Tears well up in my eyes, but I push them away. I will never, ever cry for that man again.
Matteo hurries to my side and grabs me. “I heard shouting in here. Are you okay?”
I nod a few times as he presses me into his chest. “It’s done. He’s gone.”
Probably forever. Good riddance.
“I know it doesn’t mean much, but you did good. I’m proud of you.”
I suck in a deep breath. “I’m just glad I have you now.”
“Always,” he replies, pecking my hair.
“Thank you …” I mutter, leaning into his touch. “Can we stay here? Just for a little while.”
“Of course. If at any time you want to return to the main party, let me know. Until then, just stay with me.”
I lay my head on his shoulder as he sways us to the music, and my body slowly returns to its natural rhythm, far from the anger my father instilled in my heart. I breathe a sigh of relief.
I feel so lucky to have found someone who can ground me.
Suddenly, an older man with a chiseled, cleanly shaven face and piercing gray eyes approaches us, his demeanor and looks too familiar for me not to notice, and he looks just as handsome as Matteo. I pull away from Matteo so they can greet each other.
“Is that …?” I mutter as Matteo turns around with a big smile on his face.
Matteo immediately gives the man a hand, but the man pulls him into a bro-hug. “Don’t give your father a goddamn hand.”
His father? Oh my God.
Smiling brightly, I immediately straighten my posture to make sure I give the right impression.
“Mr. De Silva, it’s so nice to meet you,” I say.
His father shakes my hand. “The honor is all mine. But call me Gianni.” He pulls my hand up to press a kiss to the top. “Siamo una famiglia.”
“He says we’re family,” Matteo whispers into my ear.
My face heats. “Oh yes, of course. I’d love to.”
“Well, you married my son, didn’t you? You’re already family now, whether you like it or not,” he jokes, stealing a glass of champagne from one of the server’s trays.
“The wrong one if you ask me,” Angelo muses as he walks by, swiftly dodging another elbow jab from Matteo.
“Don’t make me come after you,” Matteo jokes at him.
“At least your brother didn’t go after Lucio Agostini and nearly lost his life,” Dad says, and he stares at his glass before taking a big sip.
Matteo narrows his eyes at his father like he can’t believe his own ears. “He was there when I drove a knife through his head.”
My brows rise. “Because you asked him to help.” And I quickly take a sip to hide from Matteo’s glare behind my glass.
“Shouldn’t have done that,” his father says.
“You know why I had to,” Matteo responds. “Mom deserved revenge.”
“Your mom would’ve preferred you to live,” his father grumbles.
Matteo’s arms widen. “I am alive. I’m standing right here.”
