"No." Dante's jaw tightens. "Absolutely not. Pietro's orders?—"
"Thisis an order."
The words crack through the air like a whip. Vittoria's shoulders are rigid, her stance wide. She's magnificent like this.
Dante's gaze flicks to me over her shoulder. Pure murder lives in those eyes. A promise of violence, delayed but not forgotten.
I meet it without flinching.
Vittoria grabs her purse from the table. The movement is sharp, decisive. She doesn't look at Rogers. Dismisses him entirely, as if he's already ceased to exist.
Then she starts walking.
I fall into step beside her, matching her stride. Behind us, I hear Dante curse in Italian.
"You just made an enemy," Vittoria murmurs, not breaking stride.
"I have many."
"Dante's different. He doesn't forget."
"Neither do I."
We push through the restaurant's front doors. My driver already has the back door of the Mercedes open, waiting.
Vittoria pauses at the car. Turns to face me.
The streetlight catches her face, illuminating the high cheekbones, the dark eyes that see too much. She looks furious. She looks exhausted. She looks like she wants to either kiss me or kill me.
"You just announced our engagement to James Rogers."
"Yes."
"Without discussing it with me first."
"Yes."
"My mother is going to lose her mind. Pietro will probably shoot you himself for the disrespect."
"Probably."
Her lips press together. A muscle ticks in her jaw. "You're an arrogant, manipulative, infuriating?—"
"Also yes." I step closer. Close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her skin in the cold night air. "And you're getting in my car anyway."
She stares at me for a long moment. Something shifts in her expression—a crack in the armor, quickly concealed.
"Only because I want to yell at you in private."
"Whatever you need to tell yourself, solnyshko."
She slides into the back seat. I follow, pulling the door closed behind us.
Vittoria turns to look at me.
The interior of the Mercedes is dark. Only the passing streetlights illuminate her face in flashes—gold, then shadow, then gold again. Her eyes search mine, and I feel exposed in a way I haven't felt since I was a child.
"What's going on with you?"
