Page 297 of Hate Mates

Hate to Love You by Jo-Anne Joseph

ONE

Dominic

The scarlet dress should have been my first warning that Isabella DeLuca would be in trouble, but as usual, I never heeded those warnings.

I stood in the corner of the room, nursing a glass of whiskey, scanning the crowd of well-dressed sharks circling the room like vultures. These were the kind of people who wore their power like an expensive suit, with smiles that could either charm you or bury you.

My father wastheVincent Saviano, and if you were a resident of New Orleans, you’d know him Domilento or ‘slow death’. The name wasn’t given lightly; it was earned with years of calculated silence, watching, and waiting. His reputation was as unyielding as the city's thick, humid air.

My grandfather, Ernesto, moved here in the early 1900s, escaping the chaos of Sicily to make his mark in a land where opportunity flowed just as freely as the Mississippi River. He was the first to establish the family’s hold in New Orleans, carving out influence with methods that blended old-world cunning and Southern charm. But it was my father, Vincent, who solidified the legacy. He didn’t rush; he never had to. Hismoves were deliberate, as inevitable as the setting sun. But the man was aging, so it was up to me to create my path.

Tonight, as every night, it's about one thing: dominance.

Carlos Deluca stood beside my father. Head of the Deluca clan. My father’s sworn enemy turned ally. But you couldn’t trust a Deluca, so I was here. Being the son of one of the most ruthless men in New Orleans meant my duty was to carry on the legacy and ensure that all threats to our Don were eradicated.

I scanned the room and halted. A woman in a scarlet dress that hugged her curves in all the right places caught my eye. An angel amidst a sea of snakes. Her long, dark hair cascaded down her back in soft waves, shimmering under the low light of the chandeliers. She wasn’t like the women who usually hovered around these events, cleavage busting out of their dresses, hanging onto the word of any man who would listen. No, this woman was different. Her beauty wasn’t the polished, expected kind. She was raw, fierce. She wore it like armor, and damn, it was working.

Just then, she turned, her cool gaze locked with mine, for only a moment before she swiftly turned back to her conversation with an older man.

A waiter passed by, and I grabbed another drink, downing it as my father's voice boomed across the room, signaling the start of their private meeting. The heads of the wealthiest families in NOLA moved toward a more private room just off the main ballroom.

But I couldn’t move. There was something magnetic about the woman, the way she held herself, like she belonged here but didn’t—like she was untouchable, out of my reach. But that didn’t stop the instant pull I felt in my gut. I couldn’t look away.

She had the kind of body that made a man’s mouth dry just from looking. For the first time tonight, I was no longer focused on the business. She had my full attention.

But the strangest thing about her? I didn’t recognize her. In a city like New Orleans, especially at gatherings like this, I knew most faces—especially women connected to the Saviano and Deluca families. But she? She was new to me. And that curiosity gnawed at me.

I sipped my drink, watching her smile at something the man said. He touched her elbow briefly, almost casually, but my jaw tightened.

Before I could decide whether to storm across the room and send that man through the French doors behind him, she turned, walking straight toward me, slipping through the crowd easily, like she was born to move in spaces like this. And just like that, she was standing in front of me, close enough that I could smell the faint perfume she wore—something sweet, subtle.

I had to remind myself to speak.

“Well, this is a first. A new face in the crowd. I thought I knew everyone on the guest list.”

“Oh?” Her lips curved into a small smile, her gaze never leaving mine. “Maybe I’ve been here all along. You just never noticed.”

I raised an eyebrow, impressed by her confidence. She wasn’t some soft debutante trying to fit into a world that didn’t want her. She was... different.

“Trust me, you’re hard to miss,” I said, my voice lower, as if we were in on some secret. “I’m Dominic.”

She held my gaze for a beat longer than comfortable, then glanced down at my glass. “Dominic,” she repeated, as if testing the name on her tongue. Fuck, it sounded good on her lips. She bit her bottom lip, and I couldn’t look away. “Well, Dominic Saviano, maybe I’ll see you around.”

I smirked. “So, you know who I am. You could at least return the courtesy.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but Rico Deluca's familiar voice cut through the air. I almost groaned as my best friend approached, his face hard, his jaw set in the way he got when he was in protective mode.But he wasn’t looking at me. No, Rico’s sharp, moss-colored eyes were fixed onher.

“ Isabella,” he said sharply, his tone commanding, though it wasn’t unfriendly. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Isabella? How did I not know?I turned to her, the pieces falling into place in my mind. That sharp, challenging gaze, that smile that didn’t quite hide the fire behind her emerald eyes... It was all coming together.

Rico’s little sister.Translated,Ms. off-limits.

If I knew one thing, Rico didn’t want his sisters anywhere near this world. Not the chaos or violence that came with being part of the family. I knew him well enough to know that he’d do anything to keep her safe, even if that meant shutting her out of it all. She’d been away at boarding school for most of her life.And now she was here, a fucking vision in red.

Isabella didn’t flinch at her brother’s order. Instead, she shot him a look I could only describe as exasperated. “Father asked me to come,” she muttered. I looked between them. Rico hadn’t expected that. “Besides, I can handle myself.”

---