Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
A s soon as we stepped inside my father’s mansion, I regretted bringing Jemma here. I should’ve set up dinner somewhere in the city. Not here where painful memories far outweighed the few happy ones.
My mother had loved this house, and the moment she was gone, it had turned from a home into hell.
I stared around the gaudy interior of the house, disgust curling in my gut. The hideous decor, a grotesque clash of styles that assaulted the senses, was no surprise—it bore the unmistakable lack of class of my father’s latest trophy wife. Barely legal, she was probably around Jemma’s age, far too young for a man of his years.
But such trivial details had never deterred the dirty bastard before.
My jaw clenched as my gaze swept over the ostentatious space, repulsed by the crass display of wealth-assisted appalling taste.
Kitsch. That was what it was, plain and simple. Blood-red and gold, with more frilly things than anyone should ever be exposed to in one space. Whatever interior designer she’d worked with should be executed for the atrocities in here.
My nonno would roll around in his grave if he knew how this house my nonna loved so dearly looked now. My mom would, too.
My skin tightened, and the familiar crawling sensation was the result of everything that had happened here—everything this house stood for.
As the oldest, Father had always singled me out and demanded more from me than from anyone else. But, at least, if he was screaming at me, or raising his hand at me, everyone else was safe, at least for a while—my mom and, later, my siblings.
I’d shielded them as much as I could from his anger; from the string of women he brought into the house; from the dark reality of how our family’s business was run.
My gaze fell on Jemma who had stopped beside me and was looking around, every thought clearly visible in the features of her face.
She didn’t like the decor any more than I did.
“The dining room is over there,” I said, laid my hand on the small of her back, and pushed her forward. Let’s get this over with as fast as possible.
“Don’t touch me,” she snapped, took a big step forward, away from my hand, and glared at me before she took a couple of steps to put space between us.
I raised both hands.
Matt tilted his head and stared at me with raised eyebrows. His eyes were filled with amusement but also tinged with concern.
“What?” I snapped at him.
He shook his head and looked down, and I could see by the way he tried to hide his smile, he was clearly amused. “I’m just here to enjoy the show.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. Enjoy the show? What did he even mean?
But before I could ask him, Picca growled—something she’d never done before—and my father entered the room.
He was in a red, silky robe and, in all honesty, looked like a very aged playboy. I half hoped he wouldn’t be here, especially after Donnelly excused himself. But I should’ve known he wouldn’t let the chance to get to know Jemma up close and personal slip by.
Next to me, Alex grabbed Fee and pulled her to his other side, putting himself between my father and her.
Smart man.
“And you must be the lovely Jemma Donnelly.”
My father immediately zeroed in on Jemma, who stood frozen halfway across the room.
Alone. Exposed.
My father’s face transformed into a lecherous smile as he eyed her up and down, then made his way across the room straight toward her.
No fucking way would he get to touch her.
I took a step forward at the same time as Matt did.
Our eyes met for a split second, and we knew what we had to do without even talking.
Matt, who was closer to my father, intercepted him while I walked straight up to Jemma, lifted Picca and put the pup into her arms, then pulled her to my side.
I couldn’t keep them from meeting, but I sure as hell could make sure he wasn’t allowed to touch her.
My father eyed Matt first but dismissed him immediately and continued his approach.
I could see Jemma’s nervousness by the way she swallowed dry and inched closer.
I pulled her to me.
She side-eyed me, her eyes wide, then leaned in without a word.
I tightened my arm as my father closed in on us. I could feel the tension radiating from her slender frame, the way her muscles coiled tight with apprehension, the way she pressed Picca against her.
A flicker of protectiveness surged through me—the need to shield her from the darkness that lurked beneath the polished veneer of my family.
“Vincenzo,” my father drawled, his eyes flicking to Picca, then lingering on Jemma with an unsettling glint. “Shouldn’t you keep your distance from your brother’s bride?”
I suppressed the urge to snarl at him, clenched, then unclenched my free hand but said nothing.
The way he looked at Jemma made my skin crawl—like a predator assessing its prey. I should’ve never brought her here.
Jemma shuddered, and I pulled her closer, angling her body to block her from his leering gaze even more—in addition to the barrier Picca was providing.
“Father,” I replied, keeping my voice level despite the anger simmering beneath the surface. “This is Jemma Donnelly. Jemma, this is my father, Alfredo Salvini.”
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you when I’ve only heard of your beauty before,” he said in a saccharine voice.
My eyes met Matt’s whose eyebrows rose in surprise. Was he surprised that my father knew of Jemma, or was he surprised at the achingly sweet tone my father usually used to pick up random women?
Like the one who floated into the room as if she were Marie Antoinette.
Jemma tensed further, her chin lifting in defiance. Before she could respond, I cut in smoothly. “Mr. Donnelly sends his regards. He’s really sorry he can’t be here tonight.”
I texted the info to my father’s secretary before, but there wasn’t anything else to say.
My father chuckled, the sound grating on my nerves. “Well, isn’t this too bad?”
“Vincenzo, Matteo, how nice to see you,” my father’s newest trophy wife Paula sing-songed right as she stopped at my father’s side, completely ignoring Alex and Fee, who awkwardly stood next to us, or Jemma in between us.
What was wrong with these people?
I turned my attention back to my father, who was still staring at Jemma as if she was his next meal.
Gross.
“Let’s eat,” I said, my tone leaving no room for argument.
His eyes narrowed at the attitude in my voice—as he would call it, had called it numerous times as an excuse to punish me.
This house was his domain, and I could see that my cramping his style irked him.
I clenched my jaw as my father’s gaze again raked over Jemma in a way that made my skin crawl. The man had no boundaries, no sense of decency. I tightened my grip on Jemma, pulling her closer against my side.
“Sadly, I have an urgent business matter to attend to,” my father announced, his oily tone grating on my nerves. “I won’t be able to join you all for dinner.”
Relief flooded through me at the prospect of him leaving, but it was short-lived.
His beady eyes settled on me and Matt. “Vincenzo, Matteo, join me in my office. Petra, show our guests to the dining room.”
My stomach tightened; my first instinct was to not leave Jemma’s side. I shot a glance at Matt, who shrugged almost imperceptibly. There was no reason not to follow my father’s orders, at least for now.
As I started to move, Jemma tensed beside me. I leaned in close, my lips nearly grazing her ear. “Go with Alex and Fee. I’ll be there soon.”
She nodded, her green eyes searching mine for a fleeting moment before she turned and followed Paula who led Alex and Fee towards the dining room.
My gaze lingered on her retreating form until she disappeared through the doorway.
With a heavy sigh, I trailed after my father and Matt, steeling myself for whatever fresh hell awaited us in his office.
Before my father even opened the door, I could hear Hero and Dante’s voices quarreling as usual.
My brothers were here? Did my father invite them?
But why?
Of course, Isabella and Mirabella were nowhere to be seen. My sisters spent as little time here as possible, preferring to live with me in my apartment whenever they came home from university instead of here. All they did was rack up their credit card bills as if their walk-in closet wasn’t already bursting at the seams, anyway.
At least Jemma had found something suitable to wear from their extensive wardrobe.
I entered the office behind Matt and nodded at Hero and Dante who’d gone quiet.
My father settled behind his massive desk and regarded us coolly. “Matteo,” he began, his voice laced with false concern. “When exactly will this wedding to the Donnelly girl take place?”
Matt’s jaw tightened, and he shot me a sideways glance before replying, “Why don’t you ask Vince? This wedding is more his idea than mine.”
I glared at him, but Matt held my gaze, a hint of defiance in his eyes. There was more to his confrontational stance than met the eye.
Turning to my father, I said evenly, “We’re not in a rush. These things take time to plan properly.”
My father’s lip curled in a sneer. “Time is a luxury we don’t have. The wedding will take place within the month. And you and her will live under this roof,” he said to Matt.
The familiar surge of hatred rose within me, a bitter taste filling my mouth. My muscles tensed, but I immediately relaxed them again.
There was no way Jemma would live under this roof, not even for a single day. But before I could come up with a response, my father’s phone rang. He answered brusquely, his expression hardening as he continued to stare at me while listening to the voice on the other end.
Was he feeling the heat because his influence in Salvini Global Enterprises—and within the family—was slipping? Though it wasn’t only me taking on more and more leadership roles. It was actually that our men much preferred facing me rather than dealing with my volatile father.
But why would he want Jemma here? To have her under his thumb? And why the rush?
I had my reasons for wanting Jemma within reach, but why did he care? What did he get out of an alliance with the Donnellys?
“I’ll be right there,” he snapped, ending the call with a jab of his finger.
He rose from his chair, his movements abrupt and agitated. “It seems I have an urgent matter to deal with after all. We’ll continue this discussion later.”
With that, he brushed past us, leaving a tense silence in his wake.
“So he called us here, and now, he’s leaving?” Hero said, somehow resigned.
“Thank God,” Dante said, and Matt and Hero chuckled.
“It’s just a powerplay, as usual,” I said while looking around the office. I hadn’t been here in a while—avoided coming here as much as I could.
“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Matt said, his tone accusatory.
“Is there something you need to get off your chest?” I said and crossed my arms.
“Well, just making sure you know that I don’t care what you or father are saying. I’m not marrying anyone. By the way, what exactly happened between you and Jemma this afternoon?”
“What happened this afternoon?” Dante repeated.
Dante and Hero’s gazes snapped to Matt then me.
I shrugged, and Matt chuckled. “You’ll see soon enough. Let’s not let our guests wait any longer.”
With that, he walked out of the room with Dante and Hero on his tail.
What did he mean they’d see soon enough?
I stared through the window at the helipad where our helicopter had just landed.
My father and three of his men walked toward the heli, went onboard, and it took off again.
I pulled out my phone and texted Michele. I wanted to know where my father was off to and what he was doing exactly. I suddenly had an inkling this invitation might’ve been my father’s way of making sure all of us were otherwise occupied.
But why would he need that?
I stopped outside the dining room, and my gaze was immediately drawn to Jemma. She sat next to Fee, laughing at something one of my brothers had said. There was a lightness about her in that moment, an ease that seemed at odds with the wariness and tension I’d seen in her eyes earlier.
Not that her wariness hadn’t been warranted.
As if sensing my presence, she glanced up, and our eyes met. Her smile faded, replaced by a guarded expression that made something twist inside me. I hated that my presence put her on edge, that she saw me as an enemy, a threat.
“Ah, Vince, come join us,” Matt called out, his tone overly jovial. “We were just discussing your…unique approach to courting.”
My brow furrowed as I took the only free seat, across from Jemma. “What are you talking about?”
“You kidnapped her, and then you tried to kill her by dunking her in your pool?” Dante said, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
I tensed, my gaze darting to Jemma. Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t look away.
Hero let out a low whistle. “Is this some kind of mating ritual?”
“Well, you would know best, wouldn’t you?” Dante quipped, earning a glare from Hero. No idea what was going on between those two.
Matt leaned back in his chair, regarding me with a raised brow.
“If the plan is to kill Jemma anyway, why force Matt to marry her first?” Dante asked. “What’s your beef with her, anyway?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache coming on. “No beef, and I didn’t try to kill her. She was following me around, and I wanted to know why. That’s all.”
“So dunking her in your pool was some kind of water torture to get her to talk?” Hero asked, clearly enjoying himself.
I shot him a withering look, but it only made him grin wider.
It wasn’t rare for my brothers to tease me like this. But usually—at least around strangers—they at least faked respect. The same way they did with our father.
Tonight, they seemed to have no such reservations.
Dante leaned forward, his elbows on the table. “So, Jemma. Do you stalk people for business or pleasure?”
I glared at Dante, but Jemma didn’t seem to be caught off guard. “A little bit of both, to be honest. But after I witnessed Vince shaking his booty for a man in the middle of the street, I just couldn’t hold myself back.”
Suddenly, all eyes were on me while I stared at her. She did not just say that in front of everyone, did she?
She raised an eyebrow and smiled while she held my gaze. Her eyes sparked with the challenge.
“I should be able to shake my booty at whoever and wherever I want without picking up a stalker. Thank you very much.”
I could feel my brothers staring at me but kept my focus solely on Jemma. She still had her ball cap on but had left her wig back at my apartment.
And nobody had seemed surprised by that. Apparently, Fee and Alex had known about her disguise, but what about Matt?
Not that her hairstyle changed anything. She was beautiful. Full stop.
“Now I see what you meant,” Dante said, and Matt chuckled. “Apparently, plowing through each other’s boundaries and getting physical with each other creates a very unique bond,” Matt said.
Jemma narrowed her eyes but then laughed. “Torture, hate, stalking, theft, murder—it’s all in the same category,” she said, not backing down an inch.
“You forgot dismemberment,” Alex threw in, and Fee stared at him.
Hero laughed. “How did you create your very special bond?” he asked Fee.
“She bad-mouthed me behind my back,” Alex said with a fond smile plastered on his face.
“You threatened to put me over your knee first,” Fee replied.
I looked from Fee to Jemma to see her reaction. She didn’t seem taken aback at all—the opposite, really.
There was a spark of interest in her eyes. A spark I would love to explore more.
Fuck. No. What was I thinking? A spark to explore? Absolutely not.
“So, basically, it was hate at first sight, which slowly transformed into the greatest love story of all times,” Matt said with a sigh. “You should’ve seen them bickering. It was epic.”
He suddenly turned his head from looking at Fee and Alex to directly at me. He waggled his eyebrows and grinned.
I glared at him, but before I could put him in his place, the dining room door swung open, and Petra entered, followed by a small army of staff carrying platters of food.
As the meal was served, the conversation shifted, but I couldn’t help but steal glances at Jemma throughout the evening.
She seemed completely at ease, laughing and chatting with my brothers. But every time our eyes met, that laughter disappeared from her expression, a reminder of all that stood between us.