Shewasn’t here. You’d think she’d jump at the chance to rub my face in it like her uncle Stefano, currently well on his way to being high and hammered, and feeling bolder by the second as he ventured closer to my VIP section, laughing and pointing like some stupid puppet while his audience laughed.
I ignored his drunken sneers and caught Rafa heading my way. The subtle shake of his head made me curse under my breath.
Had it been a mistake coming?—
The thought stalled when the small crowd parted. And I saw her.
She’d arrived without fanfare and almost slid under my radar.
Bitterness and that slow sizzle of electricity that always attacked me whenever she breached my thoughts tossed my mood deeper down the toilet.
Rafaelle dropped into the seat next to me, then followed my gaze. ‘Yeah, meant to tell you. Hot Tits has arrived.’
My teeth ground and I shot him a glare. ‘Watch your fucking mouth.’ That wasmyname for her. No one else was allowed to use it. And if anyone found that fucking weird, it was their problem not mine.
Rafaelle returned my glare with a smile before his gaze shifted sideways. ‘You want me to take care of him or have Fist do it?’
I read his lips more than heard the question but I knew he was referring to Stefano. Ignoring him had made him bolder, and I could hear raucous laughter to my right.
The twins, Dante and Lorenzo, five years younger and almost as zealous about racing as I was, were equally fucking pissed off at the scene unfolding before us. And by my silent order not to crack open a few Mancinelli skulls the way they were itching to. Coming third had riled us all up but descending into mayhem would get us nowhere.
That said, maybe my earlier thought was right. Maybe we should’ve stayed away, tackled this differently.
Nah, who the hell was I kidding? I thrived in mayhem.
And that state was being greatly exacerbated by having to watchher, writhing on the dancefloor in that fucking red cocktail dress, right in my line of sight.
‘Just say the word,’ Rafa encouraged, drawing my gaze for a split second.
At times like these I envied his ability to remain calm, no matter the circumstances. There was a reason he was nicknamed The Silent Assassin. You didn’t see or hear him coming until the knife had slid between your ribs and he was walking away with a smile on his face. I’d seen him do it often enough.
I was almost tempted to ask him to do it one more time to the idiot grinding his small dick againsther.
Maddelena. The girl who’d left… something… an indelible mark I couldn’t rid myself of all these years later.
But no.SheI intended to take care of myself.
My phone buzzed, another summons from Orazio. Continuing to ignore him wasn’t the best course of action. But I wanted some answers before the inevitable confrontation.
The de facto head of the Salvatore family hadn’t used his fists to make a point for at least a week. But that glorious reprieve was about to break, most likely on my face, if I didn’t find answers for him.
I’d taken many a black eye and bruised rib in my stride over the years. Rafaelle too. But the old man, that fucking cunning fox, had wised up to the fact that his two oldest grandsons lost their minds when his fists were directed at their youngest brothers. Or even worse, on Bibiana. If I didn’t answer soon, that was where he would refocus his ire.
I looked over to my left, to where the twins were staring at one another, engaged in that silent twin speak that frequently drove me up the wall.
They looked as sullen and perplexed as I was furious.
Dante, the second driver in my racing team, had gone from a consistent one-two reign on the podium alongside me to now finishing outside the top five in the last few races. His anxiety levels had gone through the roof lately, only his twin gluing himself to his side keeping him on an even keel.
We’d had every engineer, strategist and aerodynamicist on the Furia Racing Team scratching their heads as to what had gone wrong before we’d concluded that there was nothing wrong with our racing car. That it was outside influences adversely affecting our team.
If I couldn’t find answers from the Mancinelli stooges, then I was headed straight for the top.
I eyed my brothers, read every version of their barely bridled patience. Dante was a slightly less icy version of Rafa, while Renzo rivalled me in the hothead stakes. I could tell he was about to blow from the way his knees were bouncing and the loud cracking of his knuckles.
Dante shot him a ‘chill’ look that earned him a sneer. ‘We look like chumps, sitting around with our thumbs up our asses. We should…’
I stopped listening, my fixation on her seizing my attention.
