Page 37 of Damiano De Luca (The Five Syndicates)
“Stroking my cock in public is hot, but it’s not a leap. It’s a distraction, and I see past it. I see past you.”
I’d forgotten what it felt like to have Damian push my boundaries, to have him reach under my skin like only he could. In that moment, what I’d just walked into slapped me in the face. If I were being honest, I knew seeing Damian again would happen when Maman asked me to represent the Vitali. I could pretend that I did this for Maman, but the truth was, I chose to come. After leaving for ten years, I chose to see Damian again. I chose this.
Why in the world did I choose this?
Damian must not have liked what he saw on my face because he put more distance between us and said, “I’ll see you at the dinner tonight, Princess, and I hope you’ll surprise me.”
And maybe I hoped I would, too.
Deception may give us what we want for the present, but it will always take it away in the end.
Rachel Hawthorne
It felt wrong to celebrate after a death. I could handle th
e funeral on day one. I could understand the negotiations on day two. But celebrating Vincent’s death on day three rubbed me the wrong way.
“You’re celebrating his life, Renata.”
I hated myself for making Maman talk about this. “It just doesn’t feel right.”
Lucy waved at me, and I waved back, thankful that I’d chosen this moment to call Maman. The last thing I wanted to do was socialize. Asher Black, her husband and the Romano family’s former fixer, stood beside her, his arms wrapped fully around his wife from behind. Bastian, Ariana, Niccolaio Andretti, and a redhead stood with them. The six of them looked like the popular kids in a 90s flick—too untouchable to be approached.
I looked away.
Maman’s stern voice reached my ears. “You’re on the phone at a party intended for Vincent. That is what is not right.”
My eyes skimmed the ballroom. Situated in a hotel owned by Asher, the ballroom’s elegance matched the rest of the building. Crystal chandeliers. Pietra Firma marble flooring. Pearl accents. Still, I couldn’t appreciate the refined beauty. My stomach churned with emotions, and I tried to blame it on this event.
Of course, Maman saw past me.
“Renata Vitali, you are lying to me, and I do not appreciate it.” She let out a curse in French. “I try to understand you, but I cannot understand how you can love a boy and not try to be with him.”
I didn’t bother pointing out the parallels between my situation with Damian and her situation with Vincent. It would be cruel in light of Vince’s death. Regardless, I’d never call my mom out. She was strong but also fragile in moments, and it was the latter which encouraged me to let her be.
I ignored the fact that even my mom was calling me out on my lies and twisted the wedding ring around my finger, my movements absentminded. When I realized what I was doing, I settled for adjusting the deep V of my red floor-length evening gown. “I don’t love anyone besides you, Maman.”
I cursed karma because Damian chose that moment to walk into the room. I couldn’t look at his hands without remembering how they looked holding worn paperbacks over the hundreds of nights we’d spent reading together in his library. I couldn’t look at his lips without remembering the substance in our conversations and the fact that I had only ever shed my walls for him. I couldn’t look at his eyes without remembering how they stared into mine when I’d given him my virginity then left after he had told me he loved me. And I would never, ever retrieve the piece of me I’d given him in Devils Ridge.
“Renata?”
Damian’s eyes skimmed the room and connected with mine in an instant.
“Yeah, I’m still here.” Barely. “I just spaced out.”
He took a step toward me.
“Are you okay up there?”
I tracked his path to me, Maman’s words barely registering. I nodded, then remembered she couldn’t see me. “I’ll be fine.” My phone slipped a little in my clammy palm. “I just wanted to give you an update. The roundtable went well.”
Someone stopped to talk to Damian, and relief swept through me as his progress halted. But then the woman leaned too close to him and laughed at what he said. Her fingers rested on the lapels of his finely tailored suit, and I stilled.
You don’t own him, Renata.
He’s not yours.
Don’t make the same mistake twice.
