A wave of frost runs down my spine as I breathe in. Breathe out. My hands start to shake. When I glance at my father, he’s absorbed in watching Gio.
Everyoneis watching Gio.
My eyes slide to the seat next to me. Salvatore Asante has his eyes on the doorway, but his hand… his hand is gripping the inside of my thigh, a whisper away from my underwear.
Heat chases down the frost, dousing it in steam and leaving flickering flame in its wake. I slam my legs together, as hard as I can, and Salvatore’s grip loosens. I swallow a choked gasp as my skin is twisted, gripped hard in long fingers, nails digging in.
Stefano glances back at me as the smallest, pained noise escapes my lips.
His eyes drop down. Further.
Just in time to catch the hand being pulled away.
His lips part, and he stares down at his father. A look of disgust crosses his face. I feel his eyes on my face, but I’m not looking at him.
Salvatore has a smile on his face as he settles his hands back onto the table, leaving aching, bruised skin behind. I blink rapidly, vomit rising up my throat.
A punishment, maybe. For speaking up.
For existing at all.
A reminder of myplace.
Breathing in, I take my time pushing the oxygen out, making sure my voice won’t shake when I speak. My fingers slip beneath the sleeve of my blazer.
“Salvatore.”
People turn at my snapped tone. My father turns.
And Salvatore Asantescreamsas my blade slams into his hand, deep enough that it goes straight through and into the table, deep enough to part flesh and sever tendons. Stefano jumps back as curses ring through the room. Shouts.
But I ignore them, drawing myself up as Salvatore moans in shock, staring at his ravaged hand.
“If youever.” My voice doesn’t shake. I refuse to let it, refuse to let him have the satisfaction of even the tiniest part of the fear clogging my throat, clawing at my stomach. “Ever, try to touch me in that way again. If I ever see you touching another woman in that way, I will cut off your fucking hand.Be grateful you still have it.”
I have to leave.
Before they see my body shaking.
Before the aching in my throat can turn into the tears burning the back of my eyes.
So I sweep out, past a gaping Giovanni and the ruined, ravaged shell of Carlo Fusco.
And I don’t look back, leaving my blade in his flesh.
As a reminder not to touch what doesn’t fucking belong to him.
Chapter twenty-four Dante
Someone is roaring.
But as Cat leaves, her face pale and her head high, I realize the rest of the room is silent. Silent, apart from the gasping of Salvatore Asante.
The roaring is me. The sound building inside my head.
I take a step forward, and a hand wraps around my arm, holding tightly. A voice hisses in my ear. “You won’t help her by interfering, V’Arezzo.”
Luciano’s voice is glacial, but it cuts through the noise. My father glances back at me, a small shake of his head.
