He’s here.
After everything that happened last night, after I explicitly told him I was handling this myself, after I made it crystal fucking clear that I was done with his protection and his lies and his decisions about my life—he’s here.
Sitting at the head of the table like he owns the place.
Looking calm and collected and completely in control, like he has every right to be here when I specifically said I didn’t want him involved.
The betrayal cuts deeper than I expected.
I’d thought, maybe stupidly, that he might actually respect my choice for once.
That he might let me prove myself without swooping in to save me from my own decisions.
I should have known better.
Every eye in the room is on me, watching my reaction, analyzing how I handle this obvious power play.
I can feel their interest, their calculation, as they wait to see whether I’ll lose my composure or maintain control.
So instead of screaming at him the way I want to, instead of demanding to know what the fuck he thinks he’s doing here, I paste on my most saccharine smile and let my voice drip with fake sweetness.
“Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.” I let my gaze slide over him dismissively. “I didn’t realize this was a family reunion,Don DeLuca.”
The emphasis on “Don DeLuca” lands exactly as intended. Several of the men exchange glances, clearly intrigued by the obvious tension between us.
Matteo grips his glass almost imperceptibly, but his voice remains perfectly controlled when he responds.
“Bianca.” His tone is cold, professional, like I’m a business associate he barely tolerates rather than someone he raised from birth. “How good of you to join us.”
The dismissal in his voice stings more than I expected, but I refuse to let it show.
Instead, I raise an eyebrow and let my smile turn sharp as I take a seat, making a show of settling into my chair as Alessandro takes the seat next to me.
“Oh, I wouldn’t miss this for the world. After all, it’s not every day Giuseppe DeLuca’s daughter gets to meet with the Families,” I deadpan.
The room goes dead silent.
“So it is true,” Don Vitelli says quietly, his wine glass frozen halfway to his lips.
“Very true,” I say, my smile turning razor-sharp as I feel Matteo’s fury radiating from across the room.
The silence stretches for exactly three heartbeats before all hell breaks loose.
“You lied to us.” Marconi’s voice cuts through the air like a blade as he turns to face Matteo directly. “Two years ago, in this very room, when we asked if she was yours, you said she was.”
“I never lied.” Matteo’s voice is steady, controlled, but I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands have gone completely still on the table. “I told you that Bianca was mine in every way that matters.”
“Semantics,” spits another don whose name I don’t remember. “You deliberately misled us about her parentage.”
“I protected my family’s privacy,” Matteo replies coolly. “Which is my right as head of the DeLuca organization.”
God, I have to admit he’s handling this well.
Even caught completely off-guard by my public announcement, he’s not backing down or showing weakness.
There’s something almost admirable about watching him navigate this political minefield with such precision.
Almost. If I wasn’t still furious with him for being here in the first place.
