Chapter 1 #2
“I’m not picking a fight with you. I’m calling you out on your bullshit. There’s a difference.”
“I’m not in the mood for this,” he snaps, tossing back his glass of whiskey like it’s a shot.
He’s never in the mood for a serious discussion because Marco doesn’t like to be challenged.
But I can see that he’s already had a lot to drink, and he’s had a short fuse lately.
During our phone conversations, he’s been overly reactive, and admittedly, it’s left me on edge.
But I also know there will never be a perfect time to talk to Marco with how volatile his moods have been. So I’ll just need to proceed calmly.
“Why did you tell me the wrong time for the party tonight?”
“I didn’t,” he insists. “You must have gotten confused.”
“Did you forget you invited me?” I press. “Is that why Isobel is here?”
“She just showed up. I didn’t even know she was coming.”
I study him, wondering if he really thinks I’m that stupid. “At least do me the courtesy of being honest, Marco. That’s all I’ve ever asked of you.”
He scrubs a hand over his face like I’m exhausting him.
“Jesus, I can’t win with you. You freak out if I’m too involved in your life, and now you’re being totally irrational. I’ve been in New York for three months, and your imagination is running wild. That’s all this is.”
I almost laugh at his pathetic attempt to twist this around on me, and it confirms he’s lying about something. But I don’t have the energy to care.
“Yeah, you know what, it doesn’t even matter,” I say. “Things haven’t been good between us for a while, and I think we both know that.”
“Things are fine between us,” he argues. “We just need to get back into a routine now that I’m home.”
“Marco—"
A loud, obnoxious knock on the door interrupts me, and a male voice calls out from the other side. “Marco, we need you in the man cave. Sanderson wants to talk about the Chicago merger now, or he’s leaving.”
The color drains from Marco’s face, and a flicker of panic replaces his irritation. I can only surmise this has something to do with his recent stress, which doesn’t bode well for his mood improving.
He calls out to whoever’s on the other side of the door to let them know he’s coming before he turns his attention back to me.
“I have to go deal with this,” he grumbles. “I’ll find you when I’m done.”
“I’m leaving,” I tell him. “You can call me later, and we’ll finish our conversation then.”
“Come on, Chantel.” He softens his tone. “I don’t want to have this conversation over the phone. Just have a drink and socialize for a bit. I won’t be long.”
The last thing I want to do right now is socialize, especially with people who don’t even like me. But I also want to get this over with tonight, so there’s no ambiguity.
“Fine,” I concede. “Come find me when you’re done.”
Marco hands me one of the drinks he poured and rushes from the room. When I glance down, I’m not even surprised he didn’t remember I don’t like scotch.
I leave the library and search for at least one friendly face, but I come up empty in this crowd.
Marco’s party friends are the ones he brings me around most often, and they tend to act like overgrown frat boys.
When one of them catcalls me from across the room, waving me over, I make an apologetic gesture as I answer a fake call.
With that annoyance averted, I head for the formal dining area and take a seat on the edge of the table where I can sit back and people-watch. Isobel seems to have disappeared, which is strange, considering she’s usually the last to leave the party. But she’s not the only one absent right now.
It’s become a habit to search for Marco’s best friend because I need all my defenses around him.
I guess you could call it keeping your enemies close, though I’m not sure how or why we became enemies in the first place.
I just know when he gives me one of his disapproving stares or dry insults, I’ve never wanted to fight with anyone more.
He has no logical reason to dislike me, but when Marco and I are together, he makes a point to leave the room.
Oddly enough, we seem to save our mutual torment for when Marco is otherwise occupied. I’d like to say it’s because neither of us wants Marco to know about this animosity between us, but truthfully, I’ve just made it my personal mission to annoy him.
As if I’ve summoned darkness himself, quiet apprehension settles in the air when the guests turn their attention to a new arrival.
A prickling sensation crawls up my spine. It’s the same awareness that always precedes him. He sucks all the oxygen from the room, and I’m not the only one who notices. A momentary hush falls over the crowd as they eye him, clearing a path for Cristiano Vitale.
They all stand a little straighter in his presence, nodding at him politely as they swallow their uncertainty.
In the Cosa Nostra, he’s known as Il Corvo—The Raven. It’s a fitting title for his cold, mysterious personality, and I can understand why some might see him as the omen of death.
In many ways, he’s one of them. A member of their Society, and a cunning businessman in a perfectly tailored suit. But outside the public eye, he’s a titan of Seattle’s criminal underworld, and this is what separates him from the polite company here tonight.
Outwardly, he appears to have two default settings—aloof and indifferent, or perpetually annoyed by the existence of everyone around him. But that charming personality has no bearing on his social standing, because it’s an unfortunate fact that the man has a ridiculously handsome face.
It’s unfair, really, because a man that moody should not be that hot. Though I guess it probably doesn’t matter how prickly he is. I’m sure he only has to look at a woman to make her panties fall off.
It’s an uncomfortable reminder of our first real interaction, which took place an entire year after we met.
Being that Cristian is also one of my closest friends’ older brothers, our worlds orbited each other long before I met Marco.
He was always more of an observer than a talker.
But the first time he spoke directly to me in a voice that could bring a woman to her knees, it permanently rewired my brain.
Take it.
That was what he said when he held out his suit jacket at a dinner gathering where the weather had unexpectedly cooled. It wasn’t a question, and it wasn’t an offer. It was a command. It felt like a test, and when I obeyed him, the dark satisfaction that sparked in his eyes told me I passed.
Maybe he recognized that nature in me, but I knew from that moment on I hadn’t been wrong about my desires. It was a sequence we often repeated, and every time he bossed me around, my body had a visceral reaction.
It didn’t matter that his orders weren’t remotely sexual.
I was certain he had to feel the insane chemistry between us, too.
But after so much time passed, I realized I must have been delusional.
Because apart from those occasions when he’d tell me what to do, we rarely spoke, and his cold personality remained.
Ironically, I didn’t know I would come to prefer his indifference. Because when I started dating Marco, his feelings toward me became abundantly clear.
He didn’t approve of me, and he took every opportunity to let me know it.
I felt like a fool for ever interpreting his directives as anything other than annoyance.
And while I try to match his energy now, he still gets under my skin every time he tosses an insult or dark look my way.
This animosity between us has taken on a life of its own, but it’s just how things are now.
As if he can sense my attention on him, he turns, and our gazes clash across the room.
His eyes slide over me in lazy appraisal, and on cue, my stomach does a weird little flip.
He has a way of making me feel like he’s peeling me open and rummaging through my private thoughts.
Fortunately, I’m saved when a man and woman approach and engage him in conversation.
I watch them for a while, observing the pretty brunette as she smiles at him. The man beside her is old enough to be her father, and he seems to be equally impressed by Cristian. In the Mafia world, there’s usually only one reason a man presents his daughter to another like this.
I’m sure there’s no shortage of women who would eagerly agree to a marriage contract with any of the single Vitale men. But unlike his brothers, Cristian seems to be immune to falling in love, by all accounts.
If the rumors are to be believed, he has no interest in anything beyond a physical relationship. But, like Marco, there’s still an expectation that he’ll settle down someday.
As I consider that this could inevitably be his contractually chosen bride, I find myself compiling a list of reasons she’s all wrong for him before I realize how insane that is.
I don’t even know her.
I take a sip of scotch to give my hands something to do and return my focus to the crowd in front of me. Then I waste time doom-scrolling on my phone until I realize it’s been close to an hour, and there’s no sign of Marco.
I’m not sure why I’m even still here. I wanted to give him the courtesy of a face-to-face discussion before I ended things, but now I’m just annoyed. He clearly doesn’t respect my time, and I could think of at least ten other things I’d rather be doing than sitting here waiting on a man.
In a twist of irony, a flood of notifications alerts me to a conversation in the group chat with the girls, offering me an escape on a silver platter.
Abella Vitale: Impromptu girls’ night on the island?! I’ve got snacks, and Nonna made gelato.
Mariella Vitale: Sold.
Valentina Moretti: I’m in!
Gabriela Vitale: Beppe and I will be there : )
I stare at the screen, torn by indecision as the messages continue. Lucia and Serafina also said yes, so that’s everyone but me.
As tempting as it is to leave right now, I don’t want this weird tension with Marco hanging over my head any longer than it already has. I need to get this over with, then I can go.