He gestures wildly, encompassing the manila envelope and the entire situation I’ve dragged back to the safety of his house.
"A strange woman on your arm and a war with Nicolo Guidicelli! Do you think this is a game, Damiano?"
"Welcome back, father. I missed you, too.” I say with a taunting smile, I know he hates so much.
“Do not start with me!” he answers, his nostrils flaring in anger.
“This has nothing to do with Katarina. And I didn’t start a war. Nicolo did."
"You kidnapped a woman he was after? That looks to me like YOU started it!" My father thunders, slamming his fist on the desk, rattling my espresso cup.
"I didn’t kidnap her! Why does everybody say that?! I saved her from that rat."
"He is a rat, yes, but he isourrat! Stop upsetting the balance! You think you can march back here and stir the pot?"
"This mess was made by a man who decided to touch something that belongs to me," I counter, pushing out of my chair. The height difference between us is negligible now, like two lions staring each other down.
My father’s laugh bellows across the room, harsh and mocking. "Yours? Are you saying that woman is of importance to you, Damiano?"
"She is. And she will be under my protection whether Nicolo wants it or not."
My father lowers his voice into a dangerous hiss. "You left because you didn’t want this life, and now you drag trouble back to our doorstep? Who is this woman that got you wrapped around her finger anyway?!"
Lorenzo steps forward quickly, sliding a large, glossy photo of Katarina off the corner of the desk and holding it out to our father, a desperate attempt at a distraction.
"This is Katarina," Lorenzo mutters.
My father fishes his eyeglasses out of his jacket pocket and puts them on to see the photo. His tirade grinds to a jarring halt. He takes the photograph almost involuntarily, holding the imageunder the harsh office light. The furious scowl on his face slowly dissolves into a deep, complicated silence.
"She looks... familiar," he mutters, his voice raspy, trailing off as his focus narrows on Katarina's face.
"She’s a celebrity, Father," I interject, irritated. "She’s famous. Of course, she looks familiar."
He ignores me, running a thumb over the glossy paper. A deep frown settles on his brow.
"No. Not from the news." He hands the photo back to Lorenzo, his mood shifting from volcanic rage to a calculating coldness that is far more unsettling. He does not say another word about Katarina, but the flicker of curiosity remains.
"I am just protecting what’s mine, Father, just like how you raised me," I add, the words low and steady. "And I will deal with Nicolo. We have proof her brother wasn’t so clean." I point to the photos scattered across the mahogany.
Don Cotrini does not even glance down. His eyes are still fixed on me, calculating.
"Yours? You think she's yours to keep? Unless you marry that woman, she’s not your property. So deal with it like a grown-up, not by running around like a street thug with a girl on your mind!"
Lorenzo steps forward, a calming hand on our father’s arm.
“Nicolo has not made any move yet. We’ll come up with a plan.”
"The plan is to keep this family in power and not fall because of the foolish choices of a boy who always thought he was smarter than his elders." He looks back at me, his face softening into a mask of bitter disappointment.
"Fix this, Damiano. And then, we will discuss your future, because it seems your two years of freedom have taught you nothing."
With that, he turns, his departure as dramatic and heavy as his entrance, leaving the tension thick and humming in the air between us.
Chapter 22
Katarina
I have to squint to see around me, as the morning sun spills across the limestone terrace in a blinding wash of gold, which mocks the dark shadows under my eyes. I barely slept last night as Julian’s warning kept echoing in my mind.
