Another burst of raucous laughter from across the room, loud enough to be heard over the thumping music, drove thetwins to their feet. Unsurprisingly, they’d reached the end of their tether.
‘We’ve had enough of this shit. Either we break some ribs, preferably thatpezz’i mieddaNarc-Fuck’s, or we leave. Which is it going to be, brother?’
I leaned forward, elbows on knees, clenched fists dangling between my legs. ‘Go home. I’ll follow shortly.’
Rafa’s eyes narrowed. ‘Frate… whatever you’re thinking is probably not a good idea,’ he muttered for my ears only.
My gaze lanced back to her, my insides spasming as if someone had shot a Taser into my belly. Relentless echoes of bodies touching, writhing, exploring in the dark unravelled through my brain. My fingers twitched. I bunched them into tighter fists. ‘Maybe not, but when have you known that to stop me?’
Rafa sighed. ‘Just make sure you’re well-equipped for hazardous weather in case you fall through that thin ice you’re skating on,sì?’
I didn’t answer, but my clenched jaw spoke volumes for me.
He jerked his chin at the twins, who left without another word, leaving behind the bodyguards stationed strategically in the room.
Electric volts rippling through me surged higher when I rose to my feet.
And started across the room towards my target.
3
MADDELENA
The first rule for a Mancinelli woman was unbreakable.
Stay away from the Salvatore men. Or else!
It’d been drilled into my sisters and me from birth and enforced with many a backhand from Mancinelli men if we so much asthoughtabout breaking that rule.
But the team was riding high from our third straight win. And winning, especially in Monza, the birthplace of Formula One racing, was like winning every single lottery in the world.
When that happened, there was only one place worth celebrating or you might as well stay home.La Miraggio.
Podium positioning wasn’t something we’d needed to worry about in the past since we’d been nowhere near the podium, never mind winning a race. And while I’d been disappointed for the team in previous seasons, as the consigliere of my family’s assets and CEO of Furia Racing, in charge of managing the hundreds of millions of dollars that flowed in from both legitimate and more… creative areas of the business, I couldn’t very well stay in my hotel room tonight of all nights.
But Christ, how I’d wanted to.
Because I’d suspected thathewould be here. And I was right.
I could feel the burn of his hatred from the VIP lounge where he sprawled amongst the velvet cushions with the indolence of a panther.
I raised my glass to swallow a mouthful of champagne someone had thrust in my hand. But just like most people reacted when Cesare Salvatore was in the same room, I knew I would choke on it. That my body would refuse the simplest commands.
Case in point – my maddening inability to look away.
So I saw the moment he rasped a command and his brothers and a handful of soldiers made their way to the entrance and left him alone.
With any other man I would’ve raised my expensively trimmed eyebrows at the sheer lunacy of leaving himself vulnerable in a roomful of vicious, cutthroat Mancinellis. To the last man, I knew each of them carried a blade, a gun or a knuckle-duster. Some all three.
But Cesare Salvatore demonstrated not a single ounce of vulnerability.
He met my stare, dominated it until I shivered with the urge to self-preserve, to lower my gaze. Then, only when he was satisfied that his deep intimidation had caused the fractures he sought did he rise, an exquisite marble statue coming to life.
With every step he drew closer, my breath knotted tighter in my lungs.
The heir to the Salvatore throne had turned heads since he grew height and muscles in the summer of his fifteenth birthday. Those muscles had been honed on the football field of the nauseatingly expensive Calmonte Catholic Academy in New York City. Then studiously maintained by taking an active part in physically suppressing any challenges to his birthright. It was an open secret that to tangle with Cesare Salvatore, his brothersor any of his soldiers on a dark street corner was to never see the light of day again.
His breathtakingly good looks were passed down from both his parents, borrowing the square, movie-star heartthrob jawline and piercing charcoal grey eyes of the Salvatore men, and the sensual mouth and haughty cheekbones from his late mother.
