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Alberto considers replying, then thinks better of it. He bows and disappears back towards the red rectangle leading to the other section of the club.
I don’t have to wait long. I take this vodka slower, but I’m still not even halfway before Vittorio materializes in Alberto’s place.
Gone is the fake smile he had when I passed him by earlier. Now, he’s shivering with the cold and frowning grumpily.
He doesn’t play stupid by asking why I’m dropping in on him unexpectedly. “I heard we just missed each other this morning,” the man begins.
I grunt. “You didn’t say hello.”
“I did say hello… to your pretty P.A. Did you hire her for her credentials or her ass?” That crocodile smile of his twitches back to life. “Listen, I understand. You’re a man. We are only human. And faced with something as tempting as fresh pussy, it’s impossible to turn away.” He smacks my back and chuckles in a way that makes my skin crawl. “I say, have as much pussy as you want. But make sure your whores will never carry your heirs.”
“Wren’s baby is not mine.” The words taste so bitter coming out that I want to correct myself instantly. Refusing to take ownership of what is naturally mine feels wrong. Worse than wrong—it feels like a betrayal. “She’s a surrogate.”
“So I’ve heard. But perhaps that is simply what you want me to hear.”
I pivot to face him head-on. “What are you accusing me of, Vittorio?”
The smile melts off his face. Those barren eyes glow with simmering fury. “I will not have some whore’s whelp inherit my fucking empire!” he growls. “I will not tolerate?—”
I get to my feet slowly. And as I draw myself up to my full height, Vittorio’s words peter off.
I clamp my hand down on his shoulder. Hard. “We seem to be having a little misunderstanding here, Vittorio.” I increase pressure on his shoulder until he winces. It takes only twenty-five pounds of pressure to snap a man’s collarbone. I could do it without breaking a sweat.
I might.
“The fact is that I’m marrying your daughter. Beatrice Zanetti will soon be my wife. Our child—your grandchild—will be born in half a year. And the agreement we made will stand. Don’t let yourself be confused or distracted by an unimportant woman whose existence in our lives is nothing more than comfort to your daughter.” He tries to flinch out from under my grasp, but I just dig my hand in harder. “We have had a smooth relationship so far, Vittorio. For decades, we have made each other stronger. Let us not destroy it all by pretending as though you have a say in my affairs.”
“Interesting choice of words,” Vittorio snarls. “I’m starting to think I should never have agreed to marry my daughter off to you.”
A smile curls around my lips. “You didn’t agree to the marriage for her sake; you agreed to it for yours. Let’s not pretend to be the doting father now.”
I can feel, pulsing underneath my fingertips, the don’s latent fury, the primal male need to strike back, to growl and fight and demand respect.
But Zanetti is no fool—we are alone in here and I will not hesitate to cut him down if he speaks wrong.
“There’s still time,” he tries. “The Irish need an heir, too.”
It’s a bold move, naming the Irish in my presence. Were Bee a different type of woman, I might’ve even felt threatened.
“Ah,” I croon pleasantly. “We’ve entered the portion of the night where threats are exchanged, is that it?”
Vittorio can do nothing more than scowl at me, his eyes darting from side to side like Italian soldiers will pop out of the icy walls to keep him safe from me.
“Then let me return the favor: if you ever call any woman under my protection a whore again, you will force me to be uncivilized. And trust me, Vittorio, your body can’t take uncivilized. Your mind won’t withstand uncivilized.”
A flush races up his face, leaving his cheeks blotchy. Putting all my weight on him, I lean in, just so that he can see the promise in my eyes. “This alliance works because I say it does. Remember that. Your life depends on it.”
The moment I release him, he stumbles backwards out of arm’s reach. Alberto is hovering in the corner, not that that scrawny fuck would ever dare to get involved in an altercation. This is new for him, too—he’s not used to seeing me cross these lines, flex these muscles.
But I’m not about to play nice anymore.
Not when Wren’s safety hangs in the balance.
“How quickly the young forget,” Vittorio hisses from his safe distance. “I was the one who put you on the throne.”
I laugh coldly. “You? You supported me once I already had the throne. That’s a coward’s move.”
“How dare you? I’ve dismantled organizations many times greater than yours. I’d be careful about crossing me.”
