"Vittoria."
My whole body goes rigid.
Dmitri Baganov stands at the edge of our table, and everything about him screams anger. His eyes fix on me first before sliding to James with an expression that makes the temperature in the room drop ten degrees.
"Baganov." James doesn't stand. Doesn't offer his hand. Just sits there with that smug smile, like Dmitri is an inconvenience rather than the heir to the Chicago Bratva. "Didn't realize you'd be joining us."
"I wasn't aware I needed an invitation." Dmitri's gaze doesn't leave James's face. "To speak with my fiancée."
Fiancée.
Dmitri
James Rogers rises from his chair.
Movement to my left. Dante Castellani materializes from the shadows, and suddenly I'm staring down the barrel of a Glock aimed directly at my face.
The cold metal doesn't make me flinch. I've had guns pointed at me since I could walk.
"Dante, back off." Vittoria's voice slices through the tension. She's on her feet now, palm pressed flat against the table, dark eyes blazing. "I saidback off."
"Calm down, solnyshko." I keep my voice level, my hands visible at my sides. No sudden movements. Castellani's finger rests alongside the trigger guard—professional, controlled, but his jaw tells me he'd love an excuse. "No one needs to die tonight."
I turn my attention to Rogers. The boy stands frozen, his suit suddenly looking too big for his frame. Sweat beads at his temple.
"This is the last time," I say, letting each word drop like a stone into still water, "that I allow such disrespect from you or your family. Consider this your only warning."
Rogers swallows hard. His Adam's apple bobs. "No one informed me you were engaged." His voice cracks on the last word. Pathetic. "I had every right to pursue?—"
"We haven't been public yet." I don't break eye contact with him as I speak. "But we will be." I pause, letting the silence stretch. Then I turn to Vittoria. "Right, Vittoria?"
Vittoria's fingers curl around the edge of the table. Her knuckles go white. I watch the rapid assessment of options behind her eyes, outcomes, consequences. She's brilliant, my solnyshko. She knows exactly what I'm asking her to do.
She knows what it will cost her.
And still, she lifts her chin. Meets my gaze directly.
Nods.
Something cracks open in my chest. A fissure I didn't know existed.
Rogers makes a strangled sound. "This is—you can't just?—"
"I can." I don't look at him. Can't look away from her. "I am."
Dante still hasn't lowered his weapon. The Glock remains steady, aimed at my skull. I respect his dedication.
"I'm escorting Vittoria to her home," I tell him.
Dante's eyes narrow. The gun stays level. He steps closer.
"You're fucking not."
The words land between us like a gauntlet thrown.
Before I can respond, Vittoria moves. She places herself directly between us, her back to me, facing her guard.
"I'm going with Dmitri." Her voice brooks no argument. "You and Elio follow from behind."
