Chapter 29 Chapter 29

Chapter 29 Chapter 29
"You run away from me, and yet you come back here, half-dressed, provocative, demanding, thinking you have the upper hand! But you have nothing! Absolutely nothing!" I loosen my grip just enough for him to speak, but immediately press him harder against the wall again before he can catch his breath. "You can't humiliate me, you can't hit me, you can't break me!" A slow, cold breath. "And you certainly can't forget me!" I push his shirt aside even further, my fingers gliding over the fresh skin, not gently, but firmly, dominatingly. "You want to know the result of your little revenge?" I lean to his neck, brushing his skin with my lips without actually kissing him, just to show that the decision is mine. "You made me angry!" My fingers grip the back of his neck, pushing him against the wall, hard enough that he feels it all the way down his spine. "And I'm angry better than you can imagine!" I only pull away when I feel him breathing against the wall, not broken, but definitely not as confidently as when I came in. Then I let go of him abruptly, smooth down my own shirt, and look at him as if everything were perfectly normal. "Pull your shirt on, Nicolai," I say calmly, almost politely. "We're going downstairs. They're waiting!" I take a step past him, turning halfway around in the doorway. "Oh, and one more thing!" My voice loses all warmth for a moment. "If you try to provoke me in that cheap way again, I'll personally make sure you spend weeks wishing you'd never angered me in the first place!" Then I leave without looking back.

Perspektive Nicolai

I stood there, my back pressed against the cold wall, staring out into the empty hallway. My breath came in gasps, and my heart was pounding against my ribs. The silence that had now settled in felt more oppressive than any noise before. “You made me angry!” Alessandro’s words echoed in my head. I looked down at myself. My shirt was torn, a clear sign of his physical superiority in that moment. He had seen through the facade I had worked so hard to build. The provocation with Yvette had fizzled out; instead, I now stood here, exposed and yet strangely present. I gritted my teeth and clenched my fists. My body felt like a battlefield a mixture of adrenaline, anger, and a deep, unsettling restlessness. I couldn’t show any weakness now. The mask of the De Laurentiis heir had to hold, no matter the cost. The door to the adjoining room opened. Yvette stepped out, her gaze uncertain. “Nicolai? Is everything all right?” “Go downstairs, Yvette,” I replied in a voice colder than the ice in my drink. “Tell them I’ll be right there.” She nodded briefly and hurried off toward the stairs. I went back to my room, carelessly tossed the torn shirt aside, and grabbed a clean black one. As I buttoned it up, I looked at myself in the mirror. The marks from the scuffle were still visible, but my gaze was hard again. I grabbed my jacket and made sure my gear was in place. If this was a war, then it had only just begun. Downstairs in the dining room, the air was thick enough to cut with a knife. My family and my husband were already enjoying dessert. Alessandro sat in his seat as if nothing had ever happened, conversing with my father in a calm, almost arrogant tone about port logistics. I sat down next to him without a word. He didn’t look at me directly, but I could feel his attention. Under the table, he placed a hand on my leg a brief, firm squeeze that was both a warning and an assertion. A silent test of strength in full view of everyone present. “It’s good to have you back,” he said quietly, without interrupting his conversation with the others. “You almost missed the best part.” I looked at him from the side, his jaw muscles tense. I placed my hand over his and returned the pressure as I glanced at the others at the table. The game was far from over. “We’re just getting started, De Luca,” I whispered back. His hand under the table tensed as my fingers dug deep into his flesh, but outwardly he didn’t move. The merciless game continued. An icy silence reigned at the table, broken only by the soft clink of crystal glasses. My mother stared at her untouched lemon pudding with an expression as cold as frozen porcelain. My father, Rafaele, leaned back, the documents about the harbor carelessly placed next to his plate, while his piercing gaze wandered back and forth between Alessandro and me. He didn’t miss a thing. He saw the fresh redness on Alessandro’s temple, where my fist had struck him earlier. And he saw my new, jet-black shirt, which had replaced the torn one from earlier. But the most dangerous person in the room was sitting directly across from me. Vito’s murderous glare literally burned into my skin. His knuckles were white as he clenched the handle of his heavy silver knife. He was breathing heavily through his swollen, broken nose. The sounds from upstairs—the staged creaking of the bed with Yvette—must have carried all the way into the parlor. To Vito, it must have looked as though I were enjoying myself here in my father’s house while my sister’s blood wasn’t even dry yet. I saw the deep disappointment and pure hatred for Alessandro in his eyes. He loathed the fact that Alessandro now had his hand resting on my thigh, as if I were a trophy he was allowed to display at will. As my cousin and the family’s enforcer, he couldn’t bear this open humiliation at the hands of the De Lucas family. “The port of Genoa needs a stronger hand, Rafaele,” Alessandro finally broke the silence, his rough baritone voice cutting arrogantly through the room. He raised his wine glass, sipped the red Merlot, and shot Vito a provocative, mocking sideways glance. “Your guards at the docks seem… unfocused. Almost as if they lack the necessary discipline. When my father takes over the routes, that will change.” “You have absolutely no say in our ports, De Luca!” Vito hissed. He leaned so far across the table that the tablecloth crumpled. His voice trembled with pure, suppressed fury. “You’ve bought yourself an heir, but not our territory. Dare to call our men incompetent one more time, and I’ll cut that arrogant tongue of yours right out of your throat with my own hands.” Alessandro just snorted in amusement, pulled his hand off my leg, and placed it very slowly, demonstratively, around my shoulder. He pulled me a little closer to his hot chest, held the murderous eye contact with Vito, and smiled with that sinful, bullet-hole charm that made me want to strike out again. “Your enforcer is barking loudly, Rafaele,” Alessandro whispered, completely unimpressed by the threat. “But he’s forgetting who’ll be in bed beside his cousin starting tonight.”