She Took My Wedding, So I Married the Don Chapter 09

Luca didn’t say a word all the way home.

He walked straight into the bedroom. I followed and shut the door.

“You’re angry,” I said.

“I’m not angry.”

“Your jaw is doing the thing.”

“What thing?”

“The thing where you look like you’re about to bite through steel.”

He turned around. And it wasn’t anger in his face. It was something rawer.

“He touched you,” Luca said. “He had you for six months, and he threw you away, and he still thinks he gets to touch

you.” His voice dropped. “I’ve had you for six days, and I’m terrified to.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not gentle, Sloane. Look at me. I break things. And everyone I let near me-”

I crossed the room and put my hands on his chest. His heart was slamming.

“You wiped grease off my face like I was made of glass,” I said. “You carried me over broken glass. You sat with me at

three a.m. while I opened up the worst day of your life. You are gentle, Luca. You’re just scared.”

He closed his eyes.

“And I’m scared too,” I whispered. “I’ve never-Ethan and I never-I was waiting. For it to feel right.”

His eyes snapped open.

“It never felt right,” I said. “Until you.”

For a moment, he didn’t move. Then he lifted me so my legs wrapped around his waist, and he carried me to the bed

and laid me down like I was the most precious thing he’d ever held.

He went slow. So slow I nearly begged. Every kiss a question. Every touch waiting for my answer. When I gasped, he

froze, and I had to pull him back down and tell him don’t you dare stop.

He didn’t stop.

Afterward, I lay with my head on his chest, listening to his heart, and he traced lazy circles on my bare shoulder.

“No nightmares tonight,” I murmured.

“No,” he said, sounding stunned. “No nightmares.”

In the morning, I woke up happy.

Actually, stupidly happy.

Then my phone buzzed. Bianca.

I need to talk to you. Alone. Rosa’s Café, 11am. Please, Sloe.

Sloe. She hadn’t called me that since we were kids.

I told Luca. He hated it. We compromised: Rocco would follow, and I’d drive the Shelby-finally finished, Luca’s father’s car, glossy black and purring like a dream. I texted Bianca: Coming in the black Shelby. 11.

The road to town ran along the river. Curvy. Steep.

At the third curve, I pressed the brake.

The pedal went straight to the floor.

Nothing.

The Shelby was doing fifty-five toward a guardrail and a forty-foot drop into black water.

Grandpa’s voice in my head: Don’t panic, kiddo. Downshift.

I slammed the gears down. The engine screamed. I yanked the emergency brake and turned into the skid, and the Shelby spun, tires shrieking, and plowed sideways into an embankment of wet earth three feet from the edge.

Silence. Steam. My heartbeat.

I crawled out and dropped to my back under the chassis.

The brake line hadn’t failed.

It had been cut. Clean. A single, perfect slice.

Somebody knew exactly what they were doing.

And only one person outside the estate knew I’d be driving this car today.

My sister.