Page 43

The chatter around me is nothing but static until I see her.

I’m standing beside Dario Bellini, an old associate of Luciano’s, pretending to care about projections for the new shipping route through Marseille.

He’s going on about customs bribes, port tariffs, and the delays in transferring high-value cargo between the southern French coast and the Catania docks.

I nod when I’m supposed to, swirl the crisp wine in my glass like I’m listening.

I’m not.

Because the second the doors open and Jordyn steps outside, the entire fucking world narrows to her.

That sundress.

It’s the colour of Sicilian lemons, light and soft, clinging in the breeze like it was sewn onto her skin by the gods themselves.

The hem grazes mid-thigh, every inch of her legs a fucking sin.

Hair down and loose like she forgot to care what it would do to me.

Soft golden waves brushing her bare shoulders, and there’s this glow about her, like she doesn’t know she’s pulling every eye toward her.

Doesn’t know she’s pulling every thought out of my head like a thread I can’t get back.

And then she stops.

Right beneath the lemon tree, one arm draped lazily at her side, the other holding a glass of white wine that glows gold in the sun. She tips it to her lips without hurry, scanning the crowd like none of it belongs to her. I can’t tell she feels uneasy, lost in the chaos around her.

My jaw clenches and unclenches while I watch her.

And then Matteo appears.

He comes from the far end of the lawn, lazy and cocky, like he owns every step he takes. He’s wearing that same smirk he always does, hands tucked in his pockets, curls a little too perfectly tousled. He says something to her, too quiet for me to hear, but she smiles.

Not politely. Not distantly.

Soft.

And then she laughs.

My stomach knots painfully.

The stem of my glass I’m holding groans beneath the pressure of my grip.

I set it down, slow and deliberate, before I snap the damn thing in half.

I tell myself I won’t watch, but I do. I track them as he leans in close, his mouth near her ear, saying something that makes her glance away like he’s teasing her.

And then she nods.

They walk off together.

I don’t move. Not yet. I let the distance stretch, watch them disappear down the garden path toward the olive trees that fringe the estate. It’s quieter there. More private.

Too fucking private.

I murmur something to the man beside me, an excuse, I think, and slip away from the crowd. My steps are silent as I round the outer terrace, lighting a cigarette. I don’t know if I’m following them or if the weight in my chest just needs air, but my feet carry me without permission.

And then I see them.

Through a gap in the hedges.

Matteo has one hand in her hair, the other at her waist. His mouth is on hers, slow, purposeful. She tilts into it, eyes fluttering shut. He kisses her like he has the fucking right to. Like nothing is standing between them.

Like I don’t exist.

Something inside me ruptures, dark and slow and all-consuming. I take a long drag of the cigarette I never intended to smoke, and taste nothing but smoke and acid.

She’s kissing him back—not like she kissed me. With Matteo there is no hesitation. No trembling. Just surrender.

Something primal twists in my gut.

I take another long drag of my cigarette, filling my lungs with the smoke.

And for the first time in a very long time, I taste jealousy.

I toss the cigarette, still burning into the grass and put it out with my boot before I turn away from the orchard. The image is still there, stamped behind my eyes, like a brand I can never get rid of. Jordyn, kissing Matteo like he’s the one thing she’s ever craved.

I never imagined it would happen so quickly; I assumed I would have had time to gather my thoughts and prepare myself because I’m not an idiot.

I expected this. Yet, her subtle threat about making me swallow my own words.

..she's certainly delivered on it, because now I'm grappling with the bitter taste of each and every one, suffocating on the reality of my own choices, even if, as much as I hate it, was the right one.

I told her to go and find someone her own age, and she did.

I keep moving through the crook of the garden, past rows of wrought-iron tables strewn with half-empty glasses that catch the lantern light like trapped fireflies.

The paper lanterns wobble in the late afternoon breeze, their flame-flicker casting jittery shadows across the lawn.

Straight past the laughter I want no part of.

My fists curl at my sides, knuckles whitening. The thin black hair tie she left at my place still circles my wrist, a cold shackle I can’t shake loose. Every step feels weighted by its presence, a silent reminder I can’t shake.

“Ares?”

Enzo’s voice stops me cold.

I turn slowly, and find him leaning against the rough stone column by the manor steps, one leg crossed over the other, a half-drained wine glass dangling from his fingers.

The sun catches the rim of the glass, sending a sliver of light across his face, where his eyes are steady, unnervingly clear, no hint of that easy grin he usually wears.

“You’re heading out already?” he asks, voice casual, but the edge beneath it is razor-tight.

“Yeah,”

He pushes off the column and steps closer, lowering his voice. “Is there a reason you’re storming off looking like you’re about to murder someone, brother?”

“Mind your business, Enzo.” My words taste like gravel as I pivot to leave again.

He exhales, slow and deliberate, and shakes his head as if I’ve disappointed him. Then he leans forward, his voice soft but fierce. “I saw her, you know.”

My shoulders stiffen. I spin back to face him, eyes narrowing.

“Jordyn,” he says, tight and low. “The other night. I saw her leaving your place.”

I say nothing. My silence is its own accusation.

“Four in the morning, Ares,” he presses, flicking the stem of his glass between his fingers. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

My jaw locks so tight it aches. I force the words out through gritted teeth. “It wasn’t like that.”

Enzo steps even closer, the sharp lines of his cheekbones and the tension in his jaw illuminated by the lantern’s glow. “No?” His voice is a mix of disbelief and exhaustion. “Then what was it? What reason does Jordyn have to be at your place until four in the morning?”

Heat flares through me. I clench my fists again, fighting the urge to shove past him.

“Not only is she my wife’s little sister, but she’s also nineteen,” he says, softer now, like he’s measuring every syllable.

“She would be the same age as our little sister had she been born, you know that, right?”

His words strike me like a blow. I swallow hard, vision going momentarily red at the mention of the sibling and mother we lost so cruelly. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, Enzo,” I snap. “So, I suggest you shut the fuck up.”

Enzo’s eyes flash. He straightens, voice rising. “No? Enlighten me, then. What was she doing at your place?”

I flare, voice raw with frustration. “I was doing what you and her sister should have been doing all along, protecting her.”

He scoffs, the sound hollow and bitter. “Is that what you’re calling it? Protecting her how, exactly? By fucking her?”

I can taste anger like metal in my mouth. Step by step I close the distance between us, heart hammering, fist balled up as if I might land a punch. Then I force myself to breathe. “I didn’t,” I almost snarl, each word a low growl. “I didn’t sleep with her.”

Enzo’s face shifts, darkening. He raises his glass, studies it for a moment, then sets it down with deliberate calm.

“She got a job working at Eden,” he says, tone clipped but furious.

“Rocco offered her up to Nicolai Moretti. I got there just in time, found her alone in the VIP room, cornered like a scared little mouse. When I got there, he had her backed into a corner. Tried to shove a line of coke under her nose. Gun on his hip, offering to fuck her for a price.” Enzo’s expression shifts, and he steps forward; his knuckles whiten around his glass.

“Jesus Christ.”

“I handled it,” I tell him, voice like steel. “Dropped his men. Broke Nico’s jaw, and told him if he comes anywhere near her again, I’ll rip his tongue out and feed it to him, and I got her out.”

“And setting fire to Eden with Rocco inside?” Enzo questions. "Was that your idea of justice?"

I hold his gaze steadily. "It was long overdue."

Enzo exhales sharply, his jaw clenched. “Long overdue? Ares, you destroyed a neutral territory.”

“No,” I reply with composure. “I destroyed a place that allowed someone like Rocco to offer girls like Jordyn to men like Nicolai.

There's nothing neutral about that. He was warned.

The first time I saw her there, I told Rocco to cut ties with her.

He ignored me and paid for his greed with his life. That's it.”

Enzo shakes his head. “Do you really think Nico will heed your warning, Ares? He’s more unhinged than you are.

And you embarrassed him in front of a crowd.

You think he’ll just let that slide without retaliation?

You’re tearing down alliances we've bled for years building, and for what? That’s not something you would do just for anyone? ” His eyes narrow as he scrutinises me.

“She’s not anyone.”

Fuck.

The words are out before I can stop them.

Enzo’s expression shifts, brows drawing tight, jaw ticking, as I scramble for a way to explain myself, to backpedal, to undo what I just let slip.

“You don’t see it, do you?” he says after a long beat. “How fucking dangerous this is.”

“I see it,” I mutter. “Clearer than you think.”

“No, Ares. You don’t.” He steps closer, voice low and firm. “You’re acting on emotion. That’s not like you. You’ve always been the cold one. The untouchable one. And now you’re willing to light a match to everything for her?”