We stumble into the penthouse directly from the elevator.
It looks like a museum. Renovated by a famous interior architect that cost Papà a pretty penny, it’s all sleek lines, subtle textures, and mood lighting.
It’s a status item, not a place meant to be lived in.
Still, it’s better we’re here than back home where Mamma and Papà would put Cleo and I through an interrogation. I’m not sure I can even stand to look at my father after everything Rafaele told me tonight.
At least this way, that’ll have to wait until tomorrow.
I get Cleo cleaned up and set her up in one of the bedrooms. She passes out promptly after taking a sleeping pill. I grab a wet washcloth from the bathroom, wipe the smeared makeup off her face, and tuck her in.
God, she looks so young. Sometimes I forget she’s only eighteen. The tip of her nose is pink from crying, and her lips are covered with bite marks. She was gnawing on them the entire ride here, while I clutched her hand and tried to think of something comforting to say.
We’ve always lived surrounded by violence, but what Rafaele did to Ludovico was more brutal than anything I’ve ever seen. And Cleo was right there when it happened.
Poor thing.
Did Rafaele jump to her defense because he wanted to help her? Or because he wanted to show me how serious he is about treating Garzolos like his own family?
Papà must have mentioned to Rafaele that Cleo and Ludovico might be getting engaged. With Rafaele being the successor, it’s unfathomable that something like that wouldn’t come up in their discussions. Ludovico was out of line, but if Papà had been there, he would have gotten Ludovico away from Cleo and reprimanded him. He wouldn’t have taken an eye out like Rafaele did.
I sigh. Whatever drove Rafaele to do what he did, it’s a reminder that danger lurks just beneath his icy surface.
I press a light kiss to Cleo’s forehead and leave.
I stop in the kitchen to get a glass of water. As I fill my glass, my gaze catches on my emerald ring.
I hate the damn thing and what it represents. Now that I’m not around my family or Rafaele, I don’t need to have it on, so I slide it off my finger and leave it on the counter.
When I return to the living room, Ras is planted by the floor-to-ceiling window, his hands clasped behind him. The lights are dim. Moonlight spills across the dark hardwood floor.
There’s a knot inside my chest that eases at the sight of him.
I don’t know if it’s because of the sense of safety I feel whenever he’s around or because he’s beautiful enough to be distracting.
Straight nose, a prominent brow, shoulders that form a hard line. When I first met him, it was his dark, stormy eyes that I first noticed. And that earring. That small flash of silver that taunted me while I went straight into fight-or-flight mode.
And for once, I chose to fight.
But I’m not a fighter. The hits just keep coming, and they’re finding their mark. After what I learned about Vince tonight, I feel utterly defeated.
I walk over and halt by Ras’s side.
“How is she?” he asks.
“Asleep. I hope she’ll feel better tomorrow.”
We’re forty floors above Central Park—an enormous, open expanse framed by rows of densely packed buildings. In the summer, the lush greenery takes my breath away, but in February, the park is covered in a blanket of snow. I can see the snake-like paths winding through the branches of the trees below, and in the distance, the frozen lake reflects the night sky.
I press my fingertips against the glass. “Do you remember when we stopped at your condo in Ibiza? I never told you how much I liked it there.”
“Of course, I remember.” He smiles a little and then quietly adds, “I don’t think I’m capable of forgetting a single thing as far as you’re concerned, Peaches.”
I drag my teeth over my bottom lip, letting his words settle over my skin.
“I think I have the same problem,” I confess, reaching for his hand.
He laces our fingers together, his hold warm and sure even though everything else about us feels uncertain.
Does he hope he’ll forget about me when he returns to Europe?
He’ll be gone so soon.
And I’ll be walking down the aisle toward another man.
I release a breath. “Vince dreamt up the whole thing. It was his idea to make Rafaele the successor. His idea to get Rafaele into our family by having him marry me. Papà and Vince used me. They traded me away so that the two of them can have the lives they want. I guess no one really cares what kind of life I wanted for myself.”
An ambulance moves down 59th Street, its sirens muffled to a barely there whine by the soundproofed windows.
Ras lets go of my hand and steps closer, moving his palm to the small of my back. He looks down at me, his forehead lined with concern. “Peaches, I’m so sorry.”
“Rafaele told me everything tonight. I don’t think I ever want to speak to my brother again. I wish I didn’t have to speak to my father either, but that’s unavoidable, isn’t it?” A bitter laugh spills past my lips. “You know what’s funny? I blame myself for allowing this to happen. I enabled it. When I was younger, I got off on being praised for being such a good daughter. That was my value. If I wasn’t good, I had no worth. When I agreed to marry Rafaele, I could tell it made Papà happy, and some part of me sang with pleasure at having that rare light of his shine on me. I never learned how to be a fighter like Cleo or Vale. Honestly, I don’t know where they picked it up. Maybe it’s just something people are born with, and that particular quality skipped me. I’m paying for it now.
Ras takes my elbow, his grip firm. There’s some internal battle playing out inside his eyes, and after a few long seconds, he huffs a heavy breath and says, “Let me help you. I can get you out of here.”
Hope flickers for a short second until reality snuffs it out.
There’s nothing that can be done against the combined power of the Garzolos and the Messeros. The only way to back out of this marriage would be to run, but my disappearance would make the family implode, and Papà won’t allow that to happen. No matter where Ras takes me, eventually they’d find us. Papà would drag me right back to New York kicking and screaming, and I’d end up in the exact same place. Only I’d have put Ras in danger in the process. Dem and Vale too.
If I put myself first, everyone suffers.
Rafaele’s offered me honesty and respect. Maybe that’s as good as someone like me can get. It’s more than what my family has ever given me, isn’t it?
I lift my hand to Ras’s cheek. If things were different, I could see a life with this man. This beautiful, strong man who’s offering me impossible things.
“Do you remember when you asked me why I hated you?”
He nods, his beard scratching against my palm.
“I overheard you talking to Damiano when I came to Ibiza for the elopement. Do you know what I heard?”
“I can make a pretty good guess,” he says gruffly.
“I heard you urge Damiano to walk away from the deal with Papà. I remember I got so angry about that. I thought you were horrible for being so flippant about breaking your word, especially when the other party was my family. But now that I know you, I can see I was wrong. Ras, you’re one of the best men I’ve ever met.”
Raw, pained emotion flares inside his eyes. “Gemma,” he says, covering my hand with his own. “I’ll get you out of here. I promise. Say the word, and it’s done.”
I shake my head. “I’m not leaving. I can’t.”
He presses his lips to the palm of my hand. “I’ll call Damiano right now. We’ll make a plan. We’ll figure out a way.”
“Stop,” I plead. “Don’t make it harder than it already is.”
His eyes flash, and he pulls away from my touch. He’s getting frustrated with me now. “Damn it, Gemma. I’m not offering this lightly. Why won’t you even consider it? Let me do this for you.”
I take in a shaky breath. “There’s something you can do.”
“Anything. You know I’d do anything.”
“Spend tonight with me. I want you to be my first. Not Rafaele. You.”
It’s my consolation. My last attempt at doing something for myself before I become an empty shell.
When he catches on to what I’m saying, an angry kind of heat flickers behind his gaze. The air around us becomes thick, wraps around my limbs, presses on my lungs.
“So you want me to have you, and then you want me to give you away?” he growls, backing me against the floor-to-ceiling window. “You want me to break you in for him?”
My blood heats. It’s the one thing I have left to give to him. “Don’t you want to?”
He slams his palms against the glass beside my head. “I don’t want to be your first, Peaches. I want to be your last. And I don’t want your fucking virginity. I just want you.”
My heart shatters, but I keep my tears in check because I know if I let even a single one fall, this will be over.
“This is our only chance,” I whisper. “In the morning, you’ll take Cleo and me home, and we’ll never have this again.”
He exhales a long breath and slides his palm to cup the side of my neck. “Or I can take you far away. Fuck, I don’t know how, but I’ll figure it out some way.”
“Enough.” I hold his gaze, making my conviction shine. “Most of my choices have been stripped away from me. If I mean anything to you, let me make my own choices tonight.”
My words manage to get through to him. I can see his resolve start to break beneath the hard layer of his anger. His hand tightens around my neck. “You haven’t thought this through.”
Oh, but I have. I thought about it plenty at the Hamptons even before tonight happened.
I’m supposed to be a virgin. It’s probably written in the contract between Papà and Rafaele. Everyone seems to think it’s what’s most valuable about me.
The wedding night. The sheets.
Warning bells should be ringing, but like the ambulance, the sound is dulled.
I want to do this for myself.
Whatever price I’ll eventually have to pay for this…I’ll pay it. By that point, Rafaele and I will already be wed.
“I have thought about it. I know it will create problems for myself.” I slide my hand up Ras’s warm, broad chest. “I don’t care.”
His hand leaves my neck, and he pushes his fingers into the hair at my nape, holding it tightly as he tips my head back. I meet his heavy gaze. It’s fractured between frustration and desire, and it makes a low buzz appear beneath my skin.
“If you want someone gentle, you picked the wrong man. I’m not in that kind of mood tonight.”
My pussy pulses at his words. “I won’t break. Treat me like you would anyone else.”
“You’re not like anyone else,” he says gruffly.
A crack appears in my heart.
“Then treat me like we’ve done this before,” I whisper. “Like you’ve already fucked me dozens of times, and you know I can handle everything you have to give.”
He blows out a breath, pressing his hips against mine and letting me feel his growing erection.
Excitement gallops down my spine.
Below us, the city is cold, but here, in the space between us, a fire crackles.
He wants this just as much as I do.
His breath tangles with mine. “You sure you can handle it?”
Nerves skitter up my arms, but the answer comes immediately. “Bring it on.”
A shiver goes through him. And then he’s pressing his lips to mine.
