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“I don’t give a fuck if she carved your heart out with fucking witnesses. You do not touch my fucking wife,” he bellows, neck corded in a rage so potent, I take a step back.
“Armando.” She turns to my father.
“You were told to leave.” Enzo leans lazily against the bar, eyes watching on in bored indifference.
Trixie waits only a beat longer, grabbing her bag from the ground with a mumbled curse and storming toward the exit.
“If I ever hear you’re running your mouth,” Enzo calls after her. “I’ll let Leo here loose with his knife, am I understood?”
“Crystal,” she bites, pushing from the room with the click of her heels echoing in the entryway before they disappear completely.
I stand among the scariest men I know. Men who would kill a man and shoot them again for the inconvenience of splattering blood on their tailored suits. I duck my head, suddenly unsure of my actions. Vincent is carving out a new side to me, one I don’t necessarily hate, but I fear it will find me more trouble than pleasure.
Leather loafers slide into my view of the carpet. My eyes remain downcast.
“You are lucky I hold such respect for your husband,” Enzo burrs. “You are pushing me too far, Bianca. You have disrespected my authority twice now. I would kill another for the same indiscretions without pausing to breathe. Next time, my gun chamber will have one less bullet. Am I understood?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“Vincent—” Enzo says, but Vincent cuts him off.
“It’ll be dealt with.”
Enzo watches me for a beat before turning away. He lifts his chin in the direction of the office, Leo and my father following his exit.
Vincent waits until they’re out of sight before turning to me. His chest heaves with angered breaths.
“Come here,” he speaks over my shoulder, and I move to step forward, but he places a hand up at me, stopping me.
Andre ambles past me, and I suck in a sharp breath.
“Don’t,” Vincent warns, eyes slicing to me in warning.
I cross my arms around my waist, adding enough pressure to stop my insides from attempting to exit my stomach cavity.
“I want to kill you for bringing her here,” Vincent ponders, the lethal touch of his voice making my jaw shake. “But, if it weren’t you, she would’ve defied me further by climbing into a fucking Uber. Next time, you call me. Am I understood?”
I hadn’t considered the ramifications for Andre, and guilt twists in my stomach.
“Yes, sir,” Andre answers.
“My wife is hurt because of something you had a hand in.”
Andre nods, and within a blink, Vincent’s fist meets Andre’s nose with a deafening crunch.
I gasp in horror.
“Next time, I will kill you. Now leave.”
Andre walks from the club, winking at me in assurance as he passes me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, watching him leave.
Alone with Vincent, I refuse to look at him.
“Hiding behind your hair again.”
I lift my head.
