Chapter 33 CHAPTER 33

Chapter 33 CHAPTER 33
MICHELLE

The silence of the mansion was no longer peaceful; it was a taunt. Every ornate crown molding and every polished marble tile seemed to be laughing at me. I stood in the center of the kitchen, the shards of the glass I had shattered glinting like diamonds at my feet, diamonds I’d soon use to cut the throat of anyone who stood in my way.

“Where is he, Rosa?” I asked, my voice dangerously low. I could feel the heat rising from my chest, a prickling sensation that traveled up my neck. My heart hammered against my ribs, not with the flutter of a girl in love, but with the rhythmic beat of a war drum.

Rosa stood her ground, though her eyes flickered toward the broken glass. “I have told you, ma’am. Sir Andrea left for business. He did not leave a destination with the staff.”

“Liars!” I screamed, the word tearing from my throat. I stepped forward, the heels of my slippers crunching on the glass. I didn't care. I didn't feel the pain. “You all know. You watched him carry that… that filth out of here while I lay drugged in my room like a discarded doll! Do you have any idea who I am? I am the woman who is supposed to carry the Luigi name! Not some street-walking auction prize!”

I grabbed Rosa by the shoulders, my fingers digging into the fabric of her uniform. My nails, manicured to lethal points, pressed into her skin. “He took her, didn't he? He took Emilia.”

Rosa’s face remained a mask of stoic professionalism, though I saw her wince. “Sir Andrea’s business is his own, ma’am. Please, let go. You are not yourself.”

“I am exactly who I need to be!” I hissed. The rage was a physical thing now, a serpent coiling in my gut. I looked at Rosa’s weathered face, the face of a woman who had seen the Luigi men break and build lives for decades. She was protecting him. She was protecting her.
The nerve of this fucking bitch.

The thought of that stripper in Andrea’s private jet, sitting in the seat that belonged to me, breathing the air that was meant for me, sent a wave of nausea through me. My grip tightened, and my nails sliced through the thin fabric of Rosa’s sleeve, sinking into the flesh of her upper arms. I felt the slight resistance before the skin gave way.

Rosa let out a sharp, stifled gasp, her eyes widening in shock. Blood began to bead around my cuticles, staining my perfect French tips. I didn't let go. I leaned in, my breath hot against her ear.

“Tell me where they went, or I swear to the God you pray to every morning, I will make sure you never work in this country again. I will tell Andrea you tried to steal from the safe. I will tell him you’ve been feeding information to his enemies. Who do you think he’ll believe? An old maid or his fiancée?”

“I cannot tell you what I do not know,” Rosa whispered, her voice trembling now, but her eyes held a spark of defiance that made me want to howl.

I pushed her away with such force she stumbled back against the kitchen island, her hand flying to her wounded arm. I looked at the blood on my nails, red, vibrant, and real. It felt like a trophy.

“Fine,” I spat, wiping my hands on a silk napkin from the counter. “Keep your secrets. I’ll find out for myself. And when I do, Rosa, you’ll be the first thing I prune from this house.”

I turned and stormed out of the kitchen, ignoring the hushed whispers of the other maids. I needed my phone. I needed Lisa.

Lisa had been my eyes and ears in the social circles of Sicily for years. She knew which pilots were talkative and which flight plans were filed under private discretion. I locked myself in my bedroom, my chest heaving. My phone was dead, the battery drained from my frantic, unconscious state. I shoved it onto the charger, pacing the room like a caged tigress until the screen finally flickered to life.

I dialed Lisa’s number before the phone had even fully booted.

“Michelle? God, I’ve been trying to call you for two days! Where have you been?” Lisa’s voice was a frantic staccato.

“Drugged,” I said, my voice cold. “Andrea drugged me, Lisa. He took that bitch and he’s gone. I need to know where. Now.”

“Drugged you? Michelle, that’s… that’s insane even for a Luigi. Listen, everyone is talking. The news about the wedding being leaked started a fire, but then Andrea’s jet was spotted taking off from the private strip on Friday morning. There was a girl with him. My cousin works as a ground crew at the terminal.”

I gripped the phone so hard the casing groaned. “Where did the flight plan lead, Lisa? Don't tell me what everyone knows. Tell me what they don't.”

“It’s sparse,” Lisa cautioned. “He filed a decoy for Rome, that is a trick he always does to prevent his enemies from getting to him I think but the transponder went dark over the famous China Airport. However… I did some digging. Andrea has been liquidating some offshore assets tied to a property in China. And also, a very high ranking leader of the syndicate has an event, private though so I wouldn't advise you to be there so maybe he decided to kill two birds with one stone. Handle his business and attend the event.”

He chose a country far from the prying eyes of the media or the pouting fiancée he’d left behind.
But I don't see where the fucking stripper comes in?

“Are you sure?” I demanded.

“As sure as I can be without being on the plane, babe. But Michelle, if he went through all this trouble to hide her there… maybe you should just let it go for a few days. Let him get her out of his system. Men like Andrea… they need a palate cleanser before the main course.”

“I am not a course, Lisa. I am the host of this damn feast,” I snapped. “And Emilia isn't a palate cleanser. She’s a parasite. She’s burrowing under his skin, and if I don't rip her out now, she’ll consume everything I’ve worked for.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to show her her place,” I said, my eyes catching my reflection in the vanity mirror. I looked beautiful, even in my rage. I looked like power. “I’m going to remind Andrea why he chose me and why a girl who sold her body for dollars can never wear a crown.”

I hung up before she could talk me out of it. I didn't have time for caution.

I moved to my closet, pulling out a small, discreet carry-on. I didn't need much. Just enough to look like the woman Andrea couldn't live without, and enough to remind Emilia that she was nothing. I packed a silk dress the color of midnight and a pair of heels that felt like weapons.

As I packed, my mind drifted back to the movie night. The way he had looked at me, or the way I thought he had looked at me. It had all been a lie. Every gentle touch, every reassurance… It was a sedative. He had treated me like a child to be put to bed so the adults could go out and play.

The humiliation was a hot iron in my soul.

I slipped out of my room, moving through the back corridors to avoid the main security hub. I knew the shift changes. I knew which guards were lazy. I made my way to the garage, slipping into my sleek, silver convertible.

I drove with a reckless abandon, the wind whipping my hair into a frenzy. I wasn't going to my mother’s house. I wasn't going to hide. I called my private travel agent on the way.

“I need a jet,” I commanded. “No flight plan filed. Cash payment. I need to be in China by sunset.”

“Ma’am, without a plan, it’s risky with the coast guard…”

“I don't pay you to tell me about risks. I pay you to make them disappear. Have the bird ready at the secondary airfield in thirty minutes.”

By the time the wheels of the small, chartered jet left the tarmac, my mind was settled. The meltdown had passed, replaced by a cold, crystalline focus.

I looked out the window at the disappearing lights of the city. Andrea thought he was the only devil in this relationship. He thought he knew what I was capable of. He thought I was just a socialite who cared about galas and jewelry.

He forgot that to survive in this world, to stay at the side of a man like him, I had to be just as ruthless as he was.

Emilia Antonio or ‘Lilith,’ or whatever name she used to entice the lonely and the pathetic was about to find out that a mansion in Sicily was a very different stage than a pole in a smoky club.

In her world, men threw money. In my world, they threw lives.

“Get ready, Emilia,” I whispered against the cold glass of the window. “I’m coming to take back what’s mine. And I don't care how much blood I have to get on my hands to do it.”

The jet banked, chasing the sun, and for the first time since I woke up on those stairs, I smiled. It was a sharp, jagged thing.

Time to show this stripper her place.