Page 113 of Brutal Heir

Clerical robes or not, this man was no saint.

My cheeks flushed. I sipped again. Then again. Not smart—I’d barely eaten.

Sebastian reached across and took the glass from my hand.

"Arcangelo, you know my rule. No business talk at the table."

"I wasn’t aware we were talking business."

My stomach churned. The air was charged, like a Roman Forum debate where one misstep meant ruin.

I pushed back from the table.

Both men stood.

"I’m not that hungry, after all. Long week. Fashion show. I think I’ll turn in early."

Arcangelo opened his mouth⁠—

Sebastian tipped the wine bottle.

It spilled down his brother’s cassock.

Servants swarmed.

I slipped out in the chaos.

* * *

I collapsed onto the bed, staring at the fire.

What the hell was that?

I’d never endured a more awkward dinner.

I flopped backward.

Italy.

Rome.

Oh crap—I’d forgotten to ask for my phone. Probably for the best. All I’d be missing were my mother’s increasingly nasty voicemails.

I still hadn’t decided if I’d tell her what was happening.

Should I try to find my father?

All I had was a name: Judge Delluci.

My mother had painted him as a monster.

But what if that was just her bitterness talking?

A ruined affair. An unwanted pregnancy. Exile.

Still…did I really want to see the man who'd never wanted to see me?

Probably not.