Page 91 of The Viper's Wife

I’d rather her hate than her fear.

She’s only been playing along as my fiancée for her own safety, and tonight proved that even if she does everything right, she’s still in danger.

Valeria is a fighter, but everyone has their limits.

At some point, she’ll realize running before our year ends is the smarter call.

I need to remove the threat or get her pregnant, and I already told her I wouldn’t do the second.

Mamma drops her supplies off in the kitchen and grabs a bottle of white wine from the hotel fridge. “I heard Russian.”

Valeria holds my gaze for a lingering moment, her expression shuttering closed—shunting me out of her thoughts—before she pivots her attention to Mamma.

My stomach drops.

“The window next to our table was the only one left intact,” Valeria supplies softly.

Alessia and Mamma glance at her with surprise. I think back to the restaurant—she’s right. That’s a detail I normally would’ve paid more attention to if I hadn’t been losing my head to get everyone out in one piece.

“I’m pretty sure he said, ‘Die, bitches,’” Alessia says. “So, it was a message, but for who? Me and Mamma? As far as I know, Papà has good relations with the Russians. Nico, have you met with the pakhan here?”

Fuck.

Without looking away from Valeria, I slowly admit, “I may have stolen the pakhan’s car.”

“Nico!” Mamma spills her wine as she pours.

Alessia pinches the bridge of her nose. “Real classy.”

“And I threw millions of dollars of Russian cocaine into Lake Michigan,” I add.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Nicolo,” Alessia says as Mamma chugs her glass of wine.

I glance at Valeria. She has to be putting two and two together and realizing that the cocaine in her purse—that losing her dream job—was my fault. Her shoulders are tense, but otherwise, she projects a cool calmness, her gaze fixed on Mamma.

“You already know why,” I say to Mamma and my sister. “I swore I’m not gonna be a puppet for Father anymore. That means fueling his drugs either. You know who they sell those drugs to?”

Alessia groans. “Not this again.”

“Fucking kids, Alessia. Addicts and homeless people and rich assholes. It’s fucked up—and I don’t want to be a part of it anymore.”

“Oh, grow up, Nico. You can’t just do whatever you want and expect there not to be any consequences. Tonight was plenty proof.”

“You know better than anyone how fully aware I am of the consequences.”

Alessia meets my gaze steadily.

When I was forced to face trial, Alessia was the only person who went to bat for me. She hired an obscenely overpowered team of lawyers to fight for my case—for all the good it did when Father had already blackmailed the judge. She and Mamma visited me every week for an entire year, and it was Alessia who smuggled in everything I asked for. I owe my sister my undying gratitude.

“Then you should know to listen to Papà,” she says with a hint of bitterness.

A knock at the door breaks our standoff.

“Who is that?” I ask.

Alessia lifts a finger, stands, and walks to the door.

Giovanni strides in, looking as unruffled as ever in his grey suit. He scans my sister, then the rest of us. “Anyone hurt?”