by Pamela Ann
When her tongue snaked out to moisten her lip, I groaned loudly.
“Come here, and put that tongue to better use, bella mia.”
Just like that, I got what I wanted, pleasured beyond means. I was sure it was against doctor’s orders to engage in any sexual activities, most especially since I was barely recovering, but it couldn’t be helped. My cock needed to be serviced, and I was going to relieve its ache in my loins, one way or the other.
Rules and orders never did well with me growing up; therefore, there was no point in following them at this late stage of my life.
They called me a dare devil, a wild, uncontrolled bastard. I was simply living up to the name.
Quattro
“Is there anything else I can do for you?” Gino, my assistant, intently asked me after he brought in all the essentials I needed, such as my shaver, a change of clothes, and all the other stuff that would help me pass my time until I was cleared to go home.
Since he asked, it was best to get this trivial thing out of the way. “Yes. I actually need you to do something for me. Do whatever is essential to dig up some information about a certain woman.”
I gave him all I knew about Kimberly. If he had to hire a detective to get what I wanted, then so be it. I wasn’t necessarily sure what truly prompted me to finally seek her out this time. Though she had been persistent in my thoughts, I wasn’t fully convinced that it should be I who needed to initiate the first contact…that it should be her and not the other way around. After all, she was the one betrayed me and made me into a fool. This notion shifted after the accident. I suppose it placed things into perspective.
I was in the middle of our conversation when a knock came on the door. Before I had the chance to grant them the permission to come in, Jacques and Andrés took it upon themselves to simply barge in. Then they poked about in the room until they settled down to gaze at my less than stellar state.
Jacques chose the comfortable cushion to my left, while Andrés chose to sit on the bed, next to my foot, both appearing concerned.
“You look better than what is being reported in the news,” Andrés made a wry comment before deciding to study the bandages on my leg where the burns were.
It was my turn to frown. “Why? Are they saying I’m already halfway dead?”
“Who cares what the media thinks?” Jacques shrugged just as his phone started ringing. He checked who the caller was. “Excuse me for a moment. I’ll take this outside.”
While I watched him leave the room, the Spanish man didn’t wait a second to begin lecturing me.
“You’re stupid, Luca. I get that we’re all competitive, but under no circumstances should you ever put your life at risk. That takes the fun out of it, especially when one of your friends ends up in the hospital.”
“Che cazzo! Why is everyone overreacting? We race professionally, and accidents happen all the time when you’re out there. Don’t make it sound as if it was intentional. I took a risk, and it didn’t pave out the way I pictured it, end of story.”
I was getting highly aggravated. Everyone made it sound as if it was a moronic thing to try to outdo him when the chances of me succeeding had been nil given our positions. He had been way ahead of me, but I had taken a chance, so what? I was paying for it, not them. They needed to cut me some slack instead of choosing to attack me.
I was about to get into a heated argument with Andrés when Jacques strode back into the room, appearing rather too jovial to suit my current mood.
“Who was that on the phone?”
Strolling back towards his old post, he sighed, taking his seat, looking at my expression first before switching to the Spaniard’s frowning face. “That was Emma. She said she was so pregnant that she resembled a beached whale.”
“I seriously doubt that.”
Emma Anderson, the superbly delectable actress whom I had lusted after until Jacques told me to back the fuck off because she was in a delicate state.
“I said the same thing. I even joked, saying she might be the sexiest beached whale around.”
Jacques appeared as if he was too keen with Emma, even though she was now pregnant and married.
“I don’t understand your relationship with her.” It had always confused me. I mean, they had sexual tension and all, but they had settled being friends. Who the fuck does that in this day and age?
Jacques instantly became guarded whenever Andrés and I grilled him about his odd relationship with the Hollywood bombshell. “I know it’s foreign to you, but it’s called friendship, in case you were wondering.”
“Men and women can’t simply be friends without wanting to fuck each other.”
“She is beautiful, but we truly are friends. We met her when she was heartbroken, and I’m truly glad that she’s happy now.”
Andrés decided to quip in. “With that actor guy, right?”
“Bass Cole’s his name,” Jacques easily supplied.
“He’s an ass.”
For the first time today, I agreed with the Spaniard. I simply didn’t get a man who would let his woman gallivant around different men when it was blatantly obvious they still loved each other. I believed it was purely moronic.
“Enough about Emma. Let’s talk about a welcome home party the second I get out of this place. How does that sound?”
Andrés cleared his throat, looking rather pensive. “We were thinking that it might be best if you recuperate and stay out for the rest of the season.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? I’m fine!” I tensed, incensed at the horrific suggestion. Worse yet, it was appalling that it had come out from my best friends. If they wanted me out of the competition because they felt threatened, then they could go fuck themselves. If looks could kill, Andrés would have been pulverized already.
Jacques instantly tried to be the mediator between Andrés and myself.
“You haven’t been fine. I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you haven’t been fine, Luca. Not for the past months, no, you haven’t.”
Aw, hell to the mother fucking no.
“Is that why you both are here, to fucking ambush me?” This was getting ridiculous. “Get the fuck out, and don’t come back until you guys have something better to say!”
“Calm down, Luca, that wasn’t our intention.” Jacques tried to reason, but I was too exhausted from having too much of everything thrown at me all at once to even dare enjoy their company at the moment.
I shook my head. “I need to rest. This is far too absurd for me to deal with.”
Both men tried to argue their case before I finally booted them out of my room.
Retire for the season? Pft. They had truly lost their minds. I was perfectly fine. And for Jacques to insinuate that I hadn’t been doing well for the past months was truly ludicrous.
I was fine. There wasn’t a question about it. End of story.
Cinque
After the disastrous visit, I had refrained from allowing anyone in who wanted to see me. No one was exempted. It was already stressful to be bound to this place for a while, not to mention the aches and throbbing pains I was having sporadically. Top that with people misplacing their good will and concern on me, and I simply couldn’t deal with it.
Thankfully, I was discharged to go home to my villa in Milan four days later, accompanied by nurses to make rounds, making sure I wasn’t faint, overstressing my body, doing things I was prohibited to do, and most likely the possibility of being suicidal.
No one had said it out loud, but I got the inclination that the doctor thought it and, well, to the rest of the folks who were tuning in along with all the media spectacle, nitpicking every single “angle” they thought had been behind my accident. There wasn’t anything to analyze about the damn thing. My car slid and hit the wall. It went up in flames, and they had to smash the window glass to pull my unconscious body out, end of story.
I wasn’t psychologically challenged before it happened. I wasn’t an alcoholic as th
ey reported, though I had something to drink before I went behind the wheel. I knew it was prohibited, but I fucking needed it. I was sure, once the Fédération Internationale de l'Automobile (FIA) got a whiff of this, they would suspend me for the rest of the season, but hell, I was taking my chances.
When a short rap came at the door, I yelled out a curt response to let them through. I had anticipated it was one of the nurses but was relieved to see that it was my assistant Gino. It was odd, but seeing him was the only thing normal in my life. It reminded me that I had a routine—I had a life—before the crash.
He carried what seemed to be a file of some sort. I wasn’t sure what it was. He always had paperwork and folders with him most times, but there was this odd inkling that this folder was about her and that my world was going to shift once more.
Porca troia, my heart felt like it was having contractions.
“I have the information you asked me for in the hospital,” Gino informed me as I uncomfortably shifted in my seat.
“Give me the rundown.” I gritted my teeth, anticipating the dread that was about to hit me once again. I loathed that I minded, that I cared enough to hate her to this extent. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I didn’t take action and let the hatred ruin me.
“She stopped going to school the moment she got married to the prominent lawyer Anton Gallo. She seems to be leading a quiet life. She only leaves their marital home in Via Margutta when she sees family. As far as we know, she doesn’t have that many friends in the city, so she socializes amongst Signore Anton’s circle. She also visits her father and brother on a daily basis and dines with them a few times a week.” Anton conveyed the facts as if he was reading a grocery list, nonchalant and expressionless.
If he had any opinions or reservations about my inquiry into some woman he had never heard of, he didn’t show it. He was a trusted man who had worked for me since I was eighteen and barely learning the ropes in the industry.
Apart from my career in racing, I also had various sports’ merchandise that was distributed internationally. Though I partied like an animal, it didn’t make it an excuse to slack on being successful in the business arena. I began young because my father was determined that starting at an early age was instrumental to one’s success. It was one piece of advice that could truly benefit a lot of people in this day and age.
Clearing his throat to get my attention, Gino peered at me. “Is there anything else you need from me in regards to this … business, Luca?”
Steadily gazing at him, I wondered out loud, “Is there a reason why she stopped going to school to finish her degree?” After all, from what I recalled in our short stint together, she was rather passionate about the future and what she had planned to do with it. Therefore, it was rather bizarre to hear she had waylaid said plans.
“There’s nothing I could find apart from her being a wife now. Most women that I know usually don’t mind giving up their careers to become a wife. This could possibly be the case for her, too. ”
What a delightful bit of input, I sarcastically thought as he honed in on the fact that she was a married woman who didn’t mind putting her husband’s needs first.
“I see. Thank you for your work, Gino. That’ll be all.”
He made a curt nod before leaving me in peace and to my own devices.
“Happily married,” I grunted out loud, raging at the fact that she was a totally heartless whore who had fucked with the wrong man.
Happily married.
Right.
What a bloody twisted joke. The last thing she ought to be was happy. Kimberly didn’t deserve happiness. What she needed was a good hefty dose of reality…that her vile treatment of me came with a price…
My anger somehow transformed into a massive migraine, leaving me no choice other than to take the strongest medication the nurse had to offer. Vittorio had advised me against stressing too much, but this couldn’t be helped. Everything seemed to be crumbling at such a flighty speed. I needed to focus on something that would be beneficial to me in the long run.
Revenge…
It could be such a sweet thing, if done right.
Now that I had all the facts, it would only be a matter of time until I took action. The moment I could function without nauseating headaches, I would set her demise in motion.
This sentiment didn’t fully initiate until a week later. Yes, it took a whole bloody week until I could manage to drive a vehicle. It was aggravating that I was invalid enough to deem unacceptable to even manage a vehicle, but I wasn’t left much choice since I had people around me who were strictly instructed not to let me out of their sights. It was absurd that a bunch of fools would take orders from my parents when it was I who paid their wages. One thing I knew, though, was that I didn’t want to be at a disadvantage when seeing her again for the first time in months.
It took another inquiry to find out that they were invited to a fund-raising event for next year’s election of the Democratic Party. I wasn’t particularly interested in supporting any parties. This would be the one exception, though. Politics, in my opinion, was a bunch of pompous assholes wanting power and, in some unfortunate circumstances, gaining money through corruption.
Since my face was famous for notoriety and the recent spectacle of my accident that had littered the news media for the past week, I knew it would be unwise to garner attention upon arrival. Instead, I had to pull some strings to slip into the event without being noticed by using one of the service entryways for food deliveries and such.
My main purpose was to see her and immediately dash out of this miserable party once I had accomplished that. The last thing I would like to be amidst my recovery and my mission to send the wretched woman to Hell would be compromised.
Superbly dressed with my custom-made, black tux, I deliberately arrived fashionably late so I didn’t have to bore myself with the tedious task of mingling with the liberal society. I had no intentions of truly taking part of the whole fundraiser. I merely set my sights on where Mrs. Anton Gallo was stationed and waited for the opportunity until her husband was busy chatting up someone before I went in to greet the beautiful liar.
Because the event was being held in one of the beautiful, landmark hotels in Rome with a few hundred or so attendees, executing this wouldn’t be a hardship. Besides, women were my specialty, and if I recalled correctly, this sort liked to seek friends and powder room breaks after meals.
I merely wanted to seek her out to confront her, nothing more. Since she and I didn’t properly break up, I needed to see how remorseful she was. If she turned out to be unapologetic and a spiteful bitch, then I would see where this could all go. For tonight, I simply wanted a private word with her.
In a true shadow approach, I remained out of the public’s line of sight. I lingered in spots where I could easily see everyone without having to compromise my identity.
The file that Gino had given me had stated that Anton Gallo was in his late forties, twice divorced without any offspring. I found it baffling for a woman her young age to marry such an older man. Not that it wasn’t uncommon in our society, but typically, the women who succumbed to those kind of seedy arrangements were the desperate gold-diggers who wanted an easy life. They were the types who considered it “work” to open their legs to let the men relieve themselves. It was despicable, yet the practice had been done since the beginning of time. What boggled my mind was where Kimberly added up in all of this.
Although it was true what they said—that two weeks wasn’t enough time to truly get to know someone—she had never given off the vibe that she was in to money or anything related to it. What she spoke about most was how enthralled she was with the Italian culture and how deeply she loved her family. She also wasn’t one to shy away from discussing the loss of her mother and how it had shaped her as the woman she was today. So, color me confused with the sudden turn of events after leaving Rome for a month and coming back to see an announcement in the newspaper that she ha
d gotten married to one of Italy’s leading prosecutors.
She couldn’t fault me if I was seeking retribution.
With a poached bottle of brandy in hand, I patiently peered at the incoming throng of people, biding my time until the woman graced my sight with her despicable presence. I was a quarter down in the bottle when the newlyweds appeared, seeming rather too chummy for my liking.
Merda. Why did she have to look even better than the last time I had seen her?
It was appalling to find myself so irate after studying their relationship from this vantage point.
Refraining myself from chucking the bottle their way, I found myself quietly at odds with my emotions.
This was going to a long, interesting evening.
=-=-=-=
Dazzling in her low cut, satin, black dress, Kimberly appeared confidently poised next to her husband. She was smiling to the man Anton was introducing her to, and I felt my throat constrict, as if I was having a tough time breathing.
I took another gulp of my brandy, my eyes never straying away from her. They were glued, stuck, zeroed in on one person—the husband I couldn’t care less about.
As challenging as it was to listen through such tedious speeches, one after the other, during dinner, my persistence hadn’t deteriorated as I bided for the perfect time. My opportunity came when she unexpectedly got a message on her phone, frowning as she did so. Then she whispered in Anton’s ear, quite possibly excusing herself to step out to attend to the message that had gotten her worried.
Treading a few feet away from her, I followed her stride as she left the ballroom and sought for the nearest exit, finding herself in the beautiful botanical garden. She sought out a secluded spot close to an old tree that was not too far from the door she had exited from but enough distance to keep her conversation private from other guests. She had her back turned, occupying herself with the emergency call she was engaged in, while my gaze occupied itself with the silky, bare expanse of her skin and ample, pert bottom.
