Enrico's face darkens, but I continue before he can speak.
"Let me be perfectly clear about something." My voice drops to a dangerous whisper. "The fact that I'm marrying your sisterdoesn't grant you immunity. If anything, it puts you directly in my line of sight."
I see the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, the realization that he's overstepped.
"Your father has probably told you I’m weak. Perhaps he’s promised you my business when he erroneously thinks he’ll kill me. Thinking that will lead to your demise. I’m still more powerful than you and your father.” I straighten the lapel of his suit just to prove to him that I can touch him and there’s nothing he can do about it.
"When this marriage takes place, you'll learn your place, or I'll teach it to you."
He tries to maintain his defiance, but I see the nervous swallow.
"All I’m doing is protecting my sister. She's naive. She doesn't understand men like you."
"Men like me?" My patience thins. "You prove my point. She knows exactly about men like us. She patronizes us, you know. You especially."
"My sister?—"
"Will be my wife," I finish for him. "And whatever our arrangement may be, it's between us. Not you. Not your father. Us."
“Don’t disrespect my sister, Dante. You’ll pay if you do.”
I smile coldly. "Careful of any threat you make. It could be a fatal error."
I step back, straightening my own jacket. "Now, I believe we should rejoin the party before someone notices we're bothmissing. After all," I say with a thin smile, "we're celebrating a union, not starting a war."
I watch Enrico retreating, my fingers curling into fists. The impulse to grab him by his expensive lapels and drag him back surges through me. One sharp movement is all it would take. One lesson in respect that he'd never forget.
This punk, this entitled child thinks he can speak to me this way? In any other circumstance, his blood would already be cooling on the stone beneath our feet.
Enrico pauses at the door, glancing back with a smirk. "Remember what I said, Dante. My sister might be dazzled by you now, but she knows where her true loyalties lie."
The scoff that follows as he disappears inside sends a wave of pure rage through me. I take one step forward before forcing myself to stop.
Not here. Not now.
I breathe deeply, letting the cool breeze wash over my heated skin. The party continues inside, oblivious to the threat of violence.
Isabella's face flashes in my mind. Whatever is developing between us, it deserves more than being overshadowed by her brother's blood on my hands.
For now, I'll wait. Patience has always been my strength.
So has ultimate emotional control. So what the fuck is this pull Isabella has on me?
Three weeks ago, Isabella Vitale was nothing to me. Now I'm ready to spill blood over her brother's disrespect toward her.
This wasn't part of the plan.
The cool night air does nothing to temper the heat of my anger. I've built my reputation on being ruthless yet controlled. Calculating. Cold. Men fear me because they can't read me, can't manipulate me. I don't have weaknesses they can exploit.
Until now.
I run a hand across my face, disgusted with myself. Marco Vitale is smarter than I gave him credit for. Perhaps he knew his daughter would get under my skin, creating a vulnerability where none existed before. Every protective instinct, every moment of genuine pleasure in her company is ammunition for her family and others.
If they realize I'm starting to care for her, they'll use it against me. The Vitales will leverage her to undermine my authority, extract concessions, maybe even challenge my position.
I can't let that happen.
Whatever this is between Isabella and me, I need to control it before it controls me.
