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I lied.
I was planning on numbing my revolt alone with a stupid amount of booze or pass out trying.
“Are you sure there’s nothing we can say to change your mind?”
“I’m sure. Go. Have fun.”
“Enrico will stay with you then,” Rafe said, a more serious demeanor settling on his face.
“I don’t need a babysitter. I have Ella strapped to my hip and Stella tucked in my boot,” I replied, referring to my holstered Beretta and sharp army knife. I was no damsel in distress.
“You could have a fucking cannon under that fancy leather jacket for all I care, Principessa. Enrico stays, or you come with us. Your choice.” Antonio’s voice had lost all the playful lightness it held before. I knew better than to argue with him about this.
Our cousin’s death still haunted him with demons made of guilt and thirst for revenge. It was a wound too fresh to be poking for no good reason.
My brothers could be annoying pricks, but they were also my guide and compass, my strength and wisdom. Protective assholes I loved to the moon and back.
“Okay, fine.” I quickly conceded. “Just don’t bug me anymore and leave already.”
All three took turns placing a sweet kiss on top of my raven head. Michael ruffling my hair like he has done since I was a barely-walking toddler. Antonio giving me a reassuring nod. Rafe not leaving without a fun wink and a wide smile.
Big, dangerous, grown men acting like carefree teenagers for a weekend. This sibling quality time was something we all looked forward to all year round, and I didn’t want to ruin it for them with sour news of my forced upcoming engagement.
To whom? I have no idea. Some enforcer from another Famiglia. I get to meet him soon, though. Yay.
I sighed at that thought, staring emptily into my newly refilled glass of whiskey. I could not, for all that I held dear in this life, see this glass as half full.
There was no positive takeaway besides fulfilling my duty toward the family. Shutting my brain off and being a good little compliant girl.
I’d been one of those before. It hadn’t worked out so well for me in the end - a broken heart, a shattered soul, and a severed spirit had been the sole parting gift from trying to be someone I wasn’t.
That memory was dark enough for me to pour the whole glass down my throat, trying to drown that image with a shitty choice of poison.
I hate whiskey!
“Another?” A gravelly, calm voice rumbled right beside me. Without averting my gaze from the tumbler in my hand, I could feel his broad frame in his deep tone alone.
I took a sharp inhale, breathing in the scent of pure sin emanating from the man sitting on the barstool beside me. He took up enough space that his thigh was an inch away from grazing mine.
“Waiter. Two Macallans. The best you’ve got.” He called out, not waiting for my reply. “Maybe you’ll like this one better.”
He’s presumptuous, too.
I finally gave in to curiosity and looked over towards him, being met with a steely gaze of thunder-gray eyes.
Not blue.
Not green.
Gray. It was like a massive storm was raging behind them, bringing nothing but destruction and a true promise of trouble.
“I can order my own drinks, thank you very much,” I said, my gaze still deeply settled on his.
“Yet your nose is still scrunched in disgust after the last. I’m Matt,” he said, extending his hand, waiting for me to take it. “And you are?”
“Not impressed.” That was an obvious lie. I was impressed. All of him was impressive, and he had hardly even spoken. From his height, to his build, to the perfectly tailored black suit that hugged all of it in place. The thick, trimmed beard and confidence that held him unaffected after my not-so-warm reply. But most of all, those eyes that still kept mine from a blink.
He flashed me a perfect smile once my words had hit his ears, amused by the wit in my tone.
