Spending a couple of hours going through my things, I sort them into different piles. Stuff for storage and items to take with me. A lot of the belongings I’ve accumulated over the years are household items I won’t need any longer. I’m sure Cristian’s house is fully equipped, and his stuff will be much better quality. Excitement bubbles inside me at the thought I’ll get to live in the home he built after all. I have often wondered what it looks like and whether Cristian and Elio are happy there.
Humming to myself as I rummage through my things, I’m relieved everything seems intact and untouched. I’m skimming through my photo album and sketch pads when the doorbell chimes. I’m not expecting anyone, but it’s possible Cristian arranged a food delivery.
Sounds of arguing tickle my eardrums when I approach the front door, but the voices are muffled, and I can’t hear what’s being said. Using the peephole, I check to see who is outside, instantly scowling when I recognize the woman arguing with John Angelo. Cristian said his new head bodyguard was also his personal guard, but it’s no surprise he made him stay here to watch over me. That’s a totally Cristian thing to do.
The arguing stops the instant I open the door. “What’s going on?” I ask, my gaze bouncing between them.
“You.” Isa seethes, her nostrils flaring, gaze burning with hostility. “So, it’s true. You are back.” If looks could kill, I’d be ten feet under by now.
“Yes, not that it’s any of your business.”
“Oh, it’s my business all right,” she says, shoving past me into the hallway.
“I can make her leave,” John Angelo says.
“No, it’s fine.” I have dealt with much worse than Isotta Da Rosa, and the inquisitive part of my brain wants to know why she’s here.
“You don’t have to talk to her,” John Angelo adds as the annoying woman huffs in outrage behind me.
“I know I don’t, but I’ll humor her. Don’t worry.” I shoo him away when he moves to come inside. “We’re going to attempt a civil conversation, and then Isotta will be on her way.” I’m not concerned. I can handle the jealous bitch.
“I’ll be right outside,” John Angelo cautions. “Shout if you need me.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Isa hisses, stalking forward. “I’m just going to give her a piece of my mind, not riddle her with bullets, so there’s no need to look at me like that.” She slams the door shut in his face as if this is her place.
Thrusting my shoulders back, I stand tall and level her with a sharp look. “Let’s not pretend we like one another. Say what you came to say and then leave.”
“You don’t call the shots,” she snaps, digging something out of her purse. “And I’ll decide who is leaving.” Thrusting a square card in front of my face, she smirks as she says, “If you’ve come back for Cristian, you’re too late.”
Bile crawls up my throat as my gaze skims over the wedding invitation. It’s for her impending wedding to…Cristian. What the fuck? My heart thuds painfully against my chest wall as I stare at the offensive invite.
“Cristian is mine, and you need to fuck off back into whatever hole you crawled out of,” she snarls, putting her face all up in mine.
“I don’t believe you.” I’m hurt and confused, but this has got to be a trick. A last-ditch effort to get rid of me by a woman who has always wanted my man. Young me would probably have fallen for it. But I’m not the same naïve girl anymore. Cristian wouldn’t lie to me, and I’m going nowhere until I talk to him. Pushing her back out of my face, I rip the invite into pieces and throw them at her. “Get out, you malicious bitch, and stay out.”
“You can’t throw me out!” she shrieks. “I won’t let you ruin this for me again.”
Anticipating her move, I thrust my fist out and punch her in the nose before she can touch me. Isa screams, tripping over her feet and falling flat on her ass on the floor. With more calmness than I feel, I open the door and request John Angelo to escort her from the building. Isa is screaming threats and expletives as John Angelo tries to wrangle her out the door. More bodyguards show up, and together they get her into the elevator.
Closing the door, I lean back against it and try to slow my racing heart. My eyes drift to the tattered remnants of the invite on the floor, and uneasiness settles on my chest. Isa is a conniving cunt, but how could she produce a professional wedding invite mere hours after Cristian and I reunited? I can’t even blame Elio for blabbing the secret to his aunt because he’s only a child, and he didn’t mean any harm.
A knock on the door drags me from my troubled thoughts. After checking the peephole, I let John Angelo in. “We put her in a taxi and sent her home. She won’t bother you again. Are you okay?”
“Is something going on with her and Cristian?” I ask, not mincing my words.
“That’s a question for the boss,” he replies, averting his eyes.
“John Angelo.” My voice is stern. “Tell me what you know.”
“Sloane.” He squeezes my hands. “Cristian loves you. He was the happiest I’ve seen him in years earlier, so forget whatever that woman said and wait until Cristian gets back. He’ll explain it.”
“Explain he’s marrying her?” I snap, losing the tenuous hold on my composure as anger rears its head. John Angelo grimaces, and I stagger back. “It’s true?”
“Aw. Fuck.” He scrubs his hands down his face. “Look, I’ve heard rumors, that’s all.”
“What have you heard?” Crossing my arms around my waist, I already know I’m not going to like this.
“That Cristian signed a contract to marry Isa.”
“No,” I whisper. “Hell no. It can’t be true.”
“I’m sure it’s not.” John Angelo tips my chin up. “Rumors have a habit of becoming embellished as they get passed around. The boss hasn’t said anything to me, and I’ve heard nothing official. Perhaps it’s a complete lie. I wouldn’t be surprised if that woman started the rumors. She’s always had a thing for the boss, but I swear to you, Sloane, Cristian has never shown any interest in her.”
“She had a wedding invite. The date is set and everything.”
Sympathy splays across his face and I hate it. “You need to talk to Cristian. Don’t do anything rash until you know the truth.”
“Right.” I bark out a laugh, wondering if this is Cristian’s cruel way of exacting revenge. Maybe last night and this morning have been a lie, and this is his way of punishing me for the things I did. Dangle the fantasy in front of me again and then rip it away. “I’m such a fool.”
Rushing to the bedroom, I start plucking things off the bed, tossing them back into boxes. I’m fuming. Hurt. Angry. Feeling like a stupid, naïve, young college student all over again.
“Sloane.” John Angelo comes into the room, holding out his cell. “Cristian wants to talk to you.”
Snatching the phone from his hand, I press the speaker button and let him have it. “I assume John Angelo told you about my little meet and greet with your fiancée?” I spit out the word, and it fucking hurts. I’m so enraged, I want to hit something. Preferably her smug face. She got off lightly with a busted nose.
“She’s not my fiancée, and I’m not marrying her.”
“She had a fucking wedding invite with your names on it!” I yell.
A pregnant pause ensues before he speaks. “She had what?” His lethally cold tone sends chills up my spine.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know,” I hiss.
“Listen to me, Sloane. I don’t know what the fuck Isa is up to, but I am not marrying her. When I get married, it will be to you. You, Sloane. Not her. You. Now, I will handle Isa, and I’ll explain it properly when I get back, but do not run. Please.” Fear laces through his words. “You promised. Don’t do what I did because we’ve both paid a high price for that mistake. Give me a chance to explain. If you still want to leave, then I’ll help you leave safely, but I swear to you, Sloane, the only woman I love is you. I don’t want her. Not at any time and certainly not now. This is a ploy to drive you away. Nothing more.”
Air whooshes out of my mouth. “Okay. I’ll wait for you to explain it, but I’m angry, Cristian. So fucking angry. You should’ve told me.”
“I wish I had, and you have every right to be mad, but I promise I can explain it. Just don’t leave.”
After John Angelo leaves, I change into yoga pants and a crop top and tie my sneakers before heading to Cristian’s gym to work out some of my frustration.
Switching on the treadmill, I start running, gradually increasing the speed as my limbs loosen. As I stare out the window at Manhattan, I barely see the buildings, Central Park in the distance, or the crowds on the sidewalk below because I’m lost in my head.
There’s obviously some grain of truth to the story, but I’m choosing to put my trust in Cristian and waiting to hear what he has to say. Running away would not have been the answer. I can’t tell Cristian we need to openly communicate and then revert to knee-jerk reactions. I probably wouldn’t have gone through with it, but I’m glad for John Angelo’s quick thinking. I guess Cristian and I have a long road ahead of us. Past mistakes and everything that has happened will undoubtedly color both our judgments. I can only hope in time we navigate successfully through all the obstacles in our way.
Cranking the speed a notch higher, I pound the treadmill as I physically vent my frustration. Sweat rolls down my back and beads on my brow. The fucking nerve of that bitch to show up here like that. If I’d left, it would’ve played straight into her hands. I’m mad at myself for letting her get to me. I’m better than this. But I’m also pissed that Cristian facilitated a situation where I was blindsided.
I’m so lost in thought, I almost miss the reflection in the glass, only spotting the man creeping up on me from behind a split second before he reaches me.
Jumping off the treadmill, I duck under his arm before he can grab me, racing for the door and screaming for help. Yanking on my ponytail, he pulls me back with force, and I fall to the ground. His body covers mine before I can roll away, but I fight back, swinging my fists and getting a good jab in before he grabs both wrists and stretches them over my head. He’s clad head to toe in black, and his face is shielded by a balaclava, but I have never forgotten those dark, evil eyes or the derisory tone in his accented voice when he speaks.
“Good to see you again, slut. I’ve missed your pretty mouth.”
I try to buck him off, but he straddles my thighs, pinning me in place. “It’s Alvaro,” I shout, knowing Cristian has a camera somewhere in here. “He’s—”
When his hand covers my mouth, I bite hard through his glove, digging my teeth into his flesh like a wild animal.
Alvaro roars before backhanding me, but I have one hand free now, and I reach between us, hating I have to do this, but it’s the smartest option. Grabbing his junk through his pants, I squeeze hard, digging my nails in for added displeasure.
Tears fall from his eyes as he clutches his groin and yells. Using both hands, I shove him hard in the chest, catching him off guard. He falls to the side, and I kick at his legs before climbing to my feet. Sprinting toward the door, I notice the open air vent panel lying on the floor for the first time. As I run, I scream his name repeatedly, stating he’s cartel, hoping someone is watching the live feed in the control room and they’re coming to my rescue.
I’m halfway through the door when his hand wraps around my ankle. I scream as I face-plant the floor, pain rattling across my brow as I crash into the hardwood floor. Black spots mar my vision as Alvaro sits on my back, restricting my breathing.
“Fucking whore,” he hisses as a sharp prick stabs the side of my neck.
“Cristian,” I slur as my vision blurs. “I love you.”
Then I black out.
