Page 11

Papa sits at the table’s head, his posture rigid, all traces of his sickness gone. He’s a general waging war, his navy suit crisp, grey eyes sharp. Two days ago, he'd obviously been wallowing.
What is going on?
My gaze slides to the man at the table’s far end, and my breath catches. I only see his side profile. He’s gorgeous, all hard lines and raw power, lounging in his chair like he owns the place. Black hair falls over his forehead, framing a face carved from stone—sharp jaw, full lips. His black shirt unbuttoned at the collar, revealing ink curling up his neck.
He’s not one of Papa’s men, I'm sure. I’ve memorized every associate since I came back from Yale three years ago, and this guy’s different. He radiates authority, charisma dripping from him like blood from a blade. None of Papa's associates measure up to him.
As if keying into my inner monologue, he does a full turn to glance at me. I stop dead in my tracks, my heart slamming against my ribs. My pulse quickens and my mouth drops open. Those eyes—black, piercing, unyielding. I know them.
Fuck. I know them.
Four years ago. That bar. A night of rain and reckless heat. His lips on mine, his hands tearing my clothes, his cock fucking meuntil I screamed.Fuck my brains out,I'd said, and he had. Twice after that first time. Until I woke up in the morning to see he'd disappeared.
My skin burns, memories flooding—his wholesome possession, my moans, the way I'd acted so wantonly with him.
God.
How bad can it get? The stranger who fucked me senseless is here now, right in front of me, in my father’s house. His gaze holds mine, and I see the flicker of recognition in those dark as sin eyes. His mouth is set in a grim line, as though he’s remembering too, and the memory is unpleasant for him. He looks away, eyes snapping back to Papa, like I’m nothing.
My stomach lurches, heat and rage twisting together, and I lock it down, forcing my face blank. In an instant, I regain my composure as if I didn't just lose it. I keep my chin high, striding to the table. “Papa,” I say, voice steady, “you called for me?”
He nods, a faint smile softening his face. “Yes, Fina. Come, sit. I want you to meet someone.” He gestures to the stranger. “This is Enzo Mancini.”
The name hits like a gunshot, its bullet hitting me square in the chest.Mancini.That name. That goddamn name. The man who’d destroy my family. My sworn enemy, the man who would tear my family apart if given the chance. And the man who'd fucked me mercilessly, left me trembling, then vanished.
My chest tightens, but I don’t flinch, don’t blink. I can’t let him see the turmoil of me envisioning his hands on my skin, my body arching under him. The shame of wanting him suffuses my skin. I sit, spine straight, nails biting my palms, staring at him. His eyes meet mine, cold, assessing, but I catch that glint, the memory of that night. It fuels my rage.
I clench my fists under the table, nails biting my palms, as I stare at him. His eyes meet mine now. His gaze is piercing, like he's sizing me up. Rage bubbles in my chest. I want to scream, to claw that smug look off his face. Instead I sit, spine straight, contorting my face into a mask of indifference. My expression is an epitome of calm. He can't capitalize on my reaction if there isn't one. Papa, too.
Papa turns to Enzo. “Enzo, my daughter, Serafina.” I barely hear it, my ears ringing. Enzo’s here, in our villa, and I’m drowning in hate, in the ghost of his touch. Papa speaks again, his voice calm but heavy. “Fina, I’ve offered you to Enzo as his bride. A peace offering to end this feud.”
The words crash over me, a tidal wave, knocking the breath from my lungs. My vision narrows, the rage I'd tried hard to subdue exploding, mixed with the sick heat of that night—his cock inside me, my screams, the way I shamelessly gave myself to him.
What the fuck? He’s giving me away? To Mancini?
I whirl on Papa, my voice carrying well aimed venom “Youwhat?” I stand, chair scraping loudly. “You’re giving me away? What the hell does that mean, Papa? Am I a commodity to begiven away, sold to the highest bidder?” I can't see through the fury clouding my sight. It clogs my nostrils, making it hard to breathe.
My whole life, I’ve obeyed him. Yale had been his idea, not mine. I wanted to stay to learn the family trade, but he'd insisted and off I went. And now this?
“You had no right,” I hiss, hands trembling as I struggle to rein it in. “You made this deal without me?”
Papa’s eyes harden, unyielding. “It’s done, Fina. I have the authority. You don’t refuse.”
I laugh, bitter, my throat tight. “Watch me,” I snap. “I’m not marrying him. You can't make me.”
He leans forward, his voice taking on a coldness he uses on his rivals. “Dare me, and see.”
The threat is clear. It's done. It's sealed. He expects compliance. Only this time, I won't be giving in to what he wants. What I want matters too. And what I want doesn't include marrying a Mancini scum.
I watch Papa as he stands, slow, leaning on his cane, my body dissociating from my soul. I will on the calm my therapist tells me comes with dissociating, but it doesn't come. Without another word, he walks out, leaving me alone with Enzo.
“Papa!” I yell as the heavily barred doors close in my face.
My chest heaves, and for the first time since my mother's death, tears burn my eyes. I blink them back and hold my head high. I refuse to break. The Mancini scum is still here, watching me. I can feel his eyes burning holes into my back. I turn to him, my voice clipped. “Coming here, agreeing to this absurd proposal, I don't know what you aim to achieve. Just know I won’t agree to this and it's final.”
He stands, tall and broad and I almost rear back, but I hold my ground. He stalks toward me, his walk predatory. I don’t back down, though my pulse races. Up close, he’s even more striking—sharp jawline, dark eyes that burn, jagged scar slicing through one brow, hinting at old violence. Had it been there that night? I hadn't noticed. I wonder what fight marked him, then curse myself for caring.
He’s a Mancini, my enemy, and Papa’s lost his damn mind.