Chapter 25 Chapter 25
Then her gaze shifts past me to Alessandro. He's standing behind me now, elegant as ever, his smile forced, charming as the devil at a gala ball. "Signora Petrovich," he says, inclining his head slightly. She returns his gaze, cool, distant, but with the kind of politeness more deadly than any open insult. "DeLuca," she replies, as if the name tasted of iron. "You look... awake." "I've had a very invigorating week with your son." "Oh, I've heard about that," she retorts sharply. "The maids have been whispering." "I hope only good things about my talents!" "Are you sure you're in control today?" "I've brought my best manners." He smiles. "The ones that weren't in the laundry basket." I roll my eyes. "Shall we go inside or continue this family drama in the driveway?" Vito, who had remained silent until now, takes a step closer, positioning himself almost imperceptibly between Alessandro and my mother. His eyes gleam with undisguised disgust, his jaw tense. "If it were up to me, he'd be waiting outside! Like a dog!" Alessandro raises his eyebrows mockingly. "Except I don't fetch, Vito. And I don't drool. At least not on command." Vito takes a step forward, but my father only raises a hand. "Not today," he says curtly. I see Vito's hands clench into fists. He hates not being in control. But he says nothing. Not yet. Sebastian has been observing the scene from the background and now steps back beside me. "If things are about to explode, give me a five-second head start. I want to at least escape to the kitchen." "You mean for the wine?" "I actually meant for the cake. But wine sounds good too." My mother finally turns away, the facade perfect once more. "The food's waiting. And it'll get cold if we stand outside any longer exchanging testosterone-fueled threats." She turns and goes ahead into the house. My father follows her without another word. I take a breath too long, as if I've just jumped into a pool full of electrical wires. Then I start walking, the marble tiles harder than ever under my feet. I know what's coming. The table. The stares. The comments. The unspoken expectations. The fear that someone might say the wrong thing. Or the right thing. Alessandro walks beside me. Shamelessly calm. As if this is his game. "Do you regret it already?" he asks quietly. "That I had to marry you? Yes, every single day!" I retort, even though I know perfectly well that's not what he meant. When we arrive in the living room, I see Yvette standing at the small bar. I go over to her with my husband as an annoying shadow at my side, and Vito joins us. "Hey Yvette, great to see you tonight! So, which drink have you been practicing the most this week?" Yvette smiles immediately, a little too brightly, a little too eagerly. Probably just glad I've said a kind word at all. She reaches for a bottle, sets a glass down, without taking her eyes off me completely. "Whiskey Sour. A new take on it. With fresh ginger and a dash of pepper. I wanted to see if it suited your taste." I lean slightly over the bar. "I've always said you shouldn't pull out all the stops for everyone." "I don't," she replies with an almost shy smile. "Just for you." Next to me, I hear Alessandro snort softly. I ignore him. Instead, I raise the glass, taste it, let the spiciness burn on my tongue for a moment. "Daring than last week," I say, putting it back down. "But it's got something." Yvette beams, she wants to say something, maybe ask a question, maybe more, but Vito interrupts her. "What's brave of her is that she's still mixing drinks for you at all, after she knows where your oh-so-faithful husband has been sleeping around." The glass stops halfway in my hand. I turn to him slowly. His gaze hits me hard, like a slap he's been holding back for days. "Was that necessary?" I ask quietly. "What? The truth?" He takes a step closer, not loud, not aggressive, but every muscle beneath his shirt is tense. "I know you knew. That you told them. But if you think that's enough, you're dumber than I thought." Yvette has long since stepped back, as if she's instinctively understood that this has nothing to do with her anymore. "I took care of it," I manage to say. "The girls knew what was at stake. I showed them." “Not enough,” he hisses. “They’re still whispering. They’re laughing behind your back. And he…” his gaze cuts to Alessandro, “…he doesn’t even have the decency to deny it. Because he knows you’ll just swallow it again.” I step closer, very close to Vito, my voice a whisper. “Are you trying to provoke me? Or are you just looking for an excuse to finally spill what’s been festering in your mouth for weeks?” Vito meets my gaze. His jaw twitches, his fingers twitch, but he remains calm. “I’m not looking for an excuse. I’m just wondering how long you’ll keep pretending this is a game you control.” I lean slightly toward him, whispering so softly only he can hear: “You don’t know what I control. And what I don’t.” “Oh yes, Nicolai. I know better than you. I see you breaking a little more every day because you’re too cowardly to face the consequences.” I want to say something, anything, something that will hit home. But his gaze is too honest. Too clear. And that’s exactly what makes me angry. Alessandro yawns demonstratively behind me. “If you two are about to kiss, please let me know beforehand. I’m going to get a drink.” I don’t react to him. Not this time. Instead, I look at Vito, the man who isn’t my blood, but who used to be closer to me than anyone else, and still knows me like no one else. And whose disappointment is hurting me more right now than any lie Alessandro has ever told. I turn to Alessandro, and before I can even think about it, I punch him in the face as hard as I can to beat that smug grin off his face. "My cousin is right, and if you are unfaithful one more fucking time, it won't just be her I beat beyond recognition, but you too."