Page 63 of Sinister Intentions

“And you must be the lovely Jemma Donnelly.”

My father immediately zeroed in on Jemma, who stood frozen halfway across the room.

Alone. Exposed.

My father’s face transformed into a lecherous smile as he eyed her up and down, then made his way across the room straight toward her.

No fucking way would he get to touch her.

I took a step forward at the same time as Matt did.

Our eyes met for a split second, and we knew what we had to do without even talking.

Matt, who was closer to my father, intercepted him while I walked straight up to Jemma, lifted Picca and put the pup into her arms, then pulled her to my side.

I couldn’t keep them from meeting, but I sure as hell could make sure he wasn’t allowed to touch her.

My father eyed Matt first but dismissed him immediately and continued his approach.

I could see Jemma’s nervousness by the way she swallowed dry and inched closer.

I pulled her to me.

She side-eyed me, her eyes wide, then leaned in without a word.

I tightened my arm as my father closed in on us. I could feel the tension radiating from her slender frame, the way her muscles coiled tight with apprehension, the way she pressed Picca against her.

A flicker of protectiveness surged through me—the need to shield her from the darkness that lurked beneath the polished veneer of my family.

“Vincenzo,” my father drawled, his eyes flicking to Picca, then lingering on Jemma with an unsettling glint. “Shouldn’t you keep your distance from your brother’s bride?”

I suppressed the urge to snarl at him, clenched, then unclenched my free hand but said nothing.

The way he looked at Jemma made my skin crawl—like a predator assessing its prey. I should’ve never brought her here.

Jemma shuddered, and I pulled her closer, angling her body to block her from his leering gaze even more—in addition to the barrier Picca was providing.

“Father,” I replied, keeping my voice level despite the anger simmering beneath the surface. “This is Jemma Donnelly. Jemma, this is my father, Alfredo Salvini.”

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you when I’ve only heard of your beauty before,” he said in a saccharine voice.

My eyes met Matt’s whose eyebrows rose in surprise. Was he surprised that my father knew of Jemma, or was he surprised at the achingly sweet tone my father usually used to pick up random women?

Like the one who floated into the room as if she were Marie Antoinette.

Jemma tensed further, her chin lifting in defiance. Before she could respond, I cut in smoothly. “Mr. Donnelly sends his regards. He’s really sorry he can’t be here tonight.”

I texted the info to my father’s secretary before, but there wasn’t anything else to say.

My father chuckled, the sound grating on my nerves. “Well, isn’t this too bad?”

“Vincenzo, Matteo, how nice to see you,” my father’s newest trophy wife Paula sing-songed right as she stopped at my father’s side, completely ignoring Alex and Fee, who awkwardly stood next to us, or Jemma in between us.

What was wrong with these people?

I turned my attention back to my father, who was still staring at Jemma as if she was his next meal.

Gross.

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