Page 70 of His Two Hidden Masks

“Why?” He looked genuinely confused. “I thought this acquisition was going to help your family’s business grow?”

I decided to tell him the truth. “Two things. One, it seems James let my father know you and I had dinner together.”

“And why the fuck does that matter?”

The matter-of-fact way he defended our right to do as we pleased was so fucking hot. “Apparently, James does not want me to distract you.”

“My fucking brother,” he muttered.

“Well, my father doesn’t want me to do anything to risk the deal. I already fucked up everything by leaving Roberto at the altar. So, he agrees with your brother and thinks my business is another distraction.”

I sighed and ran both my hands over my hair, smoothing down my ponytail. “Right now, I need my family for this business to work, and if I am going to change that dynamic, I need a plan. So, for now, Bella Baci is closing up shop. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Dylan said, his voice clipped and angry.

“You don’t know my father,” I said. “It’s not worth it his wrath.”

“You are telling me that because you broke up with your boyfriend, and because you met me, you are shutting down your business.”

“It’s not forever,” I said, my defenses going up around me. “I’m also worried that there may be a security tape of us together last night.”

Dylan’s eyes widened. “So, they are blackmailing you?”

“No,” I said. “Roberto was my fiancé, and I hurt him. You don’t understand.”

“You are right, I don’t understand.”

“He grew up with my sister. He was like family.”

“Family that blackmails you.” Dylan ran his hands through the top of his wavy, dark hair. “You should stand up to them.” His tone made me think he spoke from experience.

“Oh, you think so.”

“Yes, I do.”

“That is my decision, not yours,” I said, my rage spiking.

“Yes, it’s your decision to give up on your dreams so you don’t upset, what do you call him, Papa?” His statement hit me like a sucker punch.

“You should go,” I said.

Dylan was just one more man telling me what to do. No-fucking-thank-you. We faced each other, eye-to-eye in a stand-off. I did not blink. My chest tight, my head dizzy with anger. He was right to challenge me, but I was furious that he had dared.

He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped himself. He picked up his guitar and ran one of his hands through his gorgeous dark hair.

“Thank you for playing here today, but I don’t think you should do it again,” I said, my heart thumping in time with the ticking of the clock above the stove.

My father made me feel small. Roberto did, too. I had expected more from Dylan. The last two days with him had made me feel larger than life. My energy was powerful enough to light the room, the palazzo, the campo, all of Venice, all the world. I did not want to feel small ever again.

Dylan’s phone buzzed. He glanced at his messages. “Right, I need to see James. It seems my ne’er-do-well self is causing trouble everywhere.”

“So, it seems,” I said, keeping my tone even and cold.

Dylan hesitated as if he were considering giving me a kiss. He didn’t. I wouldn’t let him. Taking his guitar, he walked back into the restaurant, and I assumed, the Mia Sorella.

I exhaled as if I’d been holding my breath. My body was a cocktail of equal parts disappointment and desire. Auntie Aurora opened her office door, as if making sure it was all clear before standing next to me.

Without a word, she wrapped her arm around my waist. I rested my head on her shoulder.

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