She turns to face me, eyes flashing with defiance. "And what would you have me do, Cesare? I can't control how other men look at me."
For a moment, her boldness takes me aback. Then anger mixes with pride. My wife is no wilting flower.
"No," I concede, "but you can control how you respond. Remember your place, Vittoria. You're my wife now, and that comes with certain expectations."
She nods meekly, which pisses me the fuck off. She's not meek or docile, something I've known from the beginning.
As we approach the table, I notice Lorenzo's gaze on Vittoria. My son and I need to have a conversation. This shit can't continue.
I'm not surprised by the crowd surrounding our table. It's usually this way. Most of the time, the rest of the Syndicate would be here, but tonight only Ronan Delaney is present. He's the head of the Irish mafia and brought his son, Daithi. Glancing at their table, I see they're in the same predicament: politicians lining up to kiss ass.
If a politician has our backing, it's almost guaranteed they'll win the next local election.
Thankfully, dinner is served and the assholes scatter. Vittoria acts like the dutiful wife, speaking to those around her with poise and grace.
But Lorenzo keeps watching her, and it's starting to piss me off. He needs to keep his fucking eyes off my wife.
"How did a sexy woman like yourself end up married to Mariano?" I hear Vince Calloway say as he takes the empty seat beside Vittoria, leaning in close.
My hands clench into fists under the table.
"Do I know you?" Vittoria asks, voice soft but with anger coating her words.
Vince laughs. "I'm Vince Calloway. I'm?—”
"A politician," Vittoria drawls with her Irish accent. "I can tell."
Instead of backing off, the stupid fuck leans closer. "You must be lonely in such a cold house as the Marianos'?"
I'm going to kill this piece of shit.
"How would you know what our home is like?" Vittoria asks. "I can assure you it's anything but cold. Where is your wife this evening?"
The words are polite, but they hold steel beneath the surface.
The fucker reaches out to touch her face, and I can't hold back any longer. I surge to my feet, chair scraping against marble. Everyone at the table falls silent.
I wrap my fingers around Vince's wrist in a deadly grip, pulling his hand away from Vittoria.
"If you want to keep this hand," I say, voice deadly quiet, "I suggest you don't touch my wife."
Vince laughs, and the sound sets my teeth on edge. I tighten my grip, ready to break bones if he doesn't heed this warning.
I feel a soft hand touch my arm and glance down at Vittoria. She's not pleading with me to stop, just watching, offering support.
"Speak to my wife again, and I'll make sure you never speak at all." I release his wrist, glaring at the bastard.
Vince, realizing he's overstepped, forces a laugh. "My apologies, Mariano. I meant no disrespect." He turns to Vittoria, bowing slightly. "Forgive me, Mrs. Mariano. I was out of line."
Vittoria's smile is gracious, but her eyes are sharp as blades. "No harm done. Perhaps you should get some fresh air. The champagne can be quite... intoxicating."
Her subtle jab doesn't go unnoticed. Chuckles ripple through the crowd as Vince, red-faced, excuses himself and hurries away like the coward he is.
I turn to Vittoria, impressed despite myself. She handled the situation with poise and a quick wit that I hadn't expected.
As I retake my seat, I lean close, lips brushing her ear. "Well played," I murmur. "But don't think this means you can start speaking out of turn."
Vittoria meets my gaze, a hint of defiance in her eyes that makes my cock strain against my pants. "Of course not, husband. I know my place."
