stomach was pinched, and her mouth was sour and metallic
tasting.
Antonio’s black eyes swept over her, and she barely
managed to repress a shiver at how cold they were. “I wanted
to talk to you about Vincent.”
A ringing started in Cassia’s ears. She felt strangely hollow,
her head horribly light. Those words from her father’s mouth
felt like the sharp blade of a weapon. She hated Vincent
Fontano. Maybe hate wasn’t correct. She didn’t know him
well enough to have such strong emotions about him. He’d
taken her out three times in the past two months, each time to
a five-star restaurant of his choosing. She’d pretended to like
that he’d ordered for her, that he’d forced her to drink wine
and not bourbon like she’d wanted. He made stilted
conversation to hide the fact that he had no character to speak
of. He had no backbone either, and Cassia knew the terrible
things she’d heard about him and his father were all true.
Her father and Leon Fontano, Don of his family, were closer
to enemies than friends. Leon was older than her father by at
least twenty years, and he hated that Antonio had made a name
for himself—taking over territory, growing his business,
acquiring men and allies in equal number. Cassia’s father
didn’t believe in running the family the way they would have
done in the golden era of the eighties. He wanted to take their
family in a different, more legitimate direction.
That didn’t mean he wasn’t cruel. He wouldn’t hesitate to
do things most people couldn’t imagine to men who crossed
him.
“Vincent,” Cassia mumbled. “You want me to see him
again?” She knew Vincent Fontano wouldn’t have gotten
