Page 228 of The Consequences of Love and Vengeance

He’s dressed in business attire, sans a dress tie. His salt and pepper hair is cut short and styled on his head.

I watch him as he enters the living room. It’s as if the air vanishes, sucked right out of the spacious area. I think I understand why Caprice didn’t want to stay at home since he’s returned. Everything I know about him is speculation. I’ve never witnessed a murder or seen evidence connecting him to one. The vibe he eludes could make the strongest of strong men tuck tail and run.

He stops several feet from me, wine glass in one hand while bringing the other out of the pocket of his black slacks.

“You must be Brianna Andrews.” I have to stop myself from swallowing. The man is eerie as fuck. “Vincent Acerbi.”

He holds out his hand, outstretched in front of me to take.

All of my instincts are telling me not to place my hand in his. If I don’t, though, that would be the ultimatego fuck yourself, and I’d like to think I’m smarter than that.

There’s no need to cause trouble where there is none—at least not at the moment. But I also know every time you pick up a snake, eventually, you’re going to get bitten. Maybe not tonight, or even tomorrow night, but it will happen. That dark, devilish stare is promising me that exact thing.

“Please, call me Bri.”

I lift my hand, my eyes never lowering, and I take his hand.

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

BRIANNA

The way his eyes stare deep into mine, never wavering, sends chills down my spine.

His presence alone is terrifying, and I’ve been in the presence of men who have done unspeakable things. I’ve seen the aftermath of drug deals gone bad. Before I was in the gangs and narcotics unit, before I made detective, I apprehended a serial killer once. Ten minutes in an interrogation room with him left me questioning if I really had it in me to do this job for years to come.

The same vibe that man gave off is the same one I’m feeling right now, sitting just five feet from Vincent Acerbi.

“Tell me, Brianna, what is it you do for a living?”

Like he doesn’t already know.My eyes pop over, meeting Drago for a split second, his stare echoing my thoughts.

With my eyes still locked on him, he picks up his glass of wine, tipping it up to his lips, sipping.

“I’m a detective for the Los Angeles Police Department, Mr. Acerbi.”

“Please”—he places his palm against his suit-covered chest as he lowers his other, setting his wine back beside his empty dinner plate—“call me, Vincent. I insist.”

Something tells me very few people in this world speaks to him so informally, let alone not addressing him with “sir” before uttering his name.

“May I get that out of your way, sir?” Mona stops at Vincent’s side, silently waiting for his reply.

“Of course.” He doesn’t look at her, instead twisting his head to address D. “Dinner was good. Almost as if I never left Italy.”

“It’s not me you should be thanking. I didn’t make it. Mona did. She’s the one that deserves your appreciation, not me.”

There’s a long pause of awkward silence when Vincent finally sighs, then tips his head up, gazing at Mona as she takes his plate.

“Dinner was wonderful, Ms. Moretti.”

“Thank you, sir.” She smiles, tucking her chin before escaping to the kitchen quicker than she came in.

I hate the way Mona has become a shell of herself simply because of Vincent’s presence. It’s so wrong, and I’m having a hard time believing what I’m seeing is real. She hasn’t once come off as a person that scares easily.

Does she know something?

My mind swarms with thoughts. Maybe the person we need to probe has been under our noses this whole time. Anna Acerbi was going to turn in evidence on her husband—Tom said that anyway—so maybe Mona knows something that could help Drago’s investigation.

“I have homework and a lot of studying to do,” Caprice draws out, pushing her chair back. “So, I’m gonna go to my room now.”

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