Chapter 25: "Are you concerned about me, Don?"

POV: Stefano

I blew out the smoke, breaking our connection, sliding my fingers one last time until my foot was back where it should be, watching her frustrated body. Beatrice looked at me with a mixture of disappointment and frustration in her eyes, and I knew she wanted more, even though she always tried to deny it. Her lips sealed shut again, but her facial expression said it all, as did the way she adjusted herself in the chair.

I briefly smiled, somewhat satisfied, and slid my fingers over my champagne glass. I watched the bubbles rise rapidly to the surface, contrasting with the apparent calm of the night. Beatrice stood there, stunned by my sudden absence. Her heart still beating rapidly, she tried to regain her composure while looking at her own hands. The expression of frustration on her face did not go unnoticed.

"Wait," I told the man, and it was my turn to sip my champagne, unbuttoning one more of them, feeling the summer night even hotter than it really was. He returned immediately, responding to my call, and stopping by my side. "I think you forgot to ask my companion about her preferences." While I, with a soft and authoritative voice, ordered the man to go back and inquire about Beatrice's preferences, she seemed even more disconcerted. My presence and my skills indicated that she would soon be even more ensnared by me. The man, submissively, turned to Beatrice. However, his gaze revealed that his attention was not really on her but on some point behind her body, preventing me from interpreting something from his look.

"I apologize, Don. What is your preference, miss?"

"Risotto alle Erbe Fresche," she said, and my man listened to Beatrice's preference, waiting for me to give him the order to prepare it.

"Risotto alle Erbe Fresche," I nodded, and he left.

As I savored the champagne and kept my gaze fixed on Beatrice, I could feel her discomfort growing. That subtle provocation was having an effect. She tried to hide her emotions under the mask of composure, but I could sense the tension emanating from her.

"Paola told me you came down in that outfit..." I began, provoking her even more. Beatrice, still stunned, looked up at me, a mix of anger and indignation painting her face when her lips interrupted me.

"Rather vulgar?" She completed my sentence, quoting each of the words I was about to say, swinging her legs, and taking a long sip of her champagne. "You need to ask Paola to stop copying your phrases." Paola had told her exactly as she had quoted to me that morning. I made a mental note to ensure they were not alone for too long, avoiding future problems and preventing Beatrice from revealing who she was and why she was there.

"My men are not used to a woman parading around the house like that..." I continued.

"I didn't think you were that close to anyone."

"Wear appropriate clothing," I concluded, ignoring that Beatrice wanted to talk about the woman I used to sleep with. At that moment, my priority was to ensure that I didn't have to kill any of my men for a woman who had been there for less than a week.

"Your men..." She let out a sardonic laugh as if a thought had accidentally slipped out. "As if any of them would dare to desire me even with a glance. They don't speak to me, Stefano, and they hardly look at me because you make them treat me as if I were superior. Paola doesn't seem to have that kind of problem. What's different between us?" She questioned, as if it weren't obvious. Everything was different, and it made me somewhat obsessed with the challenge. My fingers touched the glass, and I took another generous sip of the liquid as she looked at me, waiting for an answer without moving.

"I don't trust anyone, Beatrice, and for your good, you shouldn't either." I raised my gaze to her, finding her eyes with an inquisitive expression, while my voice remained firm and secure.

"Why... Why do you act as if I'm superior to them?" She raised a critical look in my direction, her eyebrows slightly furrowed, clearly dissatisfied with my explanation.

"Because you are, Beatrice."

"Is that how you see it?" Beatrice kept her posture firm, discussing a few more things, trying to challenge the beliefs as if that could change anything, but all she was doing was taking away what little patience I had for staring at her, because of the way her hair fell gracefully over her shoulders, her skin glowing softly in the candlelight, and her dress that accentuated her seductive figure was all I was concentrating on, my cock springing to life, mainly because the alcohol was starting to take effect, allowing me to relax a little. "I want to be able to talk to other people besides myself, Stefano." Beatrice still tried, looking increasingly dissatisfied. She looked at the champagne in her glass, swirling the drink slowly as she pondered my words; she was also starting to exaggerate with alcohol.

"Do you think they would still respect you if they didn't think you were under my protection? Do you think you would still be intact when they met you? As dirty as I find you, Beatrice, you are not one of us." I let the words out, tired of her protests, tired of her insistence, which Beatrice didn't realize wouldn't get us anywhere anyway.

"Are you concerned about me, Don?"

"Concerned?" My eyes were on hers, my tone ironic. The moment her hands slid up to her mouth to wipe away the corner wet with some champagne, I remembered Beatrice pinned beneath me, my hands marking her firm buttocks. "I just want you to know that the only person who will leave you purple around here is me." I slid my gaze to her wrist, still marked by my hands but now with a fainter color, at the same time our plates arrived at the table.