Page 100 of Unforgiving Queen

“Didn’t do what?” Romero hissed, eyes bouncing around the room. His face was now tomato red, his embarrassment tangible.

“I d-didn’t break i-it.” She hiccuped again. “That wasn’t me.”

Dante shoved a hand in his pocket, rocking on his heels. “I hope you won’t be this drunk on our wedding night.”

She glared at him, then brought her small palm to his chest. “The wedding night? In your dreams,” she slurred, patting his chest. “Dickwad.”

“Hooker,” Dante spat.

“Dante.” I tried and failed to keep the growl out of my voice.

“She and her friends came to the fucking rehearsal dinner dressed like circus hookers,” Dante gritted. “By the way, Reina, you missed the fucking wedding rehearsal.”

“Girls, he thinks we’re dressed like hookers,” Reina announced to the entire bar, signing drunkenly. Her father gripped her elbow, holding her upright. Apparently a hammered Reina had zero shame.

Phoenix stormed over along with their friends and raised both hands, flipping us not one but two birds. Apparently we were all guilty by association.

“Exactly how I feel about it. Thank you, sister,” Reina said. She leaned closer to Dante and me, her cinnamon scent intoxicating. “Fuck. You. All of you. Both of you.”

Then she reached into her bra and pulled out her phone. She glanced at it, surprise flickering over her features. Her head whipped to the bar, meeting the eyes of the bartender who was gawking at her.

“Whatever,” she muttered, turning to her sister.

The two shared a glance, the kind that stank of trouble. No wonder their old man let their grandmother raise them. He had zero authority over them.

“Siri,” Reina said, like she was talking to a human person. “Play Carrie. ‘Church Bells.’” The next second, every single speaker in the bar let out an earth-shattering boom. The song was so fucking loud the crystal shook throughout the place. She grinned at her friends. “The bartender put his thing in my thing.”

He what?

My jaw locked as my gaze strayed to the bartender who was scrambling behind the bar to lower the music, looking disheveled. He went rigid, probably reading the threat in my eyes.

I stormed his way, flexing my hands into fists. The crowd parted like the proverbial Red Sea. I reached over the bar and gripped him by the collar, slamming his head onto the counter.

I brought my mouth to his ear and growled, “Did. You. Touch. Her?”

My voice was low but full of unspoken threats. The rage I’d been harboring finally roared to life, and this asshole would take the brunt of it if he didn’t clear out of this place, this city—hell, he’d probably only be safe on another continent with the way my blood was singeing. And all the while, the country song that Reina loved so much blasted through the speakers.

“W-what?” His voice was a whimper. He shook his head, the stain on his pants getting bigger by the second. He really did piss himself.

“I hate repeating myself,” I growled in French. “What did you do?”

He tensed. “I got her phone number.”

“Did she give it to you?”

He shook his head. “When she asked me to connect her to the speakers, I sent myself a message from her number.”

I punched him again, and it took less than a second for blood to pour from his nose.

“Amon, this might not be the best time to reveal your cards,” Illias’s voice behind me warned, calm and full of reason.

So of course, I ignored him. Instead, I punched Piss-Pants in the face. I jumped over the bartop and stepped on his hand in the process, hearing the bones crack. Grabbing a fistful of his hair, I hit him again, taking pleasure in the way my knuckles burned.

“Send him on his way, then follow through with your plan.” Illias’s voice managed to reach me, and I paused.

My plan. He didn’t even know the half of it.

The plan I had would change the course of Reina’s life beyond any point of return. Her reputation would be tarnished, leaving her with only one option: a marriage to me.