He extends his hand toward me, his expression expectant. I stare at the offered hand, noting the heavy gold ring that adorns his finger. The same ring has left countless marks on my skin while I was growing up.
I don’t take his hand. His smile doesn’t falter, but when he removes his sunglasses, I note the coldness flickering in his eyes before he shifts, turning his attention and extended hand toward Alina instead.
“You must be Alina. I’ve heard so much about you, my dear. Andrea Russo, Raffaele’s dad. It’s a pleasure to finally—”
I move before he can finish, my hand shooting out to slap his away from my wife. The sound is sharp. “Don’t touch her,” I growl, my voice dropping to a register that my men know means imminent violence. “Don’t even think about it.”
Andrea raises both hands in mock surrender, but the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth tells me he got exactly the reaction he wanted. “Such protectiveness. Admirable in a husband.”
I can feel Alina’s confusion radiating from behind me, her hand now gripping the back of my shirt. She has no context for this, no understanding of the monster standing before us.
“What do you want?” I demand again.
“To celebrate, of course.” Andrea gestures broadly, taking in the island with a sweep of his arm. “I thought I might take you both out to eat. There’s an excellent underwater restaurant only a couple of hours from here. My gift for the birthday couple.”
I feel the muscles in my jaw working as I consider my options. Sending him away would feel good in the moment, but then I’d spend the rest of our honeymoon wondering when and where he might reappear.
No, keeping him close, under my observation, is the smarter play. Even though every instinct screams at me to get Alina as far from him as possible.
“We’re not leaving the island,” I state flatly.
Andrea’s expression doesn’t change, but I know him well enough to catch the slight tightening around his eyes. He’s not accustomed to being refused.
“Such a shame,” he says smoothly. “Perhaps another time. I have gifts for you both on my boat. Shall I—”
“We don’t want your gifts,” I cut him off.
The tension stretches between us, thick enough to choke on. I’m about to tell him to get back on his boat and leave when Alina steps out from behind me, surprising us both.
“I could cook breakfast,” she offers, her voice steady despite the nervousness I can see in the way she twists her fingers together.
My first instinct is to shut this down immediately. I don’t want Andrea anywhere near our villa, near our private space, near her. But… fuck. There’s no refuting that staying in a controlled environment with Colin and Ian present is the better option.
“How absolutely lovely,” Andrea says before I can respond, his charm cranked to maximum as he smiles at Alina. “I’d be honored to taste the cooking of my new daughter-in-law.”
“Fine,” I growl, placing my hand possessively on the small of Alina’s back. “Breakfast at the villa. Then you leave.”
Andrea inclines his head in acknowledgment, but the victory on his smug face makes my skin crawl. He got exactly what he wanted.
“After you,” I say, gesturing for Andrea to walk ahead of us. I’m not turning my back on him for a second.
As we begin the walk up to the villa, Colin positions himself behind Andrea while Ian moves ahead to secure the house. I keep Alina close to my side, my arm around her waist more of a protective shield than an affectionate gesture.
“I’m sorry about this,” I murmur into her ear, trying to salvage something of the day I had planned for her.
“It’s okay,” she whispers back, though I can feel the tension in her body. “He’s your dad. Family is important.”
If only she knew. But her innocence, her belief in the fundamental goodness of family, is part of what I love about her. Part of what I’ll protect with my life.
The walk feels longer than usual, every step measured and tense. Andrea comments occasionally on the beauty of the island, on the improvements since his last visit, on the perfect weather.
I respond with grunts when absolutely necessary. My focus split between watching him for any threatening moves and scanning our surroundings for additional threats. Because Andrea Russo never travels alone.
Or… maybe he fucking did. I wouldn’t put it past him to be that arrogant. Yeah, the more I consider it, the more I do believe that’s the case. But still… I need to be ready just in case.
By the time we reach the villa’s terrace, my shoulders are rigid with tension, my jaw aching from being clenched so hard. Andrea pauses to admire the view, his back to us as he surveys the ocean spread out below.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs. “Beatrice always did have exceptional taste.”
