Chapter 32 Angelo
Angelo
Ishould have known Chiara would cause trouble the minute I left her alone. She just can’t help herself. Her eyes sparkle with barely contained feminine rage as I drag her into the dining room, where my father holds court with Tim Remington and his cronies.
Our conversation in his study simmers in my brain. Santini wants to bring the wedding forward to this weekend. He’s desperately in love, apparently, which of course is utter bullshit.
My father has told him he’d let him know by the end of the night.
Fina has disappeared with Matteo. Hopefully she’s not left already, although I’d have heard if she had.
As much as I understand why she would want to get the fuck out of here, we can’t afford to antagonize our father this evening.
He’s made it abundantly clear he wants this deal with Santini to go ahead without a hitch, and if he feels it’s under threat, he might insist Fina stays here, so he can lock her in her room until the wedding.
There are small cream cards on the long rectangular table crafted from solid oak, each one hand-written in a delicate gold cursive script. When I discover my father has placed Chiara on his left, with me halfway down the table between Francesca and Vivian Remington, I want to throttle him.
I know he’s frustrated Chiara isn’t pregnant yet. He thinks I should get rid of her, in his words. Patience isn’t his strong suit, and he’s desperate for a male heir to continue our genetic line.
Even though I pointed out Luka could have a kid, Luka doesn’t count, apparently. He’s my father’s son, but Dad refuses to accept Luka in any meaningful way. I wish I knew why, but talking to my father about Luka is like beating my head against a wall.
“Oh goody,” Chiara mutters when she sees who she’s sitting next to. “Is it too late to develop a life-limiting illness?”
As much as I’d like to toss the place cards into the fireplace, Dad will lose his shit if I do. So we carry on walking so see where Fina’s sitting. Unsurprisingly, she’s close to Dad with Santini on her right and Remington on her left.
I debate swapping out Vivian’s card with Fina’s name card, but my father appears, laughing with one of his sycophants, and the opportunity passes.
The servers arrive shortly after, and we’re all ushered to our seats. Chiara throws me one last scowl as she takes her seat. Kane’s watching from the wall, where he’s observing the room along with several of my father’s men. All armed.
“Angelo, how delightful,” Francesca purrs as she slides into her chair wearing an extremely low-cut pink dress. Chiara watches with narrowed eyes as Francesca presses her breasts into my arm and leans in to whisper something in my ear.
Part of me wants to go along with Francesca’s little game because I know it will annoy Chiara, but I’m not in the mood for games tonight. So instead, I shove the bitch back, none too gently, and accidentally on purpose knock over a glass of wine.
The red liquid spills onto her lap, ruining her dress. She screams bloody murder. My father snaps his head in our direction before he throws me a warning glare. A servant is summoned to clean up the mess.
“My dress is ruined,” Francesca cries. “It’s vintage Dior, you know!”
“Really?” Chiara snorts before saying in a too loud voice, “I could have sworn I saw that one on Temu.”
Fina, who reappeared at the last possible minute, smothers a laugh before Santini leans in and says something in her ear. The soup spoon in my sister’s hand knocks against her bowl, but she smiles at him through gritted teeth.
The servers come and go, removing plates and bringing fresh dishes. Time ticks on. When Francesca finally returns, she’s wearing a new dress. This one is dove gray and embellished with tiny gems.
She takes her seat just as the desserts arrive, but barely touches hers, even though she missed the main courses. I do note, however, that she’s guzzling wine like it’s the Prohibition era and supplies are limited.
Vivian makes polite small talk, but mostly she sits staring at her husband, who ignores her while chatting with my father and a second man I vaguely recognize.
I’m curious about why Remington is suddenly all cozy with my father. Dad’s never paid much attention to him before. He always said Remington was small fry and not worth bothering with. So what’s changed?
To my surprise, Chiara keeps her head down while my father talks over her head. He seems more interested in acting like the big man for his guests. A typical narcissist.
Once the servers have cleared away the dessert dishes, he stands and clears his throat loudly.
“We gentlemen will take our coffee in the drawing room while you ladies can enjoy your coffee in peace in the garden room.” A few of the ladies titter.
I catch Chiara rolling her eyes, but she keeps her opinions to herself for once.
Dad leaves the table, ignoring Francesca’s pathetic attempt to capture his attention.
Fina stays in her chair as Santini stands.
His hand slides down her arm. Then he stares straight at me while squeezing her wrist hard enough to provoke a pained squeak.
My teeth grind so hard it’s a wonder they don’t turn to dust. The asshole needs teaching a lesson.
Not tonight.
But one day soon, I will kill the fucker.