Page 17 of Vicious Vines

His words are a challenge wrapped in silk, and I can feel the heat of it sparking between us. It's the kind of friction that could either kindle a fierce partnership or ignite a blaze that would consume us both.

Maria saunters over to Aldo, completely ignoring me. "Make sure you speak to Giovanni," Maria whispers to my fiancé, her voice a velvet laced command. "He's not convinced about the merger. Charm him."

Aldo nods, his dark eyes searching mine for a moment before he's whisked away by Maria's directive. It's a dance, one where I'm forced to watch from the sidelines. I can't help but feel the sting of indignation at playing the dutiful fiancée while Maria pulls the strings in the alliance that should be mine to control.

I should be the one weaving through the throng of tailored suits and silk gowns, striking deals and forging bonds. Instead, I stand poised near the grand staircase, a statue draped in red chiffon, an accessory to the power play unfolding before me.

As I observe Maria, noting how effortlessly she arranged this soirée—the perfect guest list, the strategically chosen venue—I admit, begrudgingly, that her expertise is unmatched. She knows every dignitary and every rogue, their vices and virtues catalogued in her sharp mind.

"Remember, Sloane, this is temporary," I remind myself, my internal voice desperate to believe it. I know I have to endure this charade, for the survival of the O'Neils, as Maria has the manpower we so desperately need. My hand tightens on the railing, knuckles whitening. I am a leader, not a pawn, yet here I am, playing a role that chafes against my very essence. But this is the game of our world—deadly, deceitful, and driven by necessity.

The night progresses, and I watch as alliances are silently struck under the guise of congenial banter. The taste of anger is bitter on my tongue, but it's tempered by the knowledge that without Maria's influence, the O'Neils would crumble.

When the time comes, I will reclaim my rightful place.

But for tonight, I will smile and play the part, shrouded in the illusion of subservience. For now.

Chapter 11

Ilean back against the cool leather of the opulent sofa, the scent of aged wood and musky cologne permeating the dimly lit room. Aldo sits across from me, his dark eyes reflecting a fire that's not entirely due to the flickering flames in the hearth. The silence stretches between us, charged with unspoken understanding and the weight of our shared ambitions.

Aldo rises, his movements predatory yet graceful, and closes the distance between us. He offers his hand, and I take it, feeling the roughness of his skin against mine, a testament to the life he leads, a life now entwined with my own.

My heart stutters in my chest, but I push through the disquieting flutter. This is what power demands—a union of strength and strategy, regardless of where my desires might lie. As his lips press against my neck, branding me with the heat of his touch, I can't help but imagine another's kiss—softer, yet equally dangerous. Liam's face flashes in my mind, and guilt coils within me like a serpent.

"Focus on me, Sloane," Aldo whispers, his hands finding the curve of my waist, urging me back to the present, to him.

I nod, trying to anchor myself to the man before me, to the reality of our situation. His mouth claims mine with a hunger that mirrors the ferocity of our world, and for a moment, I let the sensation sweep away the remnants of my hesitation. My fingers trace the defined lines of his jaw, the stubble scratching at my skin, grounding me in the here and now.

We're interrupted by the sharp buzz of Aldo's phone and the relief that floods through me almost sweeps me along with it. Aldo pulls away, cursing under his breath as he reads the message that's appeared on the screen. The air shifts, turning cold and ominous, as if the shadows themselves are bracing for impact.

"Trouble?" I ask, watching the muscle in his jaw clench.

"Trouble," he growls, showing me the text. It's from one Aldo’s men—a warning of unease swirling in the Romano camp that all points to Enzo Ricci stirring the pot and casting doubt on the union between the O’Neils and Romano’s.

The revelation hits me like a physical blow. Trust is a rare commodity in our line of work, and the thought of betrayal from within our ranks threatens the fragile foundation of our newfound alliance.

"Maria," Aldo begins, his voice a low rumble vibrating through his torso, "she rules with an iron fist dipped in blood. Her ways... they're from another time. The old school mentality—it's fear and bloodshed, Sloane. And it's tearing us apart from within."

I lift my head, meeting his gaze. The shadows playing across his face can't hide the worry etched into his features, nor the resolve. I've always known the world we inhabit is ruthless, unforgiving. But hearing it laid bare by Aldo, it stirs something deep within me—fear, yes, but also anger. Anger at the powerlessness imposed by tradition and expectation.

Maria Romano, the matriarch of the Romano’s, has always been a figure of admiration from afar—a woman holding her own in a man's world. But now, as I listen to Aldo and sense the cracks forming in the foundation of what was meant to be unbreakable, I can't help but wonder if this is a glimpse of my own future. Will I too be caught in the web of discord, ruling over a fracturing family like the O'Neils?

"Is there no other way?" My voice is a mere whisper, laden with doubt.

"Maria believes strength comes from fear. That respect is won with blood." He kisses my forehead, a brief touch that speaks volumes. "But I believe in something else, something stronger."

"And what's that?" I ask, though I fear the answer.

"Love," he says simply. And in that moment, I want to believe him. I want to believe that love can conquer the sins of our fathers, the violence of our legacy. I can't help but wonder how much more we can withstand before the seams of our alliance—and my own tenuous control—begin to unravel. And as the silence stretches between us, laden with the gravity of what comes next, a chilling premonition settles deep in my bones.

This is just the beginning.

Chapter 12

The frost-kissed window panes of the restaurant are the first thing I notice as Aldo pulls out the chair for me. He's impeccably dressed in a tailored suit that whispers threads of power and danger, the kind only a man deeply entrenched in the mob can wear with such nonchalance. The engagement ring on my finger feels both foreign and heavy, an anchor chaining me to this new world. It glistens under the dim lighting—a stark reminder of the business arrangement that has become my life.

"Thank you," I murmur, taking a seat and crossing my legs beneath the table. The fabric of my dress skims over my knees, a soft caress against my skin that makes me acutely aware of every touch, every glance from him.

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