.
In my zeal, I had almost fucked her on my goddamn desk as if she were no better than a whore, instead of the cherished love of my life. Instead of the innocent I knew her to be.
I really was a fucking monster.
And now I had ruined everything.
Fuck.
Benito interrupted my gloomy thoughts.
He tossed a manila folder onto a dusty wine cask and sighed as he put his hands into his uniform pockets as if to distance himself from any ownership of the file. “It arrived today. You have to know, I didn’t even know it was being prepared or who ordered it. And I have to warn you, you’re not going to like it.”
All six of us stood around the barrel in silence, staring at the folder. None of us moved.
Finally, Papà set his drink down and reached for the folder.
Benito looked at him and warned, “Don Cavalieri, it’s not pretty.”
He met Benito’s look and nodded once before opening the folder.
There was a tense silence.
Papà flipped through several papers and photos, then said, “Homicide.”
The room seemed to release a collective breath.
