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His friends laughed. Boys. Cowardly.

I turned to face him, dangerously calm.

“Go away, Luca.”

He grinned, and I could tell he was delighted that I knew his name. That probably gave his ego a damn good stroke.

“Or what?”

I studied him. He had a pretty enough face. He wore an expensive watch, though I’m sure he couldn’t tell the time anymore than he could take a hint.

“I’ll embarrass you.”

That made his friends laugh harder. Luca shook his head.

“And how would you do that?”

“Why don’t you take your short dick out and I’ll show you.”

It was my turn to smirk as I watched the smile fall from his face. Unfortunately, he bounced back pretty quickly and started talking again.

“Your father’s finished, Ayla. The Ventresca bloodline is thinning.”

“I’m asking you nicely—one last time—to leave me alone.”

“I can’t wait until he expires and you come crawling on your hands and knees to my family for help.”

Now, that was the wrong thing to say. Very, very wrong thing.

I set my whiskey down.

“Say that again.”

Luca leaned closer, his breath hot with liquor.

“Your family’s becoming irrelevant.”

It was the disrespect that got me. Toward my blood. Toward the name stitched into my skin whether I liked it or not.

I smiled sweetly.

Luca grinned more and let his guard down.

My fingers wrapped around the whiskey bottle sitting on the counter. It was heavy and cold in my hand.

Luca saw it coming toward him too late. I smashed it across his face.

Glass exploded. The crack of it cut through the music.

Bodies stopped moving.

Luca staggered backward with blood pouring from his forehead.

There was shock in his eyes, this pain a new language to him.

He touched his face, as though to confirm it was still there.

I stepped forward and looked at the blood.