Page 6 of Lovely Venom

A prickling sensation crawls up my spine. It’s the same awareness that always precedes him. He sucks all the oxygen from the room, and I’m not the only one who notices. A momentary hush falls over the crowd as they eye him, clearing a path for Cristiano Vitale.

They all stand a little straighter in his presence, nodding at him politely as they swallow their uncertainty.

In the Cosa Nostra, he’s known as Il Corvo—The Raven. It’s a fitting title for his cold, mysterious personality, and I can understand why some might see him as the omen of death.

In many ways, he’s one of them. A member of their Society, and a cunning businessman in a perfectly tailored suit. But outside the public eye, he’s a titan of Seattle’s criminal underworld, and this is what separates him from the polite company here tonight.

Outwardly, he appears to have two default settings—aloof and indifferent, or perpetually annoyed by the existence of everyone around him. But that charming personality has no bearing on his social standing, because it’s an unfortunate fact that the man has a ridiculously handsome face.

It’s unfair, really, because a man that moody should not be that hot. Though I guess it probably doesn’t matter how prickly he is. I’m sure he only has to look at a woman to make her panties fall off.

It’s an uncomfortable reminder of our first real interaction, which took place an entire year after we met.

Being that Cristian is also one of my closest friends’ older brothers, our worlds orbited each other long before I met Marco. He was always more of an observer than a talker. But the first time he spoke directly to me in a voice that could bring a woman to her knees, it permanently rewired my brain.

Take it.

That was what he said when he held out his suit jacket at a dinner gathering where the weather had unexpectedly cooled. It wasn’t a question, and it wasn’t an offer. It was a command. It felt like a test, and when I obeyed him, the dark satisfaction that sparked in his eyes told me I passed.

Maybe he recognized that nature in me, but I knew from that moment on I hadn’t been wrong about my desires. It was a sequence we often repeated, and every time he bossed me around, my body had a visceral reaction.

It didn’t matter that his orders weren’t remotely sexual. I was certain he had to feel the insane chemistry between us, too. But after so much time passed, I realized I must have been delusional. Because apart from those occasions when he’d tell me what to do, we rarely spoke, and his cold personality remained.

Ironically, I didn’t know I would come to prefer his indifference. Because when I started dating Marco, his feelings toward me became abundantly clear.

He didn’t approve of me, and he took every opportunity to let me know it.

I felt like a fool for ever interpreting his directives as anything other than annoyance. And while I try to match his energy now, he still gets under my skin every time he tosses an insult or dark look my way. This animosity between us has taken on a life of its own, but it’s just how things are now.

As if he can sense my attention on him, he turns, and our gazes clash across the room.

His eyes slide over me in lazy appraisal, and on cue, my stomach does a weird little flip.

He has a way of making me feel like he’s peeling me open and rummaging through my private thoughts.

Fortunately, I’m saved when a man and woman approach and engage him in conversation.

I watch them for a while, observing the pretty brunette as she smiles at him. The man beside her is old enough to be her father, and he seems to be equally impressed by Cristian. In the Mafia world, there’s usually only one reason a man presents his daughter to another like this.

I’m sure there’s no shortage of women who would eagerly agree to a marriage contract with any of the single Vitale men. But unlike his brothers, Cristian seems to be immune to falling in love, by all accounts.

If the rumors are to be believed, he has no interest in anything beyond a physical relationship. But, like Marco, there’s still an expectation that he’ll settle down someday.

As I consider that this could inevitably be his contractually chosen bride, I find myself compiling a list of reasons she’s all wrong for him before I realize how insane that is.

I don’t even know her.

I take a sip of scotch to give my hands something to do and return my focus to the crowd in front of me. Then I waste time doom-scrolling on my phone until I realize it’s been close to an hour, and there’s no sign of Marco.

I’m not sure why I’m even still here. I wanted to give him the courtesy of a face-to-face discussion before I ended things, but now I’m just annoyed. He clearly doesn’t respect my time, and I could think of at least ten other things I’d rather be doing than sitting here waiting on a man.

In a twist of irony, a flood of notifications alerts me to a conversation in the group chat with the girls, offering me an escape on a silver platter.

Abella Vitale: Impromptu girls’ night on the island?! I’ve got snacks, and Nonna made gelato.

Mariella Vitale: Sold.

Valentina Moretti: I’m in!