Deadly Deception | 18+

Runaway

Fool.

A fucking fool.

I know that it didn't mean anything to Riccardo. I don't mean anything to him, but hearing this from him makes me want to buckle down on the staircase and bawl my eyes out.

How can I be so stupid? And most importantly, why do I care? Why do I care if he's used me in the same way that I've used him?

We've only fucked, not made love.

And this is how I want it to be and how it will ever be.

Then why do I feel like going underwater without having enough length of oxygen for me to breathe, for me to live? No, Daisy, get it together.

Riccardo Ricci doesn't mean anything to you and you to him.

Yet this doesn't ease the ache I feel in my chest; on the contrary, it makes it grow. And this is on me. I've become emotionally attached to him and let myself become vulnerable.

And Riccado fucking Ricci took advantage of my vulnerability. I can't blame him, though. He never bothered to hide who he was and never pretended to be someone else.

Maybe this was Riccardo's end game all along.

Of course. Everything Riccardo has ever done to me was to punish me for what happened in the club that day. Maybe he thought my virginity was something valuable to me, and he took it with the intent to break me.

It wasn't.

The thing he doesn't know is that I am actually glad to be rid of that circumstance. Now, I am free to do whatever I want, just like I've always wanted, and whomever I want.

Riccardo has actually set me free.

And now it is time to set myself free of him.

I descend the stairs slowly while holding onto its rails to steady myself, with Matteo following me from behind. I need to think of something quickly and run away before we reach the house.

My gaze trails around the club; cleaners try to make the place as spotless as possible, and a waitress behind the bar organizes the drinks and glasses—no trace of bulky men with guns around the club other than Matteo.

We can either walk between the cleaners or make a detour and walk before the bar, which has many opportunities to help me with my escape plan.

So, I stalk toward the bar, and Matteo comes next to me with a grim expression and a raised brow, always in a foul mood.

Why so serious?

I glance sideways to dictate the whereabouts of his gun, behind his blazer tucked inside his belt or in front, and luckily, it is in the place where I can get to.

I've done it once, and it didn't go so well.

Twice is the charm.

I set my eyes on a bottle of red wine, looking quite expensive, but that is not the point, standing at the end of the edge of the bar in my reach.

I swallow nervously, and my hands get sweaty as we walk before the bar while playing all the possible scenarios in my head, making me tremble slightly.

When we come closer to the bottle of wine, I reach out before grabbing and smashing it on Matteo's head in a quick motion. He stumbles back in shock, giving me the perfect opportunity to reach out and grab his gun from his waistband.

I point the gun at him with a heavy breath, and men in suits sprit out every part of the club before pointing their guns at me in a split second.

Shit.