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Unblinking, I stared at him, the words like a cold dose of reality thrown over my head. NotI was going to ask you, orWould you please consider moving?Vito had just decided to plop me down in his penthouse, easy-peasy. Like I would be grateful for the opportunity. And he didn’t even live there! His real home was outside the city. But apparently, I didn’t rate high enough to live there. I was only important enough for his lavish hookup-friendly apartment.
This man had no interest in a real relationship with me. He wanted me as his . . . plaything. A little bird in a gilded cage until he deigned to visit me.
Hadn’t he been paying attentionat all?Did he honestly think this would fly with me?
At this point I wasn’t even angry at him. I washurt. My chest felt hollow, like my organs had been scooped out and thrown away. The gulf between our lives, what we wanted and needed, was too far to bridge. There was no compromise when the sides started so far apart. “Vito,” I said shakily. “That isn’t how a relationship works. You want someone when it’s convenient, like taking that wedding band on and off. But you can’t keep part of yourself separate, not from me. I don’t want to live in a bubble, even in a penthouse.”
“I can keep you safe in a penthouse,” he snarled. “And I wasn’t taking you away from the winery.”
“Oh, wow. Thanks, I guess?”
“You are being sarcastic with me, but I know you will wish to go back and forth. You would have access to the jet whenever you needed.”
Here are some fancy crumbs, angel. Be grateful.
God, this man was delusional. And entitled.
“I don’t want your jet or your penthouse. I want you, all in. I want Vito D’Agostino to be honest with me and treat me likea partner—not a one-night stand who stuck around a few extra nights.”
“Is this how you think I treat you?”
Deflecting. Evading. Instead of telling me how he felt, he was turning it back around on me. Which told me everything I needed to know.
He’d already planned this without my input and had no intention of adapting it. Which meant there was no path forward for us, not where I kept my sense of self or my dignity. If I accepted his offer, I’d end up like that wedding band—something pretty and convenient for him. A hassle-free adornment.
And I would wither away under such conditions.
A sharp pain rippled behind my sternum, almost like the bones were cracking apart under the weight of my anguish. Calmly, I said, “Go back to Toronto, Vito. We’re done here.”
He flinched, his mouth turning into a serious frown. “We’re not finished. I’m trying to tell you that I want a future with you.”
“Your version of a future is repulsive to me. If you knew me, if you respected me at all, you would know that.”
“You think I don’t respect you?”
A hysterical laugh bubbled up in my throat, but I smothered it because nothing about this was funny. Bottom line, I couldn’t do this any longer. I couldn’t go around and around with him forever. We had some fun together—and now it was time to cut him loose.
I gathered every bit of my strength to say, “If you could deal with Mikey from now on, I’d appreciate it. I’ll assess the damage and have him send you a list of what we need.”
I turned and grabbed for the door knob. Suddenly, Vito was there, pressed to my back, caging me in and breathing softly on my cheek. “Angelo mio, don’t do this. Tell me what you want—an allowance? A car? I need you to stay.”
He thought this was aboutmoney?
My argument with Paloma came rushing back. “Are you hoping for a payout?”
Again, this man didn’t know me at all, apparently.
I slipped away from him and pulled open the door. Without looking back, I said, “Please, do me a favor, Vito. Lose my number.”
And I was gone.
Vito
The house I’d rented for my men, while large, smelled like cat piss and cigarette smoke. I ordered all the windows opened as soon as I moved in yesterday afternoon, yet it hadn’t helped. But I was stuck here until I went back to Toronto. And I couldn’t go back until I’d killed every Red Raider in the area.
“Send someone to buy more air freshener,” I snapped at Tommaso. “And air purifiers. As many as they can find.” I took out my cigarettes and lit one.
The two of us were sitting at the kitchen table this morning, waiting for intel on where the four bikers went after torching Maggie’s vineyard. Yesterday, thanks to facial recognition software, we learned their identities and went looking in the usual spots. Except the bikers had gone to ground, every single one hiding from me. Enzo’s computer experts were currently hacking traffic and surveillance cameras looking for footage to discover where they went. I hoped to have answers any minute.