For Angelo (Full-Length Standalone Italian Billionaire Romance) (34 page)

****

Lane slowly lowered her phone to her lap. Everyone’s eyes were on hers, obliging her to speak.

She knew what they wanted her to say, what they wanted to hear.

Angelo was coming.

Angelo was going to make them feel that they had nothing to worry about.

Angelo was going to be here for her.

But she couldn’t.

“Lane, for God’s sake, say something,” Norman demanded tersely.
 

She swallowed. “H-he knows about the situation.”

“Well, of course he does,” the old man exploded. “He’s the reason why this happened, and he’d have to be the greatest idiot if he didn’t know about it.” Stress was written all over his weathered face, and her pain twisted into guilt.
 

“I’m sorry,” Lane whispered. “I know you don’t deserve this—”

“Just tell us the truth at least,” Nellie said tightly. “You know what made us come here, what Dad’s friend told us. And you still haven’t confirmed or denied it.”
 

Lane tightened her hold on her phone. She had the most selfish urge to call for Angelo, but she also knew it would be the last thing she’d do.
 

“Answer me, Lane. Is it true? Are you his newest lover?”

Lane whitened. Nellie had never raised her voice at her.
Never.

“Is he?”

She didn’t speak, knowing that even though her silence was damning, the way Norman and Nellie’s minds worked, they wouldn’t judge her or Angelo until they had absolute proof—

 
“Are you the lover of Angelo Valencia?”
Nellie’s voice kept rising. “
This man who thrives on other people’s pain—”

“No,” Lane cried out before she could stop herself.

 
Nellie’s face crumpled. “Oh God, Lane.”

Lane started to babble. “It’s not like what you think he is—”
 

“Why would you want someone like him?
Why
?”

“I know it’s hard to understand, but we love each other and—”

“Turn the TV on.” Ray was reading something on his phone. Looking up, he said grimly, “It’s started.” Standing up, he grabbed the remote control for himself. He went straight to the news channel, and the screen revealed a media circus, reporters trying their best to get their questions heard, and right at the center was Jaike Christopoulos, flanked by two powerful-looking men. Her husband stood on one side…and Angelo Valencia on the other.

Ah.
 

It hurt to see him with…the girl, no
the other girl,
she corrected herself fiercely. Jaike was the other girl, and she – she was
the girl for him.
Hadn’t he told her that?
 

On TV, the questions the press threw at them kept getting worse.

“Did Angelo Valencia whip you for pleasure?”

“Did you let yourself be tortured for pleasure?”

“Do you believe this is a case of like mother, like daughter?”

“What about your new girlfriend, Signor Valencia? Does she like getting spanked?”

“Is your new lover jealous of what you had with Mrs. Christopoulos?”

 
“According to Margarita, Mrs. Christopoulos was your one great love. How does your girlfriend—”

Nellie snatched the remote control from Ray’s hand and switched the TV off.
 

“H-he’s doing his duties,” Lane heard herself say stiltedly. “Because he owes the Christopoulos family an—”

“Enough!” Norman’s harsh voice made Lane flinch. But it was nothing compared to what she saw in his eyes. She had been prepared for anger and outrage, but she was not prepared at all for the defeat in his gaze, and the sight broke her heart.

“Norman, I—”

He asked tiredly, “This is the man who loves you, Lane? This man, who chooses to be by another woman’s side?”
 

Oh.

She was at a loss, unable to find the right words to tell them that even though it hurt to see Angelo with another woman, she also knew it was why she loved him, knew she would not have him any other way.
 

The desolation in Norman’s gaze stabbed her, and she choked, “I’m sorry.”

“Not as sorry as I am, child.” The old man’s tone was bleak. “Because we love you so damn much, and that’s why we can’t understand why you’d want a man who would put his ex before you.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

It was almost two in the morning when Angelo came back to his house, and all he wanted to see was
 
his Lane. Not once had she called or texted, and the knowledge that she was doing it for him had shredded his heart into pieces.

She really was his perfect match.

“Is Signorina Lane still awake?” he asked Fico, who was stationed at the front door.

“She’s in the living room, sir.” Fico paused.

Angelo raised a brow.

“Her family is with her.”

The words were completely unexpected and for one moment, Angelo simply stood there, stunned. Her family was…here? His agile mind ran through a series of possibilities, and only one scenario made sense. Somehow, her family had found out about the scandal beforehand…and they had come here to—

There were several scenarios for this, but none of it was something Angelo was willing to contemplate.
 

No jumping to any fucking conclusions, Valencia.

He took a deep breath and entered the living room.

Lane was seated alone on a couch, and across her was a couple in their mid-thirties while a much older man stood by the windows, turning to face the room as soon as Angelo opened the door.

“Signor Valencia,” the older man said stiffly. “I hope you pardon us for the intrusion.” The Midwestern drawl in his voice was unmistakable, as well as the aloofness of his expression.

All faces were properly expressionless, and if Angelo had been a little less smart than he was, he could have been fooled by it.

But he wasn’t.

The tension in the room told him plenty enough, but it was Lane’s pale face that yielded everything.

He looked at her, only her, because whatever the world thought, she was his greatest concern, his greatest treasure.

“Are you alright,
tesoro
?”

Lane nodded vehemently. “Yes.” Her eyes told him not to worry, and his lips twisted. Even now, even when their whole life was about to crumble around them, her masochistic little heart was only worried about him.

He saw her gaze dart to the old man, and Angelo immediately said, “I’m certain you are all aware of my identity, but nonetheless courtesy dictates that I introduce myself.” Striding forward, he introduced himself first to the other woman in the room.
 

She took his hand and as she shook it, she said quietly, “You have beautiful manners, Mr. Valencia.”

“I’m flattered that you think so.” His voice was noncommittal. He didn’t believe for one minute the woman meant a word of it.

And he was right.

Releasing his hand, Nellie said, “I only wish you showed the same courtesy to Lane.”

Ah.

“Nellie, please.” Unable to help it, Lane rose to her feet and went to Angelo’s side.
 

“It’s alright,
tesoro
.” He took her hand in his and squeezed it without taking his gaze off the other woman. “Your mother isn’t saying anything untrue.”
 

“Amazing.” Nellie laughed, the sound brittle. “I did hear you were devastatingly well-mannered, but I thought it was pure exaggeration. I guess I stand corrected.” Her tone turned cold. “But I also mean what I said. It would be better if you had been as courteous with Lane. It would have been better if you stood by her instead of your ex-girlfriend—”

“Nellie, we already discussed this—”

“No!”
 

Lane’s voice trailed off at Nellie’s furious cry.

A muscle started ticking in Angelo’s jaw. “Mrs. Christopoulos was collateral damage, and I owed her a personal apology. I wanted her and her husband to know that I would do everything I could to minimize the harm—”

“And what about Lane?” Nellie demanded. “What about the harm done to her because she was foolish enough to get involved with someone like you?”

His jaw clenched. “I didn’t force her—”

“Why would you need to? You’re rich and handsome. You have a way with words. Lane’s a smart girl, but she’s also inexperienced and she didn’t stand a chance—”

“Don’t make it seem like he seduced me,” Lane cried out, “because he didn’t. I
chose
to love him, and I’m
proud
to love—”

“Then you
are
a fool,” Nellie screamed. Ray tried to calm her down, but she shook her husband’s arms away. “He’s a man who likes to hurt women! He’s twisted, Lane! How can you like someone like him? How can you even think you love someone like him?” Guilt was an agonizingly heavy burden on her shoulders as she recalled the way she had laughingly encouraged Lane to go after the man she wanted. But God, how could she have known Lane would fall for someone like Angelo Valencia?

The anguish on the older woman’s face was unbearable, and Lane choked out, “Because I love him, Nellie. Because I’m as twisted as he is—”

Nellie moaned.
 

“I know it doesn’t sound right, b-but I like what he’s doing—”

“Goddammit, Lane,” Norman cut her off harshly. “Can you hear yourself, child? Do you actually understand what you’re saying?” He turned furiously at the Italian, spitting, “I hope you’re happy. You’ve managed to defile someone innocent—”

“It’s not like that!”

“Do you know what she’s gone through?” Norman shouted. “Because if you do, then you’re the coldest son of a bitch, to still want to hurt someone like her—”

“Stop making it seem like it’s his fault,” Lane begged.

“I don’t know how the hell you can make it seem like you love her when everything you’ve done so far is only causing her pain—”

“Stop it,” Lane screamed. “
Please.
Stop it—”

Nellie was crying.

Norman was breathing hard.

And that was when she felt it.

Angelo, dropping her hand.

Angelo, letting go.

She whirled around to face him, her heart beating madly, fear coursing through her veins like ice.
 

She forgot about Norman, Nellie –
 

She forgot about everything else and focused on keeping Angelo with her.

 
“Angelo?”

****

Sometimes, people had to choose how to love.

When they were lucky, to love was to choose to stay.
 

When they were not, to love was to choose to…let go.

And for Angelo, this moment had come.

The words of Lane’s family would have done little to nothing to a man who loved himself more than he was capable of loving anyone else. But for someone like Angelo, the words were but echoes of his greatest fears.

His real fear.

And it was not that he was worthy of being loved, which he had felt when he was with Jaike, who was and had never been meant for him.

His real and only fear was that in loving Lane the way he needed to, he would hurt her in a way that could never be repaired.

Anthony Carras was a sadist, and Jaike’s mother – the woman he loved – a masochist.
 

He had loved her the only way he knew how, and she had died because she had loved him the only way Anthony had taught her to.