Chapter 62
Cristiano
They say a man doesn't know rage until something he loves is ripped from his hands.
I knew rage. I was drowning in it at this very moment.
The city blurred past in streaks of neon and rain-slicked roads, but all I saw was red. The red of her dress the last time I held her. The red of the taillights she never should have stopped for. The red that would spill when I put a bullet in Giovanni’s f*****g head.
She had been mine since the moment she walked into my life—since the first time she tilted her head with that teasing smile and called me hubby with those plump lips of hers. I could still hear the way she said it, how her plump lips formed the word like it was her favorite thing to say.
How many times had I kissed those lips? And how many more times had I told m
