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The manor has never looked so alive, so dangerously vibrant. We didn't have this much crowd at the wedding reception. I should be satisfied that the plan we've set up is working, but I can't seem to find the satisfaction in it. My blood thrums with a quiet, coiled tension. Tonight is no ordinary celebration. It’s a chessboard, with every smile, every handshake, looked upon as a cold and calculated move.
This better count for something. I haven't used this ballroom since my father died. It used to be where the old man threw his lavish parties. Its usefulness died the day he died.
I'm standing at the edge of the room, my back to the wall, a glass of whiskey in my hand. The ice clinks softly as I swirl it. My eyes scanned the crowd, deliberately seeking her out. The party is in full swing, a carefully orchestrated display of power and unity to mark my marriage to Serafina. A marriage that’s as much a battlefield as this room.
The Rossis and my own men mingle, their voices loud, their postures relaxed, but I know better. Beneath the polished veneer, every man here is a predator, waiting for a slip, a crack, a chance to strike.
The rival group, Gallos and the Vitales, are here too. Roberto Gallo never graces an event. He believes the frivolities are beneath him. So in his stead, he'd send his close associate and advisor, Damian. The man has a look of permanent indignation etched into his features, and it makes me want to bash his head in.
The Don to the Vitales group is present. Stefano Vitales. He's standing across the room, leaning his stocky build against a chair, his silver hair gleaming under the lights as his eyes scan the room greedily. He’s surrounded by his lieutenants, their eyes darting and assessing. They're no doubt thinking of what he'd gain by engaging in a war with us.
If he has half a brain, he'll know he has everything to lose. Not with the new spin on the truth regarding my mother's death.
I invited them to this party and extended the olive branch, because peace is a prettier lie than war. But I’m no fool. Lorenzo's handshake earlier was firm. His words had even been cordial, promising cooperation and mutual profit. I’d nodded and smiled, playing the part. But his eyes betrayed him. They always do. Greed and ambition flicker there, and I know he’s planning something. I can feel it in my bones. If they have any idea what I have planned for them, too, they'd scurry the other way.
I'd hoped Domenico would come, seeing as his daughter is now my wife. I'd like to see his face when I attack the two groups who are part of my mother's death. Would he cower in fear knowing I'd come for him next?
I'd debated asking Fina if her father would be in attendance. I don't know what it is, but I have a niggling feeling that Domenico is hiding something. Maybe he's secretly plotting an attack on me, and I'm the fool who's oblivious to it, because I'm brain deep and balls deep into his daughter.
We haven't crossed paths since she exploded on me that night at the bar. And fuck it, I'd wanted to take her there and then. The woman has an amazing mouth, and she damn sure knows how to use it.
That night, she kissed me like she wanted to burn me alive. I can still feel her nails in my neck, her teeth grazing my lip, theway her body pressed against mine, all heat and fury. And then she’d walked away, spitting venom, claiming it meant nothing. Bullshit. It meant everything, and she knows it.
She doesn't know what to do either about this heat between us. I'd seen it in her eyes before she walked away. There was a hint of silent defeat in her eyes. It tells me she's trying hard and failing to bring this whole thing under wraps. It's the same battle I'm fighting.
So, in order to stay triumphant, I'd tamped down every thought of her that threatens to resurface since that night. And despite that I've reinforced countless times that I need to keep my head and not lose it, I can't seem to shake her. I want her. I want to claim her in every way there is. I want her in my bed all day, and all night. I want to fuck her brains out until there's no doubt in her mind that she's mine. I want to own her over and over again till she's a thrashing mess under me.
My cock twitches in remembrance of her body. She has me wrapped around her fucking fingers. Is it any wonder that I have no semblance of control when I'm within touching distance of her?
My gaze drifts to her—the object of my inner turmoil. My wife. She’s impossible to miss. She's a literal storm in human form. Seeing her makes my breath snag. Her black gown clings to her curves like it was poured over her. It fits snugly against her like it's a second body. The tightness of the dress highlights her snatched waist. Waist I want to grab roughly as I pull her to me.
Her hair is swept up, exposing the elegant line of her neck, and her lips are painted a deep crimson that makes my pulse kick. She’s laughing with Matteo, her head thrown back, her eyes bright with delight. I narrow my eyes as jealousy wears over me. She's never laughed like that with me. She's a cat, all wild and nails baring when she's with me. She's never this doe-eyed angel.
Blood roars in my ears. Matteo better back the fuck up. That's my fucking wife he's flirting with, and she's laughing at his lame jokes.
I take a sip of whiskey, the burn grounding me. I can’t afford to get lost in her tonight. Not when the air is thick with threat. My men are stationed discreetly around the room, their eyes sharp, their hands never far from their weapons. I’ve planned for every contingency. If the rival groups try anything, they’ll regret it. I’ve spent years building this empire after my father's and I’ll be damned if I let anyone unravel it.
“Enzo,” a voice calls, smooth and oily. I turn to find Stefano approaching. His hands are spread in a gesture of warmth that doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s shorter than me, but I know there’s a coiled strength in him. He's like a snake waiting to strike. “This is quite the affair. You’ve outdone yourself.”
”Carlo,” I say, my voice even, my face lightening up with my practiced smile intact. “Glad you could make it. It's such a pleasure to have you here.” The words taste like ash, but I keep my tone light, inviting. Let him think I’m soft, distracted by the party, by my new bride. Let him underestimate me.
He chuckles, clapping a hand on my shoulder. I resist the urge to shrug it off. “Indeed. And congratulations on your marriage. Here's to new beginnings.” He raises his glass, and I mirror the gesture, our eyes locked. His are cold, calculating, and I know he’s testing me, probing for weakness. Good luck, bastard. You’ll find none.
We talk for a few minutes, meaningless pleasantries about trade routes, shared interests. I nod and laugh when appropriate, but my mind is elsewhere, tracking his men. Two of them linger near the bar, their postures too stiff for casual drinkers. Another hovers near the terrace doors, his hand brushing his jacket where a gun no doubt hides. They’re positioning themselves, and my gut tightens. It’s coming. I can feel it.
I catch Matteo's eyes across the room, and he nods, an indication that he's noticing everything.
“Excuse me,” I say, cutting Stefano off mid-sentence. “Duty calls.” I flash a grin, clap his shoulder harder than necessary, and slip into the crowd before he can respond.
I need to move, to keep my eyes on his and Gallo men. I need to stay one step ahead. As I weave through the guests, I catch Serafina’s gaze. She’s watching me, her expression unreadable, but there’s a spark in her eyes that sends heat curling through me. I force myself to look away.
Focus, Enzo.
The night wears on, the tension building like a storm gathering on the horizon. I make rounds, shaking hands, exchanging jokes, but my senses are razor-sharp, attuned to every shift in the room. Matteo is involved with the men, charming them at his finest, but his eyes take in the development around me, just like I notice them. The rival groups are moving, their men drifting closer to key points—exits, the stage, the bar. My jaw tightens. It’s now or never.
I signal to Luca who’s stationed near the main doors. He nods, his hand slipping into his jacket. I move toward the center of the room, my steps deliberate, my whiskey glass still in hand to keep up appearances. The band shifts into a slower tune, couples swaying on the dance floor, oblivious to the predator’s game unfolding around them.
Then it happens.