The Italians shifted uncomfortably.
I hadn’t been paying attention, too consumed with the idea of a future where I brought the rare beauty into the shadows of my world. The nudge under the table from my father’s knee warned me that I wasn’t doing my job.
Opening my ears, I listened.
“If they start sending their daughters our way, we’ll show ‘em a grand time,” Johnny agreed, pushing his untouched salad away.
A maid scurried forward, plucked it, and darted back before he could strike.
I set my fork down. There were too many utensils at the place setting. It had seemed unnecessary when we first sat down, but now I took my time examining them.
“I volunteer as tribute,” James snorted, tipping his head toward the Deluca sisters.
Across the table, Gabriella laughed again. This time, the strain was laced with defiance.
James kept talking. He had no right to sit in the same room as that sound.
A cord deep in my chest snapped taut. That laughter belonged to me.
Even the mirth tinged with mockery wasn’t something my cousin should have. He’d dared to bully Gabriella in the hall. Shewasn’t his. What did it say about me to let him breathe the same air as her? My fingers curled around one of the pieces of silver. It was time to remedy that mistake.
“Don, if you’ll excuse me, I have a matter that needs attention,” I said quietly. My words cut through their conversation like the crack of a whip.
Morelli swiveled his gaze toward me, barely nodding and mumbling assent before I slid my seat back. Slowly. The chair legs scraped against the wood.
The conversations wavered.
The pause pulsed through the grand space.
Wary glances shot in my direction as I moved. I paid them no heed. My feet carried me in the direction of the door before I turned suddenly.
Three steps.
Then my fingers curled in the long, ashen locks of my kinsman. “Apologies for the mess, Missus Morelli,” I murmured to the hostess.
James’s eyes went wide.
A hand shot up to stop me.
Too late.
I slid the steak knife across James’s thick throat.
His flesh split like butter. Blood spewed across the tablecloth from the severed vein, while more of it poured down his front. As a chorus of shouts rang out, I shoved his head forward, slamming it into the table. It hid the smaller motion of plucking the slip of gold chain from the fleshy mess. The chain popped easily, and my fingers curled around it.
“Liam,” Da groaned.
“There will be no more disrespecting our new allies,” I warned, words low and cold. I switched to Gaeilge to add, “And if I hear your names near hers, I’ll erase them. She’s not for you. She’s mine.”
All mine.
I’d known it the moment she laughed.
Silence echoed through the dining room.
In its wake, I risked a look. I had no idea why my chest tightened at the idea of meeting her gaze. But I couldn’t fucking breathe as I did.
Those honey brown eyes were blown wide. The black of her pupils swallowed nearly all the warmth. Gabriella didn’t shake. She didn’t tremble. Shite. She was watching me. And suddenly, the room felt smaller. Intimacy shivered between us. Like we were the only two souls. Most people would have looked away. Gabriella didn’t.
