"How about we talk about it over dinner?" Marcello suggests.
"A dinner? Like a date?" My insides slowly liquify. A date with Marcello?Uhm, yes please, my pussy screams.Have you lost your ever-loving marbles? My mind chimes in.Absolutely not, Violet, Mom gets a say too.
"Sure, yes, a date, if you want to label it." Marcello's grin creates even more havoc with my insides. "Tonight." He challenges.
"But… I already have a date tonight," I manage weakly, very aware of my earlier lie and very, very aware of his magnetism over me, but trying desperately to hold onto my mother's warning.
Marcello arches an eyebrow at me as if he already knows it was a lie.
"You just broke up with your fiancée," I speak before I can stop myself. But I'm proud of myself. Proud of reminding myself how things end up for women who fall for this man.
His expression darkens. "You really do have a hangup about Mina, don't you?"
"Ahangup?" I repeat, feeling the heat of a different kind move through me. This man is infuriating. "How can you be so callou?—"
He raises his hand, interrupting me, "Stop. Before you embarrass yourself further, let me explain. Since this seems so important to you, Mina is nothing but a gold digger. She thought she could wrangle me into marrying her, and her plan failed."
Is that how he justifies his behavior? It was Mina's fault? I cross my arms over my chest. "You're un-fucking-believable. You asked a woman to marry you, that means?—"
He raises his hand again, and God help me, I want to shoot him. I've never held a gun before, but I really, really want to shoot him.
No you don't, my pussy pouts.
"I never proposed to Mina." His voice is tight—too controlled. "She showed up with a ring and declared us engaged. We were at a ball, there were hundreds of people." He scoffs, but oddly, there's not much heat behind it. "If I were really the cold bastard you think I am, I would've shut her down right there. Humiliated her. But I didn't. I waited to deal with it privately."
He pauses. Just long enough for the silence to stretch a little too far. "Then I got shot."
That shuts me up.
The words hang between us, sharp and quiet. My mouth opens to fire back another retort, but nothing comes out. Because what the hellcanyou say to that? I deflate a little. Not visibly—at least I hope not—but inside, something shifts. A crack opens wide enough for me to look at him not as a callous mafia boss but as… a man. A man who's been shot. A man who bled. A man whose so-called fiancée announced their engagement without his consent and then disappeared the second things got messy.
I fold my arms tighter, more to hide my own discomfort than out of defiance. Maybe I misjudged him. Just a little.You think? Again, my pussy thinks she gets a vote here. I glance at his shoulder—the wound I've been tending to, more or less professionally.
When I finally speak, my voice is quieter. "That must've been… a lot."
He cocks his head, eyes narrowing just slightly. Not in irritation this time, but in interest. He felt the shift, too.
"I don't need your pity," he says, but there's no bite to it. "Unless it gets me something useful."
I straighten. "Like what?"
A slow, lazy grin spreads across his lips, arrogant and predatory. "For starters, dinner."
My eyebrows rise.
"Come on,Chirps. You're feeling a little guilty now, aren't you? Misjudging me. Thinking, I proposed to some vapid gold digger when really, I was the one being ambushed by a publicity stunt. While bleeding out in a parking garage, no less."
I hate how good he is at this. He twists things just right, making it hard to tell when I'm being manipulated and when I actually want to say yes.
He leans in, eyes sharp and knowing. "You owe me."
My eyes narrow. "I don't owe you anything."
He turns to Luciano. "Didn't she once say something about wanting to protect innocent lives?"
Luciano doesn't get a chance to reply.
"Oh well," Marcello shrugs his shoulders. "Poor Doctor Waspo," he says, looking at Luciano again, this time with faux solemnity.
