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“I know. The Yakuza.”

He locks eyes with me. “What about them?”

“Will they be a problem?”

“Should I be asking you that?” Santino’s eyes narrow to slits, and just like that, all my decades of hard work to prove myself to my father threaten to crumble into nothing if I say the wrong thing.

“You know where my loyalties lie,” I say firmly, staring unwaveringly into his eyes. “My misguided years in the Yakuza were because of my search for you. You know this. My loyalties are here with you, not them. You know this.”

“Do I?” He stares at me over the edge of his glass, then waves me away with one hand.

I know this game. He’s pissed. He’s pissed at Jasmine and her father, at how the bigger families are watching us, at how I handed him this union on a silver platter and let him take credit—but it wasn’thisidea so it’s just not good enough.

I could tell him the truth. That the Mancinis want to kill us all because this fucking war is spilling across borders, but that would ruin my fun. This way he gets to suffer a little and I get to watch it.

Still, knowing that all it takes is one angry day for him to throw my entire life of servitude under the bus is fucking infuriating. I’ve killed for him. Cleaned up more messes than I care to count. I’ve ripped my soul out and charred it for him and told myself it will all be worth it because in the end, I will be on top and I will get to watch him wither.

That dream feels further and further away the older he gets and the more temperamental his mood becomes.

My sourness follows me through the manor, and I bite the head off the guard that informs me that Enzo Falzone has departed, but his daughter is still here. Why he left her behind is beyond me, but I find her in the library.

With Alto.

I see red.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Jasmine’s head snaps up from the desk she’s leaning over. All her thick, dark hair cascades over one shoulder and brushes down the length of her arm to the pen clasped in her fist. Alto hovers over her with one hand on the book they’re both studying, and when we lock eyes, his smile turns into a sneer.

“Told you. He’s like a fucking bull.”

“You want to tell me what the hell you’re playing at?” Stalking inside, my anger burns a few degrees hotter. Seeing Alto always puts me in a bad mood, but seeing him that close to Jasmine is even worse. She’s not mine, and yet his very presence around her is enough to make me want to rip his fucking face off.

“Alto was just helping me find some Yakuza history,” Jasmine explains as she straightens up. “Should we not be in here?”

Yakuza history. Of course he is.

“You were supposed to be at the meeting supporting Father, but you weren’t. Where the hell were you?”

Alto rolls his eyes. “I had more important things to do.”

“Bullshit.”

“Unlike you, Father doesn’t need to keep a constant eye on me, and I trust him to do the right thing. You’re the one that hangs around like a bad smell incapable of taking a hint.”

My hand curls into a fist while my teeth clack together. “For someone so intent on getting back in his good graces, you’re doing a piss poor job of showing that you even have worth.”

“Should I leave you two to it?” Jasmine tucks her hair behind her ear and closes the book. Despite the softness of her words, the annoyance is clear in her tone, which only angers me further.

“No, don’t worry,” Alto smirks. “I’m leaving. Because I’ve got shit to do.” He winks at her, making my skin crawl, and then passes by me uncomfortably close. “You forget, Roman, that I have the one thing you will never have. The one thing that Father values the most.”

“And what’s that?” Spinning to face him, Alto reaches the door and gives me a cold smirk.

“Blood.”

He slips out the door, narrowly missing the mantle clock I launch at his head. It shatters against the door and cascades into a thousand pieces, leaving an alarming silence in its wake, followed by the twisted retreating cackle of Alto.

“I fuckinghatethat guy.”