HIS SECRET HEIRESS

THE JEALOUSY

CHAPTER 8: THE JEALOUSY

By 8 AM the next morning, "Mafia Wife Destroys Ex" was trending #1 in New York.

Someone had filmed the whole thing.

Me. In red. Checking Veronica.

Lorenzo. Looking at me like I'd just won him a war.

Lorenzo was eating it up.

He showed me his phone at breakfast. "Look. 2 million views."

He was scrolling through comments. Smirking.

"'She ate that.' 'Mafia Queen.' 'Lorenzo's eyes are only for her.'"

I took a sip of coffee. Black. "Cute."

"Cute?" He set his phone down. "Isabella, you handled that perfectly.

You didn't scream. You didn't cry. You owned the room."

He reached across the table and took my hand. "That's my wife."

I pulled my hand away. "Don't. I'm eating."

Lorenzo leaned back. Studying me. "You're in a mood."

"I'm not in a mood," I said. "I'm just not impressed that you liked watching me fight your ex."

His expression changed. Just a little.

"Is that what you think this is?"

"I don't know what to think," I admitted. "One day you're throwing roses off balconies.

The next you're posting my fight on the internet."

Lorenzo stood up. Came around the table.

He crouched next to my chair. Eye level.

"Isabella. Look at me."

I did.

"I didn't post it," he said. "Someone else did.

And I liked it because for the first time, everyone saw what I see.

A woman who isn't scared of me. Or them. Or anything."

His thumb brushed my cheek.

"And I threw those roses away because they weren't from me," he said. "Simple."

Before I could answer, the doorbell rang.

Not a knock. A delivery.

A massive bouquet. 100 red roses.

The card attached: `To my favorite girl. You were stunning last night. Dinner? - M`

Lorenzo saw it. And his whole body went still.

That was worse than yelling.

"Who's M?" he asked. Quiet. Dangerous.

"Matteo," I said. Honest. "Your cousin."

Lorenzo picked up the vase. Walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows.

And threw it.

Glass shattered 80 floors down.

"Don't," he said when he came back. "Don't smile."

"I'm not smiling," I said. My heart was pounding. "I'm about to."

"Why?"

"Because you're jealous," I said. "And I like it."

Lorenzo stared at me. Then he laughed. Dark. "God help me."

He grabbed my face. Both hands. Firm but not hurting.

"Say it," he demanded. "Say he's nothing to you."

"Matteo is nothing to me," I said. Clear. "He's family.

You're my husband. You're my choice. You're everything."

Lorenzo's eyes searched mine. Looking for a lie.

Finding none.

"Good girl," he whispered. And then he kissed me.

Not soft. Not sweet.

Possessive. Like he was branding me. Like he needed to.

His hands in my hair. Mine on his chest.

The coffee forgotten. The world forgotten.

When we broke apart, we were both breathing hard.

"Meeting's cancelled," Lorenzo said against my lips. "Today is mine."

"Why?" I whispered.

"Because my cousin thinks he can send you flowers," he said.

"And because I need to remind him what happens when he touches what's mine."

---

Two hours later we were at Matteo's club.

Lorenzo didn't say anything on the drive.

But his hand was on my thigh the entire time.

Claiming.

Matteo was behind the bar. 30. Dark hair. Lorenzo's eyes.

He smiled when he saw us.

"Cousin!" he said. "And the famous Mrs. De Luca."

Lorenzo didn't smile back. "The flowers."

Matteo held up his hands. "Just being friendly. She's pretty."

"She's married," Lorenzo said. His voice was flat. "To me."

Matteo looked at me. "Is that a problem, Isabella?"

I stepped forward. Before Lorenzo could.

"No," I said. Sweet. "But let me make something clear, Matteo."

I walked to the bar. Leaned on it.

"I appreciate the flowers. I really do. But I'm not interested in dinner.

Or lunch. Or coffee. Or anything."

Matteo's smile faded. "Wow. Okay."

"And if you send me flowers again," I continued, "I'm going to assume

you didn't hear me. And I don't like repeating myself."

Lorenzo was watching me. And he looked... proud.

Matteo sighed. "Fine. Message received."

"Good," I said. Then I turned to Lorenzo. "Can we go now?"

---

In the car, the tension was THICK.

"You didn't need to do that," Lorenzo said.

"I know," I said. "I wanted to."

Lorenzo pulled over. On the side of the road.

He turned to me.

"Why?" he asked. "Why did you do that for me?"

I looked at him. Really looked at him.

"Because you're mine," I said. "And I'm yours.

And I don't share."

Something in Lorenzo's face broke.

Just a little.

He pulled me across the console. Into his lap.

His mouth was on mine before I could speak.

"Isabella," he groaned. "You drive me insane."

"Good," I breathed. "Someone should."

His hands were everywhere. In my hair. Under my shirt.

Possessive. Desperate.

"Lorenzo," I said. "We're in the car."

"I don't care," he said. "I need you."

He kissed me again. Deep.

Like he was trying to get inside me.

When we finally pulled apart, the windows were fogged.

Lorenzo rested his forehead against mine.

"I don't get jealous," he said. "Ever.

But with you? I want to kill anyone who looks at you."

"Then don't look," I said. "Look at me."

"I am," he said. "Only you."

He started the car again.

But when we got home, we didn't make it to the bedroom.

We made it to the living room. To the couch. To the floor.

Clothes off. Fast. Desperate.

"Say it," he demanded between kisses. "Say you're mine."

"I'm yours," I gasped. "Only yours."

"And I'm yours," he said. "Only you. Always you."

Later, tangled in blankets on the floor, he wouldn't let go.

"You were perfect today," he murmured in my hair.

"The way you handled Veronica. The way you handled Matteo.

That's my wife."

I smiled in the dark. "Told you. No nonsense."

"No nonsense," he agreed. And he pulled me closer.

Outside, the city kept moving.

Inside, Lorenzo De Luca was learning what it felt like

to be owned by the woman he owned.

And I was learning I liked it.