Page 75 of My Dark Fairy Tale

“We have an understanding,” Stefania had the audacity to begin.

I snarled, stepping forward into her space to glare down into her eyes. “Listen to me well, because this will be the last time I speak with you. We have no understanding. You had a wish that would never come true. I felt sorry for you before, but not now. Do not contact me again, Stefania, or you will not like the man you receive.”

“I don’t like him now,” she snapped, then leaned in close to hiss in my ear. “You forget who my father is. You need my family’s support.”

I did.

Capo Burette was in charge of our two largest factories in Lombardy and had enough wealth and influence to sway the rest of the outfit if he was angry enough to turn against me.

It would be prudent to make nice with her, forgive and forget and kiss her curved ass so that she would go home to Papa and tell him how good a man I was.

But I would not.

Not only because Burette was enough of a man to make his choices without his manipulative, bratty daughter’s influence but also because she had brutally embarrassed Guinevere in front of all these guests.

And that was unforgiveable.

“I do not need anyone,” I promised, turning my head to speak directly into her ear, watching the way she shivered at our closeness. “I am Raffaele Romano, Il Gentiluomo di Toscana, and you would do very, very well to remember who you are speaking to before I become any angrier.”

I leaned back to show her the hellfire in my gaze and then turned sharply on my heel to go to Guinevere. She was standing with her hands fisted at her sides, chin tipped pugnaciously, eyes narrowed at Stefania.

I bent my knees to be closer to eye level to examine her expression, my hands gentle on her shoulders. “Are you okay?”

She sucked in a deep breath before looking me in the eye. Something wicked lit in that brown gaze, and a moment later she was lifting a hand to pull me in for an open-mouthed kiss.

It was not long or overly erotic, but it delivered her point well.

She was mine and I was hers.

I grinned down at her, wildly enjoying the show of possessiveness and aggression. “Should we go home?”

She took my offered arm, head held high, and followed me out of the hushed courtyard.

It was only when we were safely ensconced in the car again and pulling away from the valet station that she sighed wearily and slumped in her seat.

“I much preferred when it wasyoupouring wine all over me,” she mumbled.

I couldn’t help but laugh, even though fury still tingled in my fingertips. “Me too. I am sorry that happened. It was not quite the night I had envisioned.”

“Maybe not. But I would take countless glasses of wine to the chest if it meant even one more orgasm like the kind you’ve given me.”

I laughed again, reaching over for her hand because I could not sit there without touching her. “I do not think you will have to pay that price again, thankfully.”

“I just want a long shower and to crawl into bed with you.” She hesitated, sliding me a look. “Er, assuming I’ll be sleeping with you and not in my old bedroom.”

“You assume correctly.”

She hid her smile behind her hand, but I could see it in her profile all the same.

My phone rang, Ludo’s name flashing across the car system display. I pressed Answer and said, “Pronto?”

“Raffa, the police are at Guinevere’s apartment,” he said in Italian.

Guinevere gasped, so I did not need to translate.

I sped past the turnoff for my place and headed across the Arno toward Fortezza da Basso.

“Why?”