Other branches of the family had been known to try and sabotage the head branch so they could lead the kingdom. Or as someone referred to it—a pride of lions. Which was why I’d gotten their emblem tattooed to my hand. A lion with a rosary around its neck, a sacred heart in its mane.
Their motto wasla mia parola è buona quanto il mio sangue: “My word is as good as my blood.”
The lone wolf on the opposite hand stood for my father. His roots. He was well known in New York as the Machiavellian Prince, before I inherited the title, because he was the best fucking schemer around.
Evelina was as smart as our father. Her looks were just as deadly. Every man’s head swiveled toward her as she stopped at the door.
She gave me a little wave before she nodded and said, “Gentlemen.” Then she no doubt moved on to find Mia. Thick as thieves, those two.
I relaxed in the leather seat, letting out a purl of smoke through my parted lips. Paired with the whiskey, it was a fine match. The speed demon broke through a hazy cloud, coming to take the seat next to me. I watched him from the corner of my eye, not really bothered where he sat or how close.
No one could ever pull a reaction out of me. No one mattered that much.
Through the sweet smell of tobacco, I smelled lavender, and I sat up a little taller in my seat. Mia walked past the room with Evelina a few seconds later. Elio didn’t have time to prepare for her, not like I did. I anticipated her.
I revised my earlier thought. No one could pull a reaction out of me. No one mattered that much.
No one but her.
She was my life and my death. My everything.
Elio’s eyes were hard on the door after she’d disappeared. “I do not like you,” he said in Italian.
I grinned into my cup before I took a sip. The fiery alcoholic honey coated my tongue like the taste of the woman no one would ever have but me. “Makes sense,” I said, setting my glass down. “None of the other men I killed liked me either.”
My father always said the more intimidating and powerful a man is in the world, the more enemies he’ll have. I was doing something right, then. Besides, this fucking bum was nothing but a prop. He was going along tonight because he could get us in the club without raising too many eyebrows. When he went out, he traveled in a pack.
The pompous pompadour took his glass and moved to stand next to Brando Fausti at the bar. Brando gave him a calculating look, then turned toward the door as Elio tried to make conversation with him. Brando’s eyes narrowed, and I followed their direction.
Scarlett. She stood at the door, gripping the sides of her dress. She wasn’t looking at Brando, though. She was looking at me. Brando looked between us and then left the bar. He bent down close to her ear, and she whispered something in it.
I was already up, waiting. As expected, a second later, he turned and looked at me. He called me over with a finger.
“My wife,” he said, and there was no doubt the weight he put on those two words. They anchored him. “Wants to talk to you.”
Nodding, I fixed my suit before I held out my arm for her. She took it and we started to walk down the hallway.
Brando stopped us by grabbing her arm. He didn’t say anything and neither did she, but I could tell they didn’t have to. She understood everything he was saying without him having to speak a word.
“This won’t take long,mio marito,” she whispered, touching his cheek.
He nodded, but it was stiff, like his shoulders. Even though she’d reassured him, he walked us outside and then took a spot in the darkest area, arms and legs crossed, leaning against the house.
“My husband.” She sighed. “He worries.”
“We’re staying close,” I said.
“History—” She stopped. “It’s impossible to forget. He’s—he’s built to withstand wars. He tries to prepare before danger gets too close to his family.”
I nodded, saying nothing else as we took the cobblestone path around the property. It was circular, so we’d end where we had begun.
“How’s your parents?”
“Bene,” I said. “Mamma said to tell you hello.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” she said. “I’m fond of them both.”
I took her hand because she seemed cold. She was even smaller than Mia, more delicate it seemed, and I wondered how she had survived Brando Fausti. He was a monster compared to her. It was a wonder he hadn’t broken her in two.
