They ascended the stairs to what Jordan assumed was the first floor of the building: bright sunlight was coming through the windows.
In the middle of a luxurious living room, Gustavo was bound to a chair, with two men guarding him.
When Damiano saw his cousin, his blank expression didn’t change. Jordan had no idea if he was surprised or not as he stared at Gustavo. At last, he said something in Italian, his voice quiet.
Gustavo glared at him with such venom Jordan was taken aback. Gustavo had seemed like such a quiet, unassuming guy. He was the last person on his mind when Jordan had contemplated who could be behind their kidnapping. He had thought it might be Paolo, who had expressed bitterness and envy toward Damiano, not the guy who had seemed more concerned with his phone than power games. Showed what he knew.
Sneering, Gustavo spat out something, and the only word Jordan could understand was “bastardo.” It hardly needed a translation.
Damiano looked at Gustavo for a moment.
Then he lifted his gun and shot him between his eyes.
Turning to Lorenzo, he said something, completely ignoring the corpse of his so-called relative at his feet.
Jordan swallowed, Ferrara’s words suddenly echoing in his ears. He’s a high-functioning sociopath. He’s the type of person who can casually pull out a gun and shoot all of us at the table and then go back to his dinner.
He hadn’t really believed it then. But now…
Jordan stared at Damiano’s profile, hating how badly a part of him still wanted his attention.
He was free.
He shouldn’t need this man anymore. He didn’t need him anymore.
He was Jordan Gates, a grown-ass, self-sufficient man, not the clingy, claustrophobic mess he had been for the last ten days.
He repeated that as a mantra as Damiano’s people cleared the mansion and got into black cars.
For a moment, Jordan thought he had been forgotten entirely, but then one of the goons none-too-gently grabbed his arm and shoved him into one of the cars. It wasn’t the car Damiano was in.
It was fine. Fine.
He didn’t need him anymore.
Chapter 15
Damiano closed his eyes as he listened to Lorenzo’s report.
The road that normally seemed flawless now felt like the bumpiest ride he’d ever experienced. Every jolt of the car was like torture—and he knew a thing or two about torture. It didn’t help that he was leaning back against the seat and the fabric of his tux was aggravating his wounds. But that was his normal posture and anything else would be noted by Lorenzo as unusual.
It was jarring how taxing this inability to relax was after ten days with his guard down. He’d gotten too comfortable. Dangerously comfortable.
“You’re sure Gustavo was working alone?” he said.
“Almost certainly,” Lorenzo answered. “I had all the family members tracked, as you ordered. No one behaved suspiciously bar Gustavo. Well, there’s that thing with Raffaele, but it’s not relevant.”
Damiano opened his eyes. “Raffaele? What about him?”
Lorenzo snorted. “Looks like he has another boytoy on the side. I’ve listened in to some snatches of his phone calls and they were pretty damning. No wonder he wasn’t all that freaked out over his boyfriend’s disappearance.”
“He wasn’t?” Damiano looked out the window at the passing scenery. “That’s odd. I thought you reported that it was supposedly a… love match.”
“That’s what my source in Boston said,” Lorenzo said with a shrug. “I didn’t investigate it myself. Maybe he was wrong. Or maybe Raffaele’s feelings didn’t last. I’ve always been skeptical about this supposed love when he’d always had one-night stands in the past. Do you want me to investigate it myself?”
Yes.
“No,” Damiano said, quashing his inner voice ruthlessly. The less he knew, the better. He shouldn’t feed this… little attachment he had developed for Raffaele’s boyfriend. If he ignored it—and him—it would die, as all things did.
Lorenzo continued his report, focusing on the new deals and financial reports this time.
Damiano listened only with half an ear. His back bothered him more than he would have liked—but Lorenzo’s information was somehow more aggravating.
Raffaele was a fucking idiot if he was cheating.
His own anger surprised him. He usually scoffed at the notion of cheating. A person’s body belonged only to said person, and the concept of betraying someone if one chose to share their body with someone else had always seemed bizarre to him.
But he knew other people weren’t built like he was. Nate would probably be upset if he found out.
Even if he does find out, it’s not your place to tell him. Stay out of it.
Stay away.
He’s not yours to take care of.
He never was.
***
When they arrived at the villa, it was evening already.
Damiano gritted his teeth as he got out of the car stiffly.
“You all right, boss?” Lorenzo said, frowning.
Damiano shot him a cold look. “Of course,” he ground out. Hopefully the wounds hadn’t opened again and blood hadn’t seeped through his tux yet. Judging by the fact that Lorenzo was already turning away, Damiano looked better than he felt.