Page 12 of Giovanna

The idea of offering to rescue her and stepping up the flirting is beyond tempting, but we need Elio married off and settled down. As much as I might now hate the idea, I need to encourage the marriage. Getting distracted by her beauty is not an option.

I give her a kind smile. “He’s not that bad. I’m told he’s quite handsome. Don’t see it myself though.”

Laughing, she points a delicate, manicured finger over my shoulder and remarks, “So handsome that women throw themselves at his feet, apparently.”

She rolls her eyes at Elio regaling a group of women with a story not far away. They all hang off his every word. “If I actually wanted to marry him I would care, but I don’t.” She sighs and I don’t like the sadness I see despite the efforts she makes to hide it.

“He’s being a complete cunt.” When Matty-of-few-words-Marino contributes to a conversation he packs a punch. It brings a smile to Francesca’s face though. Her teeth are perfectly straight and bright white against her fire engine red lipstick. The braces definitely worked a treat.

She’s exquisite. By far the most beautiful woman in the room. Something I need to stop noticing because she is soon to be my brother’s wife.

Excusing myself to go get a beer, I make my way over to Elio’s harem. Glassy-eyed and almost panting, a woman with white blonde hair has her hand clutching onto one of Elio’s biceps. I recognise her from the social scene we all mix in and detest how desperately she wants to secure herself a mafia husband. She is just another Aussie girl with zero clue about the realities of dealing with Italian men.

“Hello brother,” I don’t bother pretending to be happy to be there. I’m famous for how infrequent my smiles are anyway.

Elio raises his glass to me. “Sister.”

“You’re a lucky man, Elio.” The harem is following our conversation like it is a tennis match.

“In what regard?” He tilts his head and narrows his eyes. Maybe not tennis, but we are playing some kind of game here.

“Your future wife. She’s insanely hot. Who knew the gawky kid would grow up to be such a beauty.”

The women’s faces darken at my comments, but there’s an arctic-like temperature drop when Elio replies. “Can’t disagree with you there, sis. I’m not totally opposed to the forced marriage anymore.”

He doesn’t give a shit about the women who would give their left arm to be in his bed tonight. How his comments affect them is their problem, not his.

“Have you considered spending any time with your fiancee? You know, seeing as it is your engagement party?” He picks up on my icy tone and grins. We are in a standoff. Thanks to Dad’s complex succession plan it isn’t clear which of us has proper rank in this situation. We are going to have to find a way to navigate these tensions, but I would prefer not to do it in front of an audience of the future cast ofReal Housewives of Sydney.

He shrugs. “Yeah, I’ll get to her at some point. It’s not like she’s going anywhere.”

Matty is spot on. Our brother is being a complete arsehole and not able to stomach his petulance any longer, I leave him with his adoring crowd.

Making short work of the remainder of my beer, I stop by the kitchen bench to grab another. I’m flicking it open when out of the corner of my eye I spot an unwelcome figure. The heat turns up on a specific pot of my rage that has been simmering for several years just below the surface.

Perpetually slightly sweaty and with uncommonly long fingernails, the man weaving through the crowd with purpose inspires discomfort wherever he goes. His ill-fitting suits are regarded with horror by his contemporaries for whom a tailored Italian suit is practically a religious vestment.

David Rossi. Paul Rossi’s brother and once one of Dad’s innermost circle, David has been living in Melbourne for the past six years. I crack my knuckles and relive the day that I finally got to feel his bones break under my fists.

What the fuck is he doing here at her engagement party?There’s insensitivity and then there’s just blatant disrespect.

He elbows past a waiter carrying a tray of prosecco flutes and hones in on his target, moving towards Francesca.

I have to get to her first. She had no one to protect her when it happened. I was two years late and have been plagued with guilt ever since. Even if she hadn’t arrived here tonight looking like a goddamn angel, I would do anything to prevent David from hurting her any further.

Racing him to his target, my gaze never leaves his blotchy face with its saggy jowls. I hate this man more than anyone else. He shouldn’t still be walking the planet, let alone attending our family events.

“David, incoming,” beating the piece of shit there, I murmur into Massimo’s ear and his head shoots up to search for him.

Reaching out to tug Francesca under his arm, Massimo quietly gives her a heads-up. “You’re going to be okay, Cheska. We’re right here.”

Her expressive eyes stare into mine from under Massimo’s huge arm and the fear, anger, and revulsion I see in them breaks my heart. Before I realise what I’m doing, I reach out and squeeze her hand. My protective instincts are on high alert.

“Welcome home, Francesca,” David stands in front of us, his beer gut proudly protruding before him.

The balls on this piece of shit. Though he knows we will want to avoid making a scene so perhaps it is cowardice that he has chosen tonight to reappear.

Francesca somehow manages to look regal while also like she is about hiss like an angry cat. She tilts her head back so she can look down her nose at him, but her hand shakes in mine.

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