“Because he’s terrified,” Sergio hissed.
“Smart man,” I said. My smile turned razor sharp. “You think sitting beside my cousins protects you?”
Ventura paled. Good. But Santino leaned forward slowly, elbows braced on his knees now. “Here’s the problem, cousin. We don’t care about the wedding.”
“Not even slightly,” Angelo agreed. “We care about what happens after.”
Rain exploded harder against the roof overhead. Warehouse lights flickered once. I stayed perfectly still.
“And what exactly do you think happens after?” I asked.
Santino smiled coldly. “You get your heir. You unlock the estate. You become untouchable.”
“And now,” Angelo continued, “the rest of us get scraps.”
There it was. Finally. Not outrage. Not family concern. Power. Always fucking power.
“You already have more money than you could spend in three lifetimes,” I said flatly.
“Money isn’t the point,” Santino snapped.
Of course not. The twins rose together then, mirror images in black suits and polished shoes, handsome enough to distract weaker men from what they really were.
Predators. Just better dressed ones.
“You spent years building an empire around us,” Angelo said quietly.
“And now,” Santino finished, “you need something.”
My pulse slowed. Dangerously slow.
“What do you want?” I demanded.
The twins smiled at the exact same time. Cold. Calculated.
“A seat at the table,” Santino said.
“Real power,” Angelo clarified. “Control over the docks. Distribution routes. Access to operations.”
I laughed. The sound echoed ugly through the warehouse. “You think blackmail gets you that?”
“We think desperation might,” Santino smiled.
“And if not…” Then Angelo delivered the real threat. He tilted his head slightly. “Maybe Chiara Ventura disappears before the wedding.”
Silence. Absolute silence. Even the rain seemed distant. Next to me, Sergio pulled his weapon from beneath his jacket with a sharp metallic click.
Black handgun leveled straight at the twins.
“Just say the word, boss,” he said coldly. The warehouse went still. Ventura nearly dropped his whiskey glass. My cousins stopped smiling.
And I… I saw red. Pure fucking red. I crossed the warehouse before anyone could react.
Ventura barely managed a squeal before I grabbed him by the throat and slammed his fat body backward into a stack of shipping crates hard enough to shake the entire warehouse. Wood cracked violently. His whiskey shattered across the floor.
“You fucking dare,” I snarled. My hand tightened around the greasy folds of his neck while he choked and clawed at my wrist with ring-covered fingers. The smell of fear hit. Sour. Weak.
“You think,” I hissed, squeezing harder, “that you get to use my woman against me?”
