Page 39 of Luca

I've spent the last hour searching for her, worried she might be hurt or lost or worse. I've had to deal with Lucia'sgames and the questions from guests wondering where my wife disappeared to. I've been imagining every terrible thing that could happen to a woman alone in Rome at night.

And she's here. Dancing. Looking absolutely fucking incredible and completely unrepentant about the chaos she's caused.

The guy who was trying to dance with her is still hovering, watching our argument with interest. Other people are starting to notice too, probably recognizing me, wondering what Luca Romano is doing arguing with his wife on a crowded dance floor.

"You're making a scene," I tell her.

"No, you're making a scene. I'm just dancing."

"You're drunk."

"I'm angry."

The way she says it, with such honest fury, catches me off guard. She's not drunk. She's not being reckless. She's pissed off, and this is how she's dealing with it.

"About what?"

"Ask Lucia."

And there it is. The reason she ran. Lucia's poison worked exactly like she intended.

"We're not doing this here," I say.

"We're not doing this anywhere. Go home, Luca. Go call your girlfriend. I'm sure she's waiting."

The dismissal in her voice, the assumption that I would actually choose Lucia over her, makes something inside me explode.

Before I can think about it, before I can consider whether it's smart or appropriate or anything other than necessary, I bend down and lift her over my shoulder.

She's light, all silk and smooth skin and the scent that's been driving me crazy for a week. For a few seconds she's too shocked to fight, and by then I'm already moving toward the exit.

"Put me down!" She pounds on my back with her fists, but I barely feel it.

"Fuck no."

People are definitely staring now, but I don't give a shit. Let them stare. Let them wonder. My wife ran away, and I'm bringing her home. Anyone who has a problem with that can discuss it with my security team.

I carry her out of the club and down the street to where Paolo's waiting with the car. He opens the door without comment, because he’s smart enough to know when not to ask questions.

I deposit Sofia in the passenger seat and get in beside her, my body still humming with adrenaline and anger and something else I don't want to examine too closely.

She's smoothing down her dress, trying to salvage some dignity, and the simple gesture makes me want to mess her up all over again.

"That was completely unnecessary and uncalled for," she says.

"You ran away from our wedding party to get drunk and dance with strangers. Necessary doesn't begin to cover it."

"I can dance with whoever I want whenever I want."

The hell she can.

"Not anymore, you can't."

"Why? Because I'm your property now?"

The word 'property' makes my jaw clench. "Because you're my wife."

"Right. Your wife. The one you're planning to cheat on."