Reign A Romance Anthology - Nina Levine Page 0,95

to him,” I demand.

“I assure you, he isn’t here.”

“My ass, he isn’t.”

“He’s not—"

“Fine, if you won’t help me, then I’ll find him myself.”

I scoot out of the booth and storm through the cocktail den looking for anything that resembles an exit, running my hand along the walnut paneling for concealed doors, and banging on the stamped tin walls, much to the confusion of the small lunch crowd. I don’t care that I look like a crazy woman.

Because I am crazy.

Crazy angry.

“Bella, please—” Anastacia calls behind me.

In my determination to confront him, I somehow manage to find the concealed doorway near the bar before security can stop me and push it open. It leads to a flight of stairs barely visible in the dim light, and with Anastacia and Imogen close behind me, I run up the stairs, taking two at a time like I’m a freaking Olympic sprinter.

If Alessandro bloody Lastrantonio thinks he can tell me what to do, then he’s about to learn a very valuable lesson.

Bella Isles Ciccula is no fucking pushover.

Give up my job?

The man is fucking insane if he thinks I’m giving up anything to marry him.

Upstairs it’s a whole new world. Plush carpet. Marble walls. Chandeliers hanging from the vaulted ceiling. Everything in a shade of antique white.

But I barely take it all in as I storm down the hallway, ready to lose my shit.

I stop at a pair of closed twin doors. He’s behind those doors, I just know it. I can’t explain how I know or why.

I just know.

Furious, I push down on the elegant gold doorknobs and burst through the doors.

He is sitting behind a large desk looking at something on his computer screen.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” I yell.

A mean-looking man with no hair and big arms steps toward me, but Alessandro stops him with a wave of his hand as he slowly rises to his feet.

“Bella—”

“You chauvinistic jerk!” I spit out, slightly breathless from storming up the stairs because clearly, I am not an Olympic sprinter.

“Alessandro, I’m so sorry!” Anastacia pants as she and Imogen come to a halt behind me.

But I ignore them.

“You think you can snap your fingers and I’ll do what you say?” I take an angry step farther into the room. “It doesn’t work that way, buddy. If you want a wife who will give up everything she has worked hard for, then I strongly advise that you find somebody else to marry. Do you know how hard I worked to get where I am today? I worked my ass to the bone, that’s how hard. I’ve put in hours that would make you weak just thinking about them. So if you think I’ll give it all up for a narcissistic, chauvinistic asshole who wants to boss me around, then you’re as delusional as you are a manipulative jerk!”

My tirade makes me out of breath.

It also makes me slightly emotional.

While Alessandro simply stares back at me, his arms folded across his chest, his stupidly beautiful face calm and assured.

I hate him.

I hate him so much my bones ache.

“Why?” I glare at him, my anger deepening when I remember I am standing in front of the boy who broke my heart.

Alessandro moves slowly around his desk and clears the room with a nod. Imogen looks at me questioningly. Silently asking me if I want her to leave. I give her a small nod and she leaves with a pinched-face Anastacia. I turn back to glare at Alessandro and am only vaguely aware of the two bodyguards leaving when the door clicks quietly behind them.

“I’ve agreed to your sick business deal in the name of peace, at least show me the same respect and tell me why,” I demand.

“Why what?”

His voice is deep and smooth. And I hate that it sounds so damn delicious.

“Why me? If you need a wife so badly, why didn’t you pick from the legion of women clamoring for the attention of the King of the Boroughs?” I glare at him. “Why pick the girl whose heart you broke?”

The words tumble out, thoughtlessly, and I regret them immediately. The last thing I need is for him to think he has any kind of power over me. Or that him failing to show up on my eighteenth birthday actually meant something to me.

Yet, there they are, out in the open. The admission that he did indeed break my heart.

Stupid emotionally charged words.

His dark brows pull together, but slowly smooth back into place.

God,