Page 22 of Righteous Deceit

“Leave them to it,” Vincent murmurs, moving toward the open door.

He steps through without an invitation, and a housekeeper dips her chin, gesturing toward the back of the house. “This way.”

Salvatore stands against the railing of his balcony, the jagged rocks and choppy water of the river behind his home a fitting backdrop to the bleak image he sets in head-to-toe black. From his polished shoes to the rings on his fingers, every item of clothing is as midnight black as one person could manage. The tattoos dancing up his neck and spanning every inch of skin on his hands are a mix of gray and onyx.

He glances over his shoulder when he hears our approach, waiting another minute before turning to give us his attention.

His beard is dark and manicured to an inch of its life, the sides of his head shorn close with a mass of black hair combed back, not a strand out of place.

He likes control, and his appearance screams that loud enough for us all to hear.

He glances between us, his face giving away no change in demeanor when he notices Lorenzo missing. “Did you kill Caruso and take power since I spoke to him yesterday, Ferrari? Or is your boss disrespecting me in my own home?”

Vincent smiles. “He’s teaching his wife some manners. It won’t take long.”

Placing a cigarette between his lips, he dips his face to his cupped palm to light the stick, inhaling thickly before releasing a relieved exhale.

Standing to full height, he’s taller than the three of us, and I despise that I have to adjust my neck to look at him.

He reaches a hand out, and Vincent takes it.

“Welcome home,” our consigliere greets. “You know Leonardo.” He gestures to his right, and Leo dips his chin. “This is Diego Greco.” I offer the same greeting with a slight bow of my head.

Salvatore nods once in my direction. “I understand you met Amadeo and Narciso while I was inside?” He gestures to the men mere feet away, watching each of us cautiously.

Leonardo and I nod.

Amadeo shakes our hands, but Narciso remains silent against the balcony’s railing.

“Apologies, gentlemen.” Lorenzo takes that opportunity to step onto the balcony, Gabriella’s hand held tightly in his. “Something pressing I had to take care of.”

I don’t need to smell the air around her to know the scent of his cum clings to her skin. Her messy curls are more disheveled than usual, and she pulls it over her shoulders in an attempt to cover the deep red marks pressed into the skin of her neck.

Bianchi sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. “Manners.” He snorts.

Stepping toward the boss of the outfit, Gabriella extends her hand. “I’m Gabriella Caruso.”

Bianchi takes her hand, lifting it to his mouth to kiss her knuckles. “Pleasure.”

She smiles, turning her back on him completely to look at Leo. “Big dick energy,” she mouths, settling back beside her husband. “If it’s okay, I’m going to look for Bianca and Caterina.” She presses a kiss to the corner of Lorenzo’s mouth.

“If her sister can convince Caterina to wear the engagement ring she refuses to acknowledge on her bedside table, I would be much obliged,” Bianchi calls to her retreating back, and Gabriella pauses.

“Try asking her yourself. Vincent here has experience with that. Made it a whole lot easier when you plucked the courage to look her in the eye when you gave it to her, didn’t it, Vinnie?”

With that, she’s gone, and Salvatore turns his attention to Necktie. “So it wasn’t paradise from the moment you stole her from me?”

Vincent shrugs. “She was never yours. She always belonged to me. I merely made certain the world was aware of it.”

Too concerned with swinging his dick, Vincent doesn’t read the dip of uncertainty in Salvatore’s question. The words are more about the fact that Bianca didn’t warm to him right away and nothing to do with Bianca as a person.

Salvatore gestures to the large concrete table mere steps away. “Please. Take a seat. My sister is finishing up a phone call and will join us momentarily. Can I get you something to drink while we wait?”

I keep my place standing but move close enough not to be disrespectful. Salvatore or his men don’t comment, and the housekeeper is outside within seconds, pushing a drink cart toward the table.

“Thank you, Emma.”

She whispers, “You’re welcome,” and retreats into the house.

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