Page 265 of Merciless Desires

“The envelope was found almost immediately, but their retaliation is slow. Calculated. We need everyone to keep their goddamn guards up. With this…” He paused, and I knew he was glaring at me. “Wedding only a few weeks away, we can assume that he’s going to strike before…or on the lovely day.”

“Cazzo,” Genovesi grumbled. “Bad timing.”

I fixed him with a glare. “Dominov is the one with bad timing, not us.”

Genovesi nodded. “That’s what I meant, boss.”

Yeah fucking right.

I refused to look at Papà, well aware that he was probably grinning wickedly at the thought of all of the bullshit with Dominov being my fault.

By getting engaged, Papà believed I had essentially broadcast a weakness to our enemies. A way to hurt us through her.

And I was starting to believe he might be right.

That wasn’t my intention. I had traded money for a wife at my papà’s snide request, for him to no longer have something to hold over my head.

But he would always have something to hold over my head: our company.

I could feel him tightening the restraints since my engagement. His refusal to relinquish control was becoming apparent as the wedding date crept closer.

All of this shit with Dominov wasn’t helping. I had been reduced to a lackey overnight, dropping eyeballs that I had scooped out of skulls off at random locations. A trail, leading Dominov toward a trap that I had created, but Papà would take credit for.

If this all worked out, that was. If it was a complete failure, he would have no issue telling our men that it was my dumb idea that had been unsuccessful.

“What about your soon-to-be wife made you choose her, figlio?” Papà stepped forward and nudged Tocci out of his seat.

Now my papà was across from me, that wicked gleam in his eye warning me that nothing good would come from this conversation.

“Have you met her?” I chose my response carefully and looked away from my papà down toward the cards in front of me.

I had a shit hand, and I wasn’t in the mood to bluff my way through this round, especially not with Papà now playing.

“I have,” Papà began and blotted out his cigarette. He lifted his cards and peered at me over the top of them. “There is a lot to like.”

My men around us laughed, but I just stared at Papà, not giving him a reaction.

I opened my mouth to respond, but he continued.

“She is very beautiful, Matteo. Too beautiful for you, no?”

More laughter. I gripped my glass of whiskey so tightly it nearly shattered in my palm. Taking a sip, I emptied the contents and carefully placed the glass back down on the felt table.

“I might just have to steal her from you, figlio.”

I tried not to react. Tried. I failed miserably, and it only made Papà grin more. I shoved my chair away from the table and tossed my cards to the center.

“Fold. I’ll be back in a bit. Try not to lose all your money, Papà. You’re not good at poker.”

The only thing I could hear was the sound of my blood pumping, a loud thump, thump, thump as I climbed the stairs. I was going to take my anger out on Marcella in the only way I should ever take my anger out on her.

“Take a fucking break,” I grumbled to the two morons stationed outside my bedroom.

I pushed the doors open as they walked away, and my rage only increased when I didn’t see Marcella where I had left her.

“Matteo?” she called from the bathroom, a quiver of fear in her voice.

Some weird, mushy feeling squeezed in my chest as I moved to her, drawn by some kind of force that neither of us understood yet.

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