Page 24 of Last Hand

“I courted her like the others did,” he admits after another pause, though there’s something almost grudging about the way he says it as though even now admitting this feels like swallowing glass.

“And?” Milo presses impatiently when Vittorio doesn’t immediately continue.

“And I was tolerated,” Vittorio replies bluntly, his tone flat. “She was the one who got to choose, heavily influenced by her father. I knew how it would go since she was Daddy’s little girl.” He looks at my mother, who in turn lifts her chin and clenches her teeth. “Isn’t that right, love?”

“Why were you only tolerated?” I repeat skeptically.

“Tolerated because they had no choice. Because I was good enough for their parties and their business deals.” His lip curlsin disdain now. “But not good enough for her. Even she thought so.”

I exchange a quick glance with Milo before turning my attention back to Vittorio. His shoulders are tense now; his entire body seems coiled tight like a spring ready to snap at any moment.

“Her father outright dismissed me at one of the parties,” he finally says after another long pause—this time quieter than before.

“Why?” Milo asks cautiously.

My father’s jaw clenches visibly before answering: “Because I was too reckless.” The admission hangs heavy between us all for several heartbeats before he adds bitterly, “Would cause nothing but violence being from the south.”

“And what did you do?” I ask softly, though part of me already knows where this is going.

His lips curl into something between a sneer and a smile—a dangerous expression that sends shivers down my spine, even though I try not to show it.

“I gave them violence.”

I peer over at Milo, and I know the cogs are turning in his head like they are mine. I knew there had to be an underlying reason why he disliked Lydia from the start, and now this is starting to make more sense.

“When you say violence?”

“I killed off the competition, not realizing Anatoly was still in the running—not that it mattered, I still got the girl.” My father shrugs as if that is all there is to the story.

SEVEN

Gina

“No,” I cut in sharply, my voice slicing through the thick tension like a blade. The sound carries enough weight to halt their murmurings mid-sentence. Vittorio’s lips press together in a tight line, his jaw flexing as if bracing for an argument. Leone flinches ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing in surprise before darting to Milo, who looks caught off guard, his mouth half-open as if he might speak only he can’t quite find the words. The air grows heavier, the kind of silence that hums with anticipation and discomfort.

“It started with a betrayal. Don’t dress it up like it was some noble move to protect a legacy.” My gaze sweeps to my husband.

“You have some fantasy in your head that you’d have been better off with him than me! A child’s dream!”

“Exactly, Vittorio, I was a fucking child. You stole me. That’s the truth.”

Vittorio stiffens, his finely tailored suit doing little to mask the tension rippling through his frame. His hand twitches at his side, fingers flexing as if grasping for control—or perhaps an excuse. Leone blinks rapidly, his usually composed expression faltering under the weight of my accusation. Milo shiftsuncomfortably in his chair, running a hand through his hair in a gesture that screams unease.

“You left out the part where I was the competition you took out.” He says nothing but shifts his weight subtly, his shoulders tense as he avoids meeting my gaze head-on.

“I saved you!” Vittorio says still unable to meet my gaze.

“You destroyed me!” I scream, losing my temper.

“I’ve given you a good life. You’ve been able to do as you please. You would not have had those luxuries with Romanov,” he sneers.

“We don’t know that.”

“What was there to know. Either way, you were being married off. Either way, you had no choice!”

“I was seventeen,” I continue, my voice rising slightly as anger coils tighter in my chest. “Seventeen. And you didn’t just court me—you stalked me and kidnapped me.”

Existentialism fades into the background as I feel myself being sucked back to that day, a day when my life ended as a Morretti and began as Pressutti, neither of which I’d have chosen for myself.

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