“Let’s eat,” I said, my tone leaving no room for argument.
His eyes narrowed at the attitude in my voice—as he would call it, had called it numerous times as an excuse to punish me.
This house was his domain, and I could see that my cramping his style irked him.
I clenched my jaw as my father’s gaze again raked over Jemma in a way that made my skin crawl. The man had no boundaries, no sense of decency. I tightened my grip on Jemma, pulling her closer against my side.
“Sadly, I have an urgent business matter to attend to,” my father announced, his oily tone grating on my nerves. “I won’t be able to join you all for dinner.”
Relief flooded through me at the prospect of him leaving, but it was short-lived.
His beady eyes settled on me and Matt. “Vincenzo, Matteo, join me in my office. Petra, show our guests to the dining room.”
My stomach tightened; my first instinct was to not leave Jemma’s side. I shot a glance at Matt, who shrugged almost imperceptibly. There was no reason not to follow my father’s orders, at least for now.
As I started to move, Jemma tensed beside me. I leaned in close, my lips nearly grazing her ear. “Go with Alex and Fee. I’ll be there soon.”
She nodded, her green eyes searching mine for a fleeting moment before she turned and followed Paula who led Alex and Fee towards the dining room.
My gaze lingered on her retreating form until she disappeared through the doorway.
With a heavy sigh, I trailed after my father and Matt, steeling myself for whatever fresh hell awaited us in his office.
Before my father even opened the door, I could hear Hero and Dante’s voices quarreling as usual.
My brothers were here? Did my father invite them?
But why?
Of course, Isabella and Mirabella were nowhere to be seen. My sisters spent as little time here as possible, preferring to live with me in my apartment whenever they came home from university instead of here. All they did was rack up their credit card bills as if their walk-in closet wasn’t already bursting at the seams, anyway.
At least Jemma had found something suitable to wear from their extensive wardrobe.
I entered the office behind Matt and nodded at Hero and Dante who’d gone quiet.
My father settled behind his massive desk and regarded us coolly. “Matteo,” he began, his voice laced with false concern. “When exactly will this wedding to the Donnelly girl take place?”
Matt’s jaw tightened, and he shot me a sideways glance before replying, “Why don’t you ask Vince? This wedding is more his idea than mine.”
I glared at him, but Matt held my gaze, a hint of defiance in his eyes. There was more to his confrontational stance than met the eye.
Turning to my father, I said evenly, “We’re not in a rush. These things take time to plan properly.”
My father’s lip curled in a sneer. “Time is a luxury we don’t have. The wedding will take place within the month. And you and her will live under this roof,” he said to Matt.
The familiar surge of hatred rose within me, a bitter taste filling my mouth. My muscles tensed, but I immediately relaxed them again.
There was no way Jemma would live under this roof, not even for a single day. But before I could come up with a response, my father’s phone rang. He answered brusquely, his expression hardening as he continued to stare at me while listening to the voice on the other end.
Was he feeling the heat because his influence in Salvini Global Enterprises—and within the family—was slipping? Though it wasn’t only me taking on more and more leadership roles. It was actually that our men much preferred facing me rather than dealing with my volatile father.
But why would he want Jemma here? To have her under his thumb? And why the rush?
I had my reasons for wanting Jemma within reach, but why did he care? What did he get out of an alliance with the Donnellys?
“I’ll be right there,” he snapped, ending the call with a jab of his finger.
He rose from his chair, his movements abrupt and agitated. “It seems I have an urgent matter to deal with after all. We’ll continue this discussion later.”