"Get me everything on Rogers's movements today. Who he's talked to, where he's been. And find out what happened with Bruno."
"Already on it." Yuri hesitates.
I end the call and stand, moving to the window.
Behind me, I hear Aleksander's footsteps in the hallway. He stops at the study door.
"Papa's awake. He's asking for you."
My hand throbs. Blood seeps through the handkerchief.
"I'll be there in a minute."
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Vittoria
Bellini's the kind of restaurant where the waiters judge your shoes before they judge your reservation. Lorenzo's pride and joy.
And apparently, I need two armed escorts to eat pasta here even though my brother owns the place.
Dante walks on my left, Elio on my right. We move through the entrance like a formation, and I catch the hostess's eyes widen before she schools her expression into professional neutrality.
"Table's in the back corner," Dante says, his voice low enough that only I can hear. "Clear sightlines to both exits. Lorenzo had it set up this morning."
Of course he did. Because nothing sayscasual dinnerlike tactical positioning.
I pause before we reach the main dining room, turning to face Dante. He's wearing his usual all-black ensemble. Armani that fits like armor, concealing God knows how many weapons. His dark eyes scan the room even as he listens to me.
"If I need you, I'll wave." I keep my voice steady. "Otherwise, stay back. This isn't a situation that requires intervention."
Dante's jaw tightens. "Vittoria?—"
"I'm not afraid of James Rogers." I smooth down the front of my black dress. Simple. Nothing that saystrying too hard. "He's an annoyance, not a threat."
"Your brother would disagree."
"My brother thinks everyone is a threat." I meet Dante's gaze directly. "I can handle a man whose biggest accomplishment is inheriting daddy's car dealerships."
Dante's expression is unreadable. Hard to tell with him. The man has approximately three facial settings: blank, slightly less blank, andsomeone's about to die.
"Wave if you need me," he repeats, and it's not a question.
I nod once, then turn toward the dining room.
James Rogers is already seated at the corner table, exactly where Lorenzo positioned him. He spots me the moment I clear the entrance, and his face splits into that practiced smile that probably works on sorority girls and Instagram models.
He stands as I approach, arms opening like he expects a hug.
Absolutely not.
"Vittoria." His voice drips with false warmth. "You look stunning. As always."
I stop just outside his reach, extending my hand instead. He takes it, holding on a beat too long, his thumb brushing across my knuckles in a way that makes my skin crawl.
"James." I extract my hand and slide into the chair opposite him. "Thank you for rearranging your schedule."
"Of course." He settles back into his seat, adjusting his cufflinks. Rolex on his wrist. Tom Ford suit. Everything about him screamslook how successful I amin a way that actual successful people never do. "I've been looking forward to this."
