“What are you doing here?”
I step in, careful. “I’m certain the Gallos are trying to secure an alliance with the Kuznetsov Bratva.”
His fingers pause on the desk.
Then his gaze sharpens. “How do you know this?”
I hesitate. I’m not about to tell him I heard it at the mansion during a sex party. That’s just going to earn me another slap and Alessandro isn’t here to save me.
“I heard it,” I say.
His brows lift slightly. “You heard.”
He looks at me like I’m a stupid child.
“Yes.”
A quiet beat stretches between us.
I force myself to hold his gaze. “Papa, I heard it from a trusted source. You have to break this engagement before it goes any further.”
That earns me a bitter laugh. “And you think I will believe this to be true and that you’re not simply trying to ruin themarriage? You have no proof,” he says calmly.
“I don’t need proof to know what I heard?—”
“Explain to me why you think you’re qualified to speak on political alliances you don’t understand, especially after humiliating me like this earlier?”
“I understand enough,” I say quickly. “Enough to know this marriage puts us at risk.”
That makes him exhale through his nose. “I suggest you stop behaving like this,” he says. “Running around, embarrassing yourself, mixing in places you don’t belong, like a slut. You have brough enough shame to this house.”
My breath catches. My nails press into my palms. I feel my face go hot.
“I am not a slut,” I say quietly. Then I lift my chin slightly. “And you will never call me that again.”
“Get out,” he says simply.
As I turn to leave, I realize he didn’t choose violence. He’s as afraid of Alessandro as the rest of us.
Good.
The next morning, I feel different when I wake up. It remains so until the formal lunch hour draws near. I sit at my vanity, staring at my reflection while I lightly brush powder across my face. My movements are slow, automatic, tired.
Inside my head, nothing is controlled.
Rosalia arrived an hour ago.
I saw her through the hallway window before she even came inside. She looked older, and not in a good way. She’s stressed. Tighter around the eyes.
Her husband, Luciano DeLorenzo, was beside her like a shadow that just learned how to wear a suit. He is too old for her. They don’t fit at all. Luciano is a cruel, abusive man who treats Rosalia like a trophy to show off instead of a human being. To him, she is just a pretty object he owns.
Rosalia was smiling like everything was fine. But I saw her fingers twitch when Luciano touched her elbow. It was a small flinch, like she wanted to pull away from his hand but was too afraid to do it.
I hate it.
I hate Luciano for how he treats her, and I hate that she has to pretend to be happy.
A stupid thought crosses my mind before I can stop it.
