Page 115 of Hate Mates

The Vincenzo I know is a boy shaped by sharp edges and cold discipline. I’ve seen the bruises he pretends aren’t there, the stiffness in his movements when he thinks no one’s watching. I’ve seen how his eyes slowly turn to the same coldness of his father’s over time.

But not now. There’s warmth there. Aboy who did something good, something kind.And it wraps so tightly around my heart, claiming it. And I know that it will always be his.

My heart.

He looks away first. Turns, walks off without another word, as if it never meant anything to him at all.

But I stay, staring at the sky, knowing I’m just a girl who has fallen in love with a boy.

FIVE

Vincenzo

The room is filled with laughter, the clinking of fine crystal, the low hum of polite conversation. To everyone watching, we are the perfect couple.

My hand rests at the small of Ottavia’s back, guiding her through the crowd with ease. I nod when necessary, shake hands when expected, murmur pleasantries to people I care nothing about. And through it all, I keep my grip firm, a reminder. A warning.

Ottavia smiles as if she doesn’t feel it.

She’s mastered the art of the illusion. She laughs at the right moments, leans in when required, touches my arm in that delicate, practiced way. She plays her role to perfection.

But underneath the elegant facade, where no one else can see, I press just a little too hard at her waist, let my fingers linger just a little too long. A silent game, one she pretends not to notice.

I lean in, lips ghosting over the shell of her ear. “You’re good at this,” I murmur. “Convincing them. Acting like you belong here.”

“I do belong here. I’m a Del Rossa now, am I not?” she says quietly.

“By name only. My name. Which means…without me, you’re nothing.”

“I’m a born Savelli.”

“Which means jack-shit in this world. Everyone knows it. Your father, too. Why else would he trade his own daughter for an alliance?”

Ottavia’s gaze snaps to mine, her eyes giving nothing away. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe it wasn’t my father who traded me, but yours who sold you?”

Anger flares beneath my skin, a sharp, pulsing burn. I smirk yet tighten my grip. A warning, one she pointedly ignores.

“Vincenzo, Ottavia!” My mother’s voice is warm, indulgent, as if she believes this night is exactly as it should be. She gestures for us to join her at the head of the table, where our fathers sit. “Come, let everyone see what a perfect match you make.”

I guide Ottavia to the table, sliding into the seat beside her. The conversation flows around us as wine flows. She sits straight-backed, poised, offering her rehearsed responses when addressed. A proper wife. A proper Del Rossa.

I let my hand slide beneath the table, resting lightly on her naked thigh, just above the hem of the white cocktail dress she’s wearing.

She doesn’t move, doesn’t acknowledge the touch at all. I press my fingers in. Hard.

Her wine glass doesn’t waver as she lifts it to her lips. “Do you need something, husband?” she asks sweetly.

I exhale a low chuckle, a lazy flicker of amusement curling at the edges of my mouth. “You’re playing your part so well tonight. I might reward you by allowing you to suck my cock later.”

Her reaction is instant—sharp inhale, a barely perceptible tightening of her fingers around the stem of her glass. But sherecovers quickly, masking whatever flicker of emotion I just wrung out of her. She won’t give me the satisfaction.

That only makes me want to push harder.

She turns her head slightly, her eyes meeting mine in a way no one else can see. Cold. Unyielding. A silent challenge.

“Do not mistake control for ownership, Vincenzo.” Her voice dips to a hushed whisper. “Just as you should not mistake tolerance for submission.”

Heat moves down my spine, something sharp curling in my chest. There’s something about her fight, her defiance, that’s like a velvet tongue licking up and down my shaft.

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