Page 26 of Forbidden Vengeance

Then he’s gone, slipping away like a shadow just as the bathroom door begins to open.

I stare at my reflection, wondering when exactly this game stopped being just about revenge, and why that terrifies me more than anything Siobhan O’Connor might do with her newfound knowledge.

Later, as I coordinate with security about an overcrowded valet situation, I catch Siobhan watching me from across the room.

She raises her champagne glass in subtle acknowledgment before turning back to her father’s business associates. I file away the interaction, knowing every alliance and observation could matter in the months to come.

But Mario’s touch still burns on my skin, and for once, the game feels secondary to something far more dangerous—something that feels disturbingly like hope.

10

MARIO

Ishould be halfway to Boston by now. O’Connor’s been blowing up my phone for hours, and Siobhan’s cryptic text sits like poison in my inbox:Congratulations on the impending addition to the DeLuca dynasty. Though I suppose it’s technically the Calabrese line that’s being continued…

Fucking Siobhan. Always too clever for her own good.

Instead of dealing with the Irish mess, I’m in Elena’s apartment. The city lights paint patterns across her floors, and I find myself counting the minutes until she returns, like some lovesick fool instead of the exiled son I’m supposed to be.

The lock turns, and Elena enters—still in that midnight blue Dior that makes her look like something out of a Raphael painting. All that pale skin against dark silk, her blonde hair coming loose from its elegant twist. Even exhausted from tonight’s performance, she moves flawlessly.

She doesn’t startle when she sees me, which somehow makes me want her more. “I assumed you’d be here,” she says, moving through her apartment like I’m just another piece of expensive furniture.

But I catch the slight tremor in her hands as she removes her diamond earrings.

“Help me with my zipper?” she asks over her shoulder, challenge clear in her voice.

I’m across the room before she finishes speaking. My hands find her back, fingers splaying across silk-covered skin. The zipper becomes a test of control—how slowly can I drag it down when everything in me wants to tear the dress apart?

The only sound is metal teeth parting and Elena’s breath catching as my knuckles brush her spine. She’s not wearing a bra, and the knowledge makes my blood heat.

“Careful,” she whispers as the zipper reaches the small of her back. “This dress is worth?—”

“I’ll buy you another one.” The silk parts like water under my hands, revealing inch after inch of pale skin. She’s playing with fire—we both are. My little planner, flying too close to the sun like Icarus, thinking her wax wings will hold.

The Calabreses will burn her just like they burn everything they touch. Just like I burned everything when I went after Matteo.

Her hands are the only thing keeping the dress from pooling at her feet. She turns slowly to face me, and something in my chest tightens. In this light, her eyes are more gray than blue, like storm clouds gathering. Even under her perfect makeup, I can see the light dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose—a reminder that beneath all her perfection, she’s still so young, so human.

Her chest rises and falls rapidly, betraying how affected she is by my proximity.

“End it with Anthony Calabrese,” I say, my voice low and controlled despite the rage building in my chest. “It’s too dangerous, especially now that you’re”—I can barely force out the words—“carrying his child.”

One perfectly shaped eyebrow rises. “My, my…is the great Mario DeLuca jealous?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” I step back, needing distance from her intoxicating presence. “You reminded me yourself—you’re an asset. And I need to ensure my assets are protected.”

Pain flashes across her face before ice replaces it. The look makes me feel like I’ve kicked a puppy—a new and distinctly unwelcome sensation.

“I’ve never taken orders from men before,” she says, voice arctic. “I don’t plan to start now. In fact, I’m attending a Calabrese family function tomorrow night. As Anthony’sspecialguest.”

Red clouds my vision. “Playing the whore suits you then?”

The moment the words leave my mouth, I want to catch them, stuff them back down my throat. Elena’s face crumbles for just a second before hardening into something terrible and beautiful.

“Get out.” Her voice could chill the sun.

“Elena—”

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