Page 16 of Wicked Bloodlines

I don’t know which of us moved first. Maybe we both did. One moment we were standing in tense opposition, and the next my mouth was on hers, hard and demanding. I tried to temper my actions, conscious of the bruise on her face, but Sofia met me with equal force and urgency. She tangled her fingers in my hair, pulling me closer. There was nothing gentle about this kiss. It was a battle, a challenge, of unwanted desire exploding in a moment of raw honesty that neither of us had been prepared for.

I backed her against the wall, my hands gripping her hips, lifting her slightly as her leg hooked around mine. The taste of champagne and her lipstick filled my senses until I couldn’t think beyond the need to have more, to claim her completely. Her teeth caught my lower lip, biting hard enough to draw blood, and I growled against her mouth, the pain only intensifying the pleasure.

She shoved her hands under my suit jacket to grip my shoulders and slid her palms over my chest as we kissed. I pressed her harder against the wall, one hand sliding down her thigh, bunching the red silk of her dress higher. She gasped when my fingers found bare skin, her head falling back against the wall to expose the long line of her throat. I dragged my mouth down that perfect column, tasting the salt of her skin, feeling the frantic beat of her pulse beneath my tongue.

A sharp knock at the door shattered the moment. We froze, still tangled together, breathing hard. Sofia’s eyes met mine, wide and dark with wanting, her lipstick smudged.

“Mr. Luca,” Marcus’s voice came through the door, professional as always despite what he must suspect was happening inside. “Mr. Dario requires your presence urgently. There’s a situation with the Rossis.”

“Fuck,” I muttered, resting my forehead against Sofia’s for a brief moment before pulling away. The sudden absence of her warmth left me feeling strangely bereft. I straightened my jacket, trying to collect myself. “Tell him I’ll be right there.”

Sofia was already fixing her dress, smoothing her hair with trembling fingers. The mask was sliding back into place, but slower this time, the edges of it still ragged with desire. I watched her rebuild her composure piece by piece, fascinated by the transformation.

“Stay here,” I said, moving toward the door. “I’ll send Marcus in to—”

“No.” She lifted her chin, challenge flashing in those amber eyes. “I’m coming with you.”

I hesitated, debating. Leaving her alone would be safer. Whatever situation had developed with the Rossis could turn ugly, and I had no idea if she could be trusted not to feed information back to her father. But the alternative of having her out of my sight in a casino filled with men who’d already noticed her, felt even less appealing.

“Fine,” I conceded, reaching out to wipe a smudge of lipstick from the corner of her mouth with my thumb. “But you stay by my side. No wandering off, no private conversations. Clear?”

She nodded once, a tight, precise movement. I opened the door to find Marcus waiting, his expression betraying nothing despite the obvious state of both Sofia and myself. He glanced at her bruised cheek, then at me, a question in his eyes that I answered with a slight shake of my head. Not me. He relaxed fractionally.

I took Sofia’s arm, gentler than before but still firm, and guided her out of the room. Whatever was waiting for us, whatever threat the Rossis presented, I would deal with it. And I would do it with Sofia at my side, where I could see her, touch her, keep her safe from others, from her father, and possibly from herself.

But as we walked back into the noise and light of the main casino floor, a new question nagged at me. Who would keep her safe from me?

Chapter Six

Sofia

Marcus led us through the casino floor, his broad back cutting a path through the crowd. I kept my expression neutral despite my racing thoughts and the lingering heat of Matteo’s mouth on mine. My lips still tingled, my skin burned where his hands had gripped me, but I buried those sensations deep. This world demanded performance above all else, and right now, I needed to be the perfect fiancée, supportive, observant, and, most of all, silent. Matteo’s hand pressed against my lower back, guiding me through the throng of gamblers and onlookers, his touch both possessive and protective. The contradiction suited him.

“What’s the situation?” Matteo asked Marcus, his voice low and clipped.

“Vincent Rossi confronted your brother at the bar. Words were exchanged.” Marcus didn’t elaborate further, didn’t need to. The tight line of his jaw told me everything I needed to know about the severity.

We reached another private room toward the back of the casino, this one larger and more formal than the one we’d just left. Two men flanked the entrance, stepping aside at our approach.

Dario sat at the head of a large conference table, exuding his usual calm authority. To his right stood Matteo’s youngest brother, Gabriel. Across from them, Vincent Rossi paced like a caged animal, his expensive suit doing nothing to disguise the raw aggression rolling off him in waves.

Anthony Rossi occupied a chair slightly removed from his brother, watching the proceedings with unnerving stillness. While Vincent radiated emotion, Anthony seemed devoid of expression.

Matteo guided me to a seat beside Gabriel, his hand never leaving the small of my back. I felt rather than saw his subtle nod to Dario.

“As I was explaining,” Dario continued with unruffled composure, “whatever my brother said was clearly meant to provoke this exact reaction from you. And it worked brilliantly.” He adjusted his cufflinks, a casual gesture that somehow radiated more authority than Vincent’s entire blustering presence.

I kept my expression neutral, hands folded in my lap, the perfect picture of a supportive fiancée blending into the background. Inside, I did my best to memorize the body language around the table. I might be out of my depth with Matteo, but I knew how to read people. With my father, it was imperative for survival that I be able to accurately read a room.

Vincent slammed his palm against the polished mahogany. “Your brother publicly questioned my family’s legitimacy! He suggested we couldn’t meet our financial obligations to the eastern shipping routes.”

Gabriel didn’t bother hiding his smirk. He leaned back in his chair, one arm draped casually over the back, looking for all the world like a man enjoying a particularly entertaining show. The resemblance between him and Matteo struck me then. The similarities weren’t physical features, but that same coiled energy beneath a controlled exterior.

“If you worried more about your businesses than Gabriel talking smack, you’d be the richest man in the world,” Dario said, his tone mild but his eyes hard as steel. “My brother enjoys getting under people’s skin. It’s a character flaw we’ve learned to live with. You’d be wise to do the same.”

I fought the urge to fidget under the weight of tension in the room. The bruise on my cheek throbbed but I knew better than to acknowledge the pain. The mark itself showed my weakness. Acknowledging it in any way would be worse. I’d stepped from one dangerous family into another, and now I watched them circle each other like wolves assessing whether today was the day for blood.

Vincent opened his mouth for another retort, but my attention had already shifted to Anthony. Unlike his brother’s emotional display, Anthony maintained that unsettling stillness. His gaze moved methodically around the room, lingering briefly on each face before moving on. Not the scattered attention of boredom, but the deliberate assessment of a man looking for something specific.