Page 14 of Lovely Venom

I lean in and unbuckle her heels, ignoring the way she stiffens as I set them aside. When I open the center compartment and prop her ankle up with a travel pillow, her gaze warms the side of my face.

“You don’t need to do all this.”

Her words lack the usual bite she saves for me, but her anxiety bleeds through.

“You know it won’t kill you.” I drape a blanket over her bare legs and meet her gaze.

“What?”

“Accepting help.”

A heavy silence pulses between us before she diffuses it with her usual humor.

“Don’t tell me you’re secretly a nice man, Cristian Vitale.”

“I can’t say anyone’s ever accused me of that.”

She smiles before she catches herself, remembering that I’m supposed to be the enemy.

“It’s just an old dancing injury that flares up every once in a while,” she says. “It’ll be fine in a few days.”

A trace of uncertainty slips through her voice, indicating she doesn’t really believe that. Dancing is her livelihood, but I know my sister Mariella has treated her ankle several times already. At some point, she’ll have to find another way to support herself, and if Marco had an ounce of decency left in him, he would have taken care of that already.

His disregard for her only compounds my growing agitation with him. We’ve been friends for half our lives, but that thread has begun to fray the older we get. He’s thirty-one, and he still acts like his frontal lobe never fully developed.

Lately, he’s been spending time with a different crowd, partying more, making reckless decisions, and eroding the trust his family name once carried. I’m long past the point in my life where I’m willing to suffer fools, and I don’t make a habit of associating with men who have no loyalty or honor. Marco is proving himself to be short on both.

At this stage of my life, my focus is on work, family, and securing the Vitale line with a wife and heirs of my own. Meanwhile, Marco still drunk-texts me evidence of increasingly questionable decisions. Photos of him in clubs, casinos, and hotel suites—binge drinking and pissing away his inheritance like there’s an endless supply of it. It’s clear we’re moving in two different directions, and that tension is palpable every time I see him now.

Chantel appears to have reached her threshold too, if tonight is any indication. All his friends saw the way he paraded Isobel around while she sat alone. He doesn’t respect her, and Marco’s too dense to realize she’s not the sort of woman to tolerate that treatment.

Cool air spills into the cabin as I open the fridge compartment and grab her a water.

“Do I even want to know what you do back here?” She raises a brow as I hand it over. “This car seems to have everything.”

“I do a lot of driving,” I answer vaguely.

In my line of business, not everything happens in the boardroom. Sometimes, meetings take place right here, and not the kind she’s imagining. That’s why the exterior is armored, and the cabin is soundproof. I also know from experience that when one of my brothers is injured, it’s much easier to transport them with reclining seats.

“I’ll go get your bag,” I tell her.

“Okay.” She fidgets with the edge of the blanket. “It’s the green one Abella got me last Christmas. I don’t know if you remember⁠—”

“I remember.”

“It’s at the end of the hall in the guest room,” she adds, her discomfort palpable.

I nod, already aware she doesn’t sleep in the same bed with Marco. He’s told me more about their arrangement than I ever wanted to know, and by told, I mean complained.

As I approach the front of the house, the doorman straightens, barely meeting my gaze. He reaches for the door, but I block him from opening it.

“Daniel, has anyone ever told you what a privilege it is to have functioning eyes?”

“Uh, no, sir.” He shifts, a bead of sweat trickling down his neck.

I dip my head toward the car where Chantel’s sitting, aware he’s been watching us since I approached her. “You ever look at her like that again, I’ll carve yours out of your skull.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Vitale.” He stammers over the words. “It won’t happen again. I’ll never say another word to her.”