Page 8 of Stefano
I whisper his name before I can stop myself.“Stefano.”
The sound of it is a confession, echoing in the empty room.
I hate myself a little for it, for wanting one man while another is trying so hard to give me his attention.
When I return to the table, Luca takes my hand.His thumb strokes over my knuckles, warm and gentle.“You’re even prettier in person,” he says.
I smile, but it doesn’t reach my eyes.
Because even here, with someone trying to offer me affection and normalcy, all I can think about is the man who refuses to touch me but owns me all the same.
Chapter Five
Jealousy
Stefano
I’ve killed men for less than the way that dress hugged Andrea’s body tonight.
I told myself not to look.Not to notice.But when she came down the stairs, her hair shining, lips glossed, legs endless in those heels, I couldn’t stop.My eyes dragged over her like a starving man denied food.
She was radiant.Untouchable.And she wasn’t dressed for me.
The bastard waiting for her was going to see what I saw.He was going to sit across from her, hear her laugh, watch her blush.Maybe even get close enough to touch her.Kiss her.
The thought makes my teeth grind.
“Who’s the guy?”Mancuso had asked, his smirk too sharp.He was pushing my fucking buttons.
Her answer—“just someone I met”—was a knife to the ribs.
Someone she met.Someone she smiled at through a screen.Someone she’s choosing over me.
I wanted to demand a name.An address.A reason he thought he could breathe the same air as her.Instead, I stood frozen, my fists clenching, my jaw locked tight as she walked out the door.
The click of her heels echoed like gunshots.
