Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 144979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
“Planning to break the seal of chastity for all of us to see, Vitale?”
Abella goes rigid in my arms at the sound of Ares Stavros’s voice. When she pulls away from the kiss to snap her gaze to his, my attention follows.
“Or has that already been broken with Matteo?” he taunts.
Tension rolls through my shoulders as I try to recall exactly why I can’t paint this floor with his blood right now.
“You’re really here,” Abella says, a haze of confusion clouding her eyes.
Ares smirks. “Indeed, I am. Much like the plague, dear Abella, you can’t get rid of me so easily. Perhaps we should have wagered on it.”
I glance between them, an undercurrent of displeasure thrumming through my veins as he flaunts his familiarity with her.
“Coglione!” Nonna charges at him from the side, one shoe already in hand, prepared to wallop him with it.
Ares sidesteps her attack as Rafe grabs hold of her, his lips twitching in amusement. He takes the brunt of Nonna’s wrath, letting her get a few smacks in with her shoe as she tries to fight her way out of his grasp.
“Bust his kneecaps, Angelo!” Nonna shouts.
“If only he could,” Ares goads me.
“Could is a relative term.” I shrug.
His eyes flash with challenge. “If you want to start a bloodbath, be my guest.”
“You’ve witnessed the union, Ares.” Mariella emerges from the fray, her eyes set on his profile. “Now I’m sure you have a plethora of other entertainment options at your disposal.”
His jaw tightens as he turns to face her, and he makes a point of raking his gaze over the length of her body. “Oh, I don’t know about that. The entertainment here seems interesting enough.”
“Talk to my sister again, and I will bust your fucking kneecaps.” I grab him by the collar and wrench him backward, smashing my knuckles into his face.
Romeo and Michele intervene, dragging him away from me before I can murder him. Ares shakes them off and uses his pocket square to dab at the blood on his lip.
“I’ll let you have that one, Vitale,” he says. “Given that it’s your wedding day, and you have a bride to deflower. Or maybe not. I guess you’ll find out.”
“Out!” Rafe manhandles him toward the door, and I stare after him, blood boiling.
“It’s what he wants,” Mariella tells me. “Don’t, Angelo. It’s not worth it.”
I know that, but it doesn’t change the fact that I still want to send his body parts home to his family one by one.
“Alright, everybody.” The emcee taps the mic, effectively drawing our attention back to the stage. “It’s time to find your table and settle in for dinner.”
A collective sigh of relief echoes around us, followed by Pepe grumbling that he’s starving. My gaze catches Abella’s, and she holds her head high, not bothered in the slightest by what just happened. I’m not sure what to make of that, but every man here is wondering if Ares was right.
Tonight, I will see for myself if she lied about that, too.
17
ABELLA
After a three-course meal, many toasts, drinks, and millifoglie for dessert, the dancing commences. Unsurprisingly, all of Angelo’s brothers ask me for a turn, followed by what feels like every other man in the room.
Out of respect for Angelo, they maintain propriety as they offer me their best wishes. The subject of Matteo doesn’t come up again, and I’m glad for it. There isn’t a man stupid or brave enough to mention it now. It would surely be a death sentence for anyone but Ares Stavros.
For Angelo’s part, he fulfills his obligations by dancing with his nonna, then he makes his rounds to visit with some of the guests.
As the evening progresses, I catch myself watching his interactions far more often than I should. I’m not the only one, either. It seems everyone has taken an interest in the newly crowned Vitale king. That energy bleeds off him with every step he takes, every hand he shakes, and every word he utters. There’s a palpable shift in the men as they stand before him, somehow smaller and less fearsome in his shadow. Everyone in the room can see it. It was always meant to be this way.
Matteo never had what Angelo does. Other men don’t stand up straighter in his presence or bow to his power. They may respect him, but it’s nothing like this. And in the span of a few hours, it seems they’ve all but forgotten him.
A lump of guilt settles in my gut as I consider what this means for him. It doesn’t bode well that he’s not here. Matteo reassured me that his connection to his twin brother would shield him from the fallout of our engagement. I banked on that promise when I agreed to the deal. Any other man I’d chosen in Angelo’s place would have been dead as a matter of principle. But not Matteo. Never Matteo. He, too, was secure in that belief.