"If you're still available, Vittoria could meet you instead. Tonight."
Could.As if there's any question. As if I haven't been counting the hours since I sent that text about Marchetti's.
"I'll book a private table at Celestine." The words come out smooth, unhurried. "Nine o'clock work?"
A pause. I hear Pietro exhale through his nose. "Her driver will bring her. She'll have two of our men with her."
"Of course."
Another pause, heavier this time. Pietro starts to speak, stops. The silence stretches between us like a wire pulled taut.
I know what he wants to say.Touch my sister and I'll gut you. Hurt her and there won't be enough pieces of you left to bury.Standard protective brother threats. I've made similar ones about Karolina and Natalia.
But Pietro Sartori is a strategist. He knows threatening the heir to the Chicago Bratva—a man whose alliance he needs—would be stupid. And whatever else Pietro might be, he's not stupid.
"I'll respect your sister," I say, saving him from the awkwardness. "I'm not going to hurt her. I have sisters too."
The tension bleeds out of the line. "Good. We'll talk after."
He hangs up.
I set the phone down and stare at the ceiling of my office, letting the satisfaction roll through me like expensive vodka.
Respect.
Yes. I'll respect her.
I'll respect the curve of her neck when she tilts her head to look up at me. I'll respect the fire in those dark eyes when she challenges me, thinking she can win. I'll respect every sharp word that falls from her lips, every defiant tilt of her chin.
I'll respect her right into my bed.
The kind of respect I have in mind isn't the kind most people think of. It's not polite distance or careful courtesy. It's the respect a wolf shows to its mate—absolute, consuming, total.
I pull up Celestine's private number and make the reservation. The hostess doesn't ask questions when I request their most secluded table, the one in the corner where the city lights stretch out like scattered diamonds and the staff knows to disappear unless summoned.
Then I call Igor.
"Da?"
"Tonight. Celestine. Nine o'clock." I loosen my tie, already calculating what I'll wear. Dark suit. The one that fits like armor. "I want eyes on Rogers. Make sure hisfamily emergencykeeps him occupied for the foreseeable future."
"The fiancée situation is... escalating." Igor sounds amused. "She threw his golf clubs into the pool."
"Good. Keep it escalating."
I hang up and toss the phone onto the desk.
All I think about isher.
Vittoria.
The way she looked that night at Nexus. That black dress painted onto curves that made my hands itch. Dark hair spilling over bare shoulders. Those eyes—God, those fucking eyes—cutting through me like she could see every filthy thought in my head.
She probably could.
My cock stirs at the memory. The taste of her mouth. The soft gasp she made when I kissed her, like she hadn't expected to want it that badly. Like she hated herself for melting against me.
I shift in my chair, suddenly uncomfortable. The leather creaks.
