Page 45 of The Enforcer's Possession
And I’d never been more turned on in my life.
Chapter Eleven
Caterina
Marco’s face had gone red, embarrassment and rage warring for dominance.“You would start a war over --”
“Over my wife?Yes.”Dante’s smile was absolutely terrifying.“Without hesitation.Without regret.With enthusiasm, actually.I’ve been looking for an excuse to eliminate the Vitale problem.Please, Marco.Give me that excuse.”
Marco reached for his wine glass -- a simple gesture meant to project confidence, to show he wasn’t rattled by Dante’s threats.He never completed the movement.
Dante moved with speed that shouldn’t have been possible for someone his size.One moment he was standing at his seat.The next his hand had shot across the table, catching Marco’s wrist mid-reach with precision that spoke of practice, of violence refined into art.
The wine glass toppled, red liquid spreading across white linen like blood.
For three full seconds, no one reacted.We all just stared at Dante’s hand locked around Marco’s wrist, at the way he’d pulled Marco’s arm flat against the table, at the absolute control in his grip.
Then Dante’s other hand moved to Marco’s fingers.
I watched -- couldn’t look away -- as he selected Marco’s index and middle fingers with the clinical precision of a surgeon.Gripped them at the base.Applied pressure.
“Dante --” Papa started to stand.
Dante bent Marco’s fingers backward.
The sound was wrong.Wet and crackling, like chicken bones breaking.Marco’s face went white, then red, his mouth opening in a scream that came out strangled and high-pitched.
“Threaten my wife again,” Dante said, his voice conversational, almost pleasant, like he was discussing the weather instead of methodically breaking a man’s hand, “and I’ll break more than your fingers.”
He applied more pressure.Another crack, louder this time.Marco was making sounds now -- gasping, whimpering noises that would have been embarrassing if everyone at the table wasn’t too shocked to process them.
My stomach lurched.Not from nausea.From something else entirely.Something hot and primal that made my thighs clench under the table, made heat pool between my legs despite -- or maybe because of -- the violence happening three feet away.
“Stop.”Mama’s voice was shrill, panicked.“Dante, please, you’re going to --”
“Break them?Yes.”Another measured increase in pressure.Marco was sobbing now, actually sobbing, tears streaming down his face while he tried to pull away and failed because Dante’s grip was absolute.“That’s exactly what I’m going to do.But I’m being merciful.I could break his wrist.His arm.His neck.”
Luca had his hand over his mouth, his eyes wide with the kind of shock that would probably fuel nightmares for weeks.Papa had frozen halfway out of his chair, caught between stopping this and recognizing that intervening might make him the next target.
But Francesca.God, Francesca was still smiling.Actually reached for her wine glass and took a delicate sip like this was the entertainment portion of the evening.
Dante bent the fingers impossibly farther.The crack this time was accompanied by Marco’s full-throated scream, the sound bouncing off the dining room walls and probably carrying to the kitchen staff.
“There we go.”Dante’s tone was satisfied, almost warm.“That’s the sound I wanted.The sound of someone learning exactly what happens when they threaten what belongs to me.”
He released Marco’s hand.Just opened his grip and let go like he was discarding trash.
Marco cradled his injured hand against his chest, still sobbing, his expensive suit jacket now dark with sweat.His fingers sat at unnatural angles, clearly broken in multiple places.He’d need surgery.Months of recovery.
If he was lucky.
Dante pulled a handkerchief from his pocket -- of course he had a fucking handkerchief -- and wiped his hands with precise movements.Like he’d just finished some minor household task instead of committing assault at a family dinner.
“Anyone else have concerns about my wife’s safety?”He looked around the table, meeting each person’s gaze.“Questions about my commitment to her protection?Thoughts about whether marriage has softened me?”
Silence.Absolute, ringing silence.
“Good.”Dante tucked the handkerchief away and reached for his wine glass, the one that hadn’t spilled when he’d lunged across the table.Took a sip like nothing had happened.“Giuseppe, my compliments again on the veal.Perfectly prepared.”
