A beat.
“And hating Elena isn’t either.”
Renzo scoffed under his breath.
“We all know how much effort you put into that wedding,”
Ciro went on, his voice calm but cutting.
“How badly you wanted your late girlfriend’s little sister to marry Vincenzo. To tie the families tighter.”
My fingers tightened slightly against the armrest.
“But it didn’t happen that way.”
His gaze flicked briefly toward me.
Then back to Renzo.
“And it isn’t Elena’s fault that Vincenzo changed his mind at the last second and chose her instead.”
“It’s Elena’s fault.” The words cut sharp, like teeth.
“Vincenzo hates her because she’s not... a proper woman.”
“I hate her too. Yet you... you seem to have a different interest.”
His gaze sharpened.
“I’ve noticed the way you watch her around the house—how your eyes linger a moment too long, how you follow her movements, how you catch her when she doesn’t realize, the way you notice the tilt of her head, the curve of her smile... Are you... nurturing feelings for the boss’s wife, Ciro?”
My breath hitched slightly.
“Careful with that accusation, Renzo. Just because I’m not bitter toward her doesn’t mean I... I—”
“Just stop!” Ciro snapped.
“Then stop defending her,” Renzo said, voice low, sharp. “Elena knew exactly the leverage she held the moment she stepped into that room. Don’t buy her lies about it being a coincidence. Storming into that cathedral’s dressing room? That wasn’t chance. She planned it.”
Ciro glanced at me then.
“Elena,” he said quietly, “you’ve made a powerful enemy in this house.”
A pause.
“And yet... I hope, somehow, he learns to tolerate you one day.”
I barely flinched.
Like I cared whether he tolerated me or not.
Renzo’s hatred didn’t intimidate me in the slightest.
I was Vincenzo’s wife—and by extension, his right hand in this house.
There wasn’t a single thing he could do that would shake me or make me show fear.
I shifted the conversation.
