A rabid dog, I put down.No wonder Vito showed no mercy. What man in power would let a traitor off Scott-free? Not condoning Vito’s actions here, but I at least understood his reasoning. I bit the inside of my cheek to dampen my smile, annoyed at even taking an interest in the topic, annoyed I sounded like them, even in passing thought. Curse my mother’s blood for running deep in my veins.
“Anyway,” Tommaso dismissed with a wave. “Your mother did good by ending him.”
Carina paled and had to grip her empty flute glass before it crashed to the floor.
“Are you all right?” Tommaso assessed her, but her gaze locked on mine.
Something in her hazel eyes struck me into stillness, as though she peered at me but perceived someone else. I knew what she saw. She remembered the awful night in the alley, when she hid me in a corner as Vito De Luca hunted us down. Tommaso spoke true. Vito had been a vicious killer. But unbeknownst to them, it wasn’t my mother who had done the world a favor by finishing him.
“Come with me. Let’s grab you some water.” Tommaso drifted to the other side of the table with my mother, helping her to her seat, and leaving me stewing in a mixture of resentment and cold indifference.
Sofia excused herself to freshen up, leaving Gemma without a companion.
I skimmed her wrist with my thumb. She swallowed and gazed at me, her eyes searching mine. “Are you okay?” What had the two women talked about?
“Yeah, fine.” She nodded and snatched her water, taking a generous sip.
No, she wasn’t. Something bothered her, and I wanted to get down to the bottom of it. “What were you two discussing?”
She sighed at the table. “Nothing… it’s just… Sofia asked about my family, my mother.” Unshed tears pooled in her eyes, and my heart clenched. She blinked, a rapid attempt to clear her eyes. “What about you? What were you guys talking about?”
I opened my mouth—not to rehash my conversation with my uncle, but to console her.
Then Franco stood. All conversation died as his gaze landed on Gemma. “Since my lovely wife has run off… Gemma,” headdressed her, his grin warm and inviting. “Will you join me for a dance?”
Over my dead body. “She’s unwell—”
“Gemma,” Carina interjected, cutting me off, her tone mirroring a dagger shooting across the table. “Don’t be shy. Go on, have one dance.”
My hand gripped the low-ball glass, tight enough to shatter the drink. The urge to throttle Franco, to scream at my mother, consumed me.
Gemma rose from her seat, gracing Franco with the same warmth. My gut clenched with a foreign burn. Could this be what jealousy felt like?
“Sure, why not.” She dropped her hand in Franco’s, and he led her onto the dance floor.
My cousin tugged my wife into him, his wide hand sliding so low on her back.Too low. The snake!
The glass in my hand cracked.
People at the table gasped.
The waiter depositing a round of drinks rushed over, mumbling something about how lucky I was not to have cut myself and mentioning he’d return with a new drink and to clean the mess. I paid him no heed, too consumed by the couple on the dance floor and the bubbling lava simmering in my veins. No way would I stand for this.
Carina captured my arm to halt my meddling. “Enzo, come.” She gestured to the table nearest to ours. “Great aunt Graziella wants to meet you.”
My gaze cut toward the dance floor, at my wife. “Be quick. Gemma and I are leaving.”
Chapter 17
Gemma
Franco led me onto the dance floor. Reluctant, I placed my hand on his shoulder as his own glided across my back. A small shudder ran through me. I wasn’t used to strange men holding me so close, touching me like this. And yet, when Enzo spread his hand across me earlier, I’d melted, grateful for his protection amongst these people. Stupid to feel secure in the arms of the man who kidnapped me, but I did.
Even though Sofia roamed around here somewhere, my chest remained tight, each breath shallow. The hum of the music vibrated against my skin, amplifying the nervous energy that thrummed beneath. Was it normal for her husband to dance with other women? I, for one, wouldn’t appreciate it. If it wasn’t for Carina and the poisonous glare she shot me—as if I was some disobedient child without manners—I would have declined Franco’s offer.
As the wife of his cousin, Franco would be stupid to hit on me. No way.No wayhe’d disrespect his family, his own wife. For the first time since marrying Enzo, I found solace as Signora Cammarata.
The music twined and vibrated with the people, the ambience almost calming.
