Chapter 13 Belladonna
❦ Rosalind ❦
“Who are those?” Marcus asked, his tone grave.
“Viktor’s men, to amp up my security so I don’t get kidnapped again. We made a truce.”
“How could you be so careless?”
Against my will, I flinched.
Marcus’s usually cool tone had lowered to a growl, not unlike the one a rabid dog lets out before the flash of pathogen-infested fangs.
I squared my shoulders, reminding myself that we were boss and employee, no matter the experience, age, or apparent spite.
“It was a smart, calculating move. He’d just killed a man in my range, what else was I supposed to do?” I spat back.
I climbed the stairs, passing Claudia, who glanced at Marcus’s form following behind me.
“That was an act of war. You should have ordered a bullet between his eyes and reminded New York that the famiglia is not to be disrespected.”
Turning around just in time to see spittle fly, I paused on the stairs, standing a head taller than him as he stood a few steps lower. I found the advantage comforting.
“Luca cheated him. Sabotaged a deal. Should I have denied him his revenge? Besides, who wants that kind of person working under them anyway?”
“You think this is just about one dead man?” Marcus hissed. “The other capos will see this as weakness. They’ll think we bow to Marino now. That you answer to him.”
I paused on the landing, my back straight. “I don’t answer to anyone.”
“That doesn’t matter,” he snapped. “They’ll believe it. And belief is what keeps people in line. All men are famiglia. They’re under your protection. Doesn’t matter what they do. They’re ours.”
“See, that’s where I’ll have to disagree, Marcus. I don’t want greedy people on my team.”
With that, I stormed up to my room, Marcus’s voice drifting up in muffled echoes as he turned on Dante.
Obviously, his age was interfering with his judgment. Asking me to risk war over a Luca, who might have been planted to cause a war in the first place? Because how stupid was he to risk selling fake merchandise to Viktor, a well-known bloodthirsty Don? He got what was coming to him.
Minutes later, Claudia brought me homemade gnocchi and tiramisu, which I ate with relish. I even invited Dante to eat with me. He refused the invite, but I suspected it was because he was already full from swiping some while Claudia cooked. He had crumbs in his beard.
Later that evening, she helped me into an ivory, backless satin dress. Having my hair short made it easier to style, and I settled for my natural wavy bob in a wet look. I slipped into my stilettos, then clipped on pearl earrings and a Cartier Panthère wristwatch to complete the look.
“You look just like your mama,” Claudia said, sniffling into her handkerchief.
I smiled at her and twirled in front of the mirror, my heart aching for a glance from a certain brooding man. I had every intention of working him until he let his guard down, forgetting that I stood between him and world domination. Well, between him and the Grand Marlow, but knowing Viktor, it was probably one and the same.
Dante drove us to Saratoga Race Course, stealing glances at me the whole way, while Viktor’s soldatos tailed us a short distance behind. I traced the chain of my gun holster clutch, which held a rose gold Kimber pistol, lip gloss, and my phone.
My skin tingled at how fast I’d moved from a nerdy uni student hiding from her daddy’s business to an heiress carrying a firearm to an exclusive racetrack. I loved it, and it scared me.
“Stunning,” a graying man in a tailored black suit and expensive air remarked.
I flashed him a coy smile, earning a glare from his date, but I didn’t give a shit. I felt incredibly powerful, sexy, and in my element.
After winning a ten-thousand-dollar bet on Belladonna, my father’s Arabian horse, I hugged Dante in my enthusiastic victory celebration, the champagne loosening my usually reserved demeanor. He awkwardly let me have some fun, then pulled away to maintain a professional distance.
And of course, that was when the universe saw it fit to dampen my mood.
“Rosa.”
I paused, the voice immediately raising my walls and stealing my excitement.
I turned to see Orlov, arm intertwined with Dahlia Renly’s.
She openly looked me over, clearly shocked at my transformation from the girl she once knew in Boston.
Ignoring her, I placed a hand on my hip and swirled the drink in my flute.
“Orlov. I see you have your ways of sneaking into my bubble for no apparent reason.”
He stalled at my tone. The old Rosa would never have spoken to him like that.
“I owe you an apology…”
“Save it. Honestly, though, do I look like I need your apology?”
Power felt good.
“You’re still bitter, I get that,” Dahlia spoke up.
I slid my gaze to hers slowly, shocked at her audacity.
“Nothing can erase what he… what we did to you. The least you can do is accept an apology when it’s offered.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. She acted like I owed her grace. I almost pitied her for mistaking cruelty for devotion. Almost.
“First of all, cogliana,” I sneered, hate bleeding through every word, “I can see the black eye underneath all that concealer. Second, you don’t get to speak where I breathe. I could have you drawn and quartered, and no one would blink.”
I took a step forward, the alcohol roaring in my head, or maybe that was the cheering from the audience. The old me would have walked away, but not anymore.
“Find some self-respect, Dahlia,” I hissed.
I turned to her date, who was red in the face from embarrassment.
“And Orlov, approach me again, and I’ll give your father a reason to grieve.”
I turned on my heels, swaying my hips as I walked, Dante following behind me holding my clutch. Viktor’s soldatos had watched the exchange with faint twinkles in their eyes that told me they were impressed.
Back at the VIP booth, I topped off my flute, already swaying, inebriated.
Dante took the flute away.
“You should slow down.”
My eyes narrowed.
“I don’t like being told what to do.”
“I’m not telling. I’m suggesting.”
The sincere look in his eyes stole my fight, and I leaned against the table.
Before I could let my abysmal thoughts consume me, I smelled him before I saw him.
“Good evening, miss?”
I raised my head, Dante going stiff beside me.
At first glance, he looked like a gentleman, but his bottomless black eyes and dark aura told me otherwise.
He looked at me like I was a piece of candy he’d love to taste, and strangely, it filled my core with heat rather than annoyed me. I blamed it on the champagne.
“Rosalind. And you are?”
“Dominic.”
He flashed a smile, and I noted how sharp his canines were.
“Could I interest you in an afterparty I’ll be hosting? I’ve been watching you all night,” he said smoothly. “You have a personality that could light up my party, or burn it to the ground. I’d honestly enjoy either.”
Dante stepped forward.
“Unfortunately, she has other business to attend to. We’ll have to decline.”
Dominic glanced from Dante to me, his dark eyes flashing a silent challenge.
My lips tingled, a smile drawing forth, and I placed a hand on Dante’s back.
“Will there be gorgeous women there?” I asked coyly.
“None as striking as you,” Dominic returned.
I blushed. “We’ll attend. My friend Dante could use a date.”
Dante turned to me with a questioning look.
“You’re stuck to my hip most of the time, and I can’t fuck you, so you better jump at this opportunity.”
Dominic laughed, taking my arm in his as he led the way, Dante following behind us with a clenched jaw.
But I could bet I saw a prick of excitement cross his eyes.
My bodyguard needed a lay.