8. Alessandro
ALESSANDRO
I remain perfectly still as Isabella disappears through the garden doors, leaving me alone with her brother. The night air crackles with hostility.
"Let's skip the pretense," I say, maintaining my position. "Say what you came to say."
Enrico steps closer, anger radiating off him in waves. "I saw how you were looking at her."
"Your sister is my fiancée." I keep my voice level, though irritation builds beneath my calm exterior.
"She's a Vitale before she's your anything." His jaw tightens. "And you'll keep your hands off her until after the wedding."
I arch an eyebrow. "Are you giving me orders, boy?"
"I'm giving you a warning." He takes a final step into my space, emboldened by stupidity or arrogance. "Touch her before the wedding night, and I'll kill you myself."
A laugh escapes me. "You overestimate your capabilities."
"And you underestimate how much I care about my sister."
The irony doesn't escape me. "Spare me. You don’t give a shit about her except her value as business collateral.”
His nostrils flare. "And you don’t?”
“You’ve just accused me of looking at her as more than property.
” This time, I’m the one leaning in. “This is a business deal, Enrico, but at least I see her true value.
Your sister is intelligent, perceptive, and capable of making her own decisions.
If you truly cared about her, you'd recognize that. "
Enrico's lips curl into a mocking smile. "Don't tell me the cold-blooded Alessandro Dante is developing feelings for my little sister." He laughs, the sound grating against my nerves. "What's next? Planning to be her knight in shining armor?"
My fingers twitch with the urge to wrap around his throat, but I maintain control.
This isn't the time or place.
"You misunderstand me," I say, stepping closer until we're nearly chest to chest. "I respect her intelligence. Her strength. Something you've clearly failed to do."
"You don't know anything about—"
"About what? Your family?" I cut him off. "I've seen enough. Your father uses her. Your mother abandons her. And you?" I narrow my eyes. "You pretend to protect her while ensuring she remains exactly where your father wants her."
Enrico's face darkens, but I continue before he can speak.
"Let me be perfectly clear about something." My voice drops to a dangerous whisper. "The fact that I'm marrying your sister doesn't grant you immunity. If anything, it puts you directly in my line of sight."
I see the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, the realization that he's overstepped.
"Your father has probably told you I’m weak.
Perhaps he’s promised you my business when he erroneously thinks he’ll kill me.
Thinking that will lead to your demise. I’m still more powerful than you and your father.
” I straighten the lapel of his suit just to prove to him that I can touch him and there’s nothing he can do about it.
"When this marriage takes place, you'll learn your place, or I'll teach it to you."
He tries to maintain his defiance, but I see the nervous swallow.
"All I’m doing is protecting my sister. She's naive. She doesn't understand men like you."
"Men like me?" My patience thins. "You prove my point. She knows exactly about men like us. She patronizes us, you know. You especially."
"My sister—"
"Will be my wife," I finish for him. "And whatever our arrangement may be, it's between us. Not you. Not your father. Us."
“Don’t disrespect my sister, Dante. You’ll pay if you do.”
I smile coldly. "Careful of any threat you make. It could be a fatal error."
I step back, straightening my own jacket. "Now, I believe we should rejoin the party before someone notices we're both missing. After all," I say with a thin smile, "we're celebrating a union, not starting a war."
I watch Enrico retreating, my fingers curling into fists. The impulse to grab him by his expensive lapels and drag him back surges through me. One sharp movement is all it would take. One lesson in respect that he'd never forget.
This punk, this entitled child thinks he can speak to me this way? In any other circumstance, his blood would already be cooling on the stone beneath our feet.
Enrico pauses at the door, glancing back with a smirk. "Remember what I said, Dante. My sister might be dazzled by you now, but she knows where her true loyalties lie."
The scoff that follows as he disappears inside sends a wave of pure rage through me. I take one step forward before forcing myself to stop.
Not here. Not now.
I breathe deeply, letting the cool breeze wash over my heated skin. The party continues inside, oblivious to the threat of violence.
Isabella's face flashes in my mind. Whatever is developing between us, it deserves more than being overshadowed by her brother's blood on my hands.
For now, I'll wait. Patience has always been my strength.
So has ultimate emotional control. So what the fuck is this pull Isabella has on me?
Three weeks ago, Isabella Vitale was nothing to me. Now I'm ready to spill blood over her brother's disrespect toward her.
This wasn't part of the plan.
The cool night air does nothing to temper the heat of my anger. I've built my reputation on being ruthless yet controlled. Calculating. Cold. Men fear me because they can't read me, can't manipulate me. I don't have weaknesses they can exploit.
Until now.
I run a hand across my face, disgusted with myself.
Marco Vitale is smarter than I gave him credit for.
Perhaps he knew his daughter would get under my skin, creating a vulnerability where none existed before.
Every protective instinct, every moment of genuine pleasure in her company is ammunition for her family and others.
If they realize I'm starting to care for her, they'll use it against me. The Vitales will leverage her to undermine my authority, extract concessions, maybe even challenge my position.
I can't let that happen.
Whatever this is between Isabella and me, I need to control it before it controls me.
The weeks leading up to our wedding pass with excruciating slowness.
Every time I see Isabella, she's flanked by watchdogs, usually Enrico, who seems determined to remain glued to her side, his smug face a constant reminder of our confrontation.
To be honest, I’m grateful for it. It helps me keep my distance.
At night is worse. I lie awake in my empty bed, wondering what Isabella is thinking, if she feels this same maddening pull.
When sleep finally comes, she's there too.
Her lips on mine, her body pressed against me, scenarios playing out that leave me waking with a hardon, frustrated and angry at my lack of control.
This isn't who I am. I don't obsess over women. I don't waste time on romantic fantasies.
I'm Alessandro fucking Dante.
I've built my reputation on ruthless business dealings, lethal if necessary to protect what’s mine.
Yet here I am, counting the days until I see her again like some lovesick teenager.
I'm done playing this game.
The Vitale family thinks they can control our interactions, manipulating this arrangement to their advantage while keeping me at a distance from my own fiancée.
It’s time for me to take control of myself and of the situation.
Time to start putting Enrico in his place.
Tomorrow night is the final pre-wedding dinner, a larger affair in a Manhattan Hotel that Marco thinks is neutral territory… but it’s not. It’s mine, and I intend to use that advantage.
Adriano enters my office with news about the Columbian deal.
After listening, I nod, indicating everything sounds as it should be. “Listen, tomorrow, I need you to keep Enrico off my ass.”
Adriano raises a brow. “He’s not on your ass. He’s always between you and his sister.”
“I need you to do something about that.”
A lethal smile blooms. “Might spoil the wedding if I take him out.”
I shake my head. “Don’t take him out, unless, of course, he threatens you first. I just want him to know he can’t keep me from her.”
"You planning to disappear with the bride-to-be?"
"I'm planning to have a private conversation with my fiancée without her watchdogs hovering."
"Dangerous game, Brother." Adriano's voice carries a hint of amusement. "Getting attached to the Vitale girl?"
"Getting tired of being manipulated," I counter, working to hold back my irritation that he can see this crazy pull she has on me. "They agreed to this marriage, yet they're treating me like I can't be trusted with her. It's disrespectful."
"And you just want to disrespect them back by compromising her—"
"Just handle it."
I motion for him to leave, effectively ending the conversation.
The truth is more complicated than I'm willing to admit, even to myself.
Yes, the Vitales' behavior is an insult to my position.
Yes, their constant interference is a power play that cannot go unchallenged.
But beneath those rational justifications burns something more primitive. I want to see Isabella. Alone.
I pour myself a drink, downing it in a single gulp.
Tomorrow, I'll put an end to this charade.
I'll make it clear to Isabella, and through her, to her family, that I won't be controlled or manipulated.