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When he said that, my eyes widened when I saw Rocco sitting at our table, talking to a waitress. Something in my chest flipped when I met Luca’s eyes. The darker skin. The dark eyes. He was a spitting image of his father, only twenty-some years younger.
Why didn’t I see it before? Why didn’t I realize it?
“We talked a little, yeah,” Luca was busy saying, while the whole room spun for me.
Zander must’ve known something was wrong, but he’d taken up a spot along the wall twenty feet away. His brown brows had furrowed, which meant I had to be better at hiding my emotions, at least tonight.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
I didn’t know what to do or what to say, but thankfully the men had it taken care of. My father helped me sit down, letting me go so he could pull out a chair for me… right across from Rocco Moretti, who was done talking to the waitress. His black eyes were on me, and it was like I was thrown back in time.
Three years. Three years had passed, and yet it felt like it had happened yesterday. All those days, all those nights… what I’d nearly done because of that one particular night. The only reason I was still here was because of a man who’d met his unceremonious end at the hands of some gangsters.
“Giselle, do you remember Rocco? I believe you two have met,” my father was busy saying, acting as if he wasn’t sure if I’d remember Rocco. The fucking asshole. He sat down beside me, either unaware or pointedly ignoring my glare.
Across the table, Rocco and Luca sat, Luca staring at me like he had no idea I’d met his father before. Rocco, on the other hand, smiled the sleaziest smile I think I’d ever seen, nodding eagerly as he said, “Yes, Miguel, I do think we’ve met once or twice a few years back. You were much younger then, Giselle. You’ve grown into a beautiful woman.” He raised his wine glass in a sick, twisted toast.
“I didn’t know you two met,” Luca said.
“I do some business with Miguel,” Rocco told him, “so I know him a lot better than most of the other people in here. The Santos family are from good stock.” What a strange thing to say, and yet it sounded absolutely normal coming out of Rocco’s mouth.
My hands were on my lap. The waiters and waitresses had started to bring out dishes to each table with the food. I didn’t pay much attention to those dishes, my eyes glued to the knife sitting before me. It wasn’t sharp, just a butter knife. I’d have to get a damn good angle with a lot of force behind it to make that knife do some damage.
I wanted to. How badly I wanted to take that knife, crawl over the table and lunge at Rocco, gouge out his eyes and cut off his fingers so he’d never be able to touch anything or anyone ever again.
This night had turned into a shitfest. I should’ve expected it.
