Page 20 of Wicked Bloodlines

I drummed my fingers on the desk, mind racing with possibilities. I could confront her immediately, demand explanations. I could tell Dario and let him decide how to handle it. Or I could wait and see what Sofia planned to do with her carefully gathered ammunition.

The copy completed. I ejected the drive and held it in my palm, turning it over as if it might reveal more secrets. Sofia Marchesi was far more dangerous than I’d given her credit for. Not because she was working against us, but because she was capable of such deep, patient deception. A woman who could maintain a veneer of dutiful daughter while systematically documenting her father’s downfall for years was not someone to underestimate.

I tucked the drive back into its waterproof wrapping and stood. I would return it exactly as I found it. For now, I wanted to see what Sofia would do next. Would she confide in me? Use the information as leverage? Or was there an endgame I hadn’t yet figured out? And why did the thought of the coming chess match get me excited and needing to claim her until she willingly came to me with every fucking thing in her life?

As I headed back toward her suite, flash drive concealed in my palm, I found myself smiling despite the gravity of the situation. Sofia was proving to be far more than a political pawn or a warm body in my bed. She was a player in her own right. Smart, strategic, and apparently ruthless when necessary. Those were qualities I could appreciate in a wife. I’d just have to make sure she wouldn’t turn them against me someday.

A few hours later, Sofia stepped from the car in a sleek black dress that hugged every curve like it was painted on her body. Her hair swept up, exposing the elegant line of her neck and the diamond earrings I’d had delivered that morning. The bruise her father had left was nearly faded, covered expertly with makeup. I placed my hand at the small of her back, feeling her warmth through the thin fabric as the doorman of The Gray recognized me with a sharp nod. “Mr. Luca. Miss Marchesi. Welcome back.” The respect in his voice carried an edge of fear that satisfied me greatly. The man stepped aside, letting us bypass the line of Port Haven’s wealthy hoping for entry into the most exclusive club in the city.

Inside, The Gray throbbed with expensive energy. Crystal chandeliers cast fractured light across the restored marble floors, turning the crowd below into creatures of shadow and glitter. The sunken dance floor pulsed with bodies moving to music curated by a DJ flown in from Berlin. VIP booths ringed the perimeter, each separated by frosted glass panels that offered privacy in the most coveted spaces.

Sofia moved beside me with practiced grace, her heels clicking rhythmically against the marble. Her scent drifted up, mingling with the smell of aged whiskey and expensive perfume that filled the air. Now that I knew what she was capable of, I watched her through new eyes. Every gesture, every smile seemed like a performance hiding steel beneath silk.

“The others are waiting for us,” I said, leaning close to her ear. “How good are you at making men talk?”

She turned her head slightly, her lips almost brushing my cheek. “I’ve had years of practice,” she replied, something knowing in her amber eyes that made me wonder how much she suspected about my morning activities. My cock jerked in interest, so I decided it was a sick bastard.

We moved through the crowd, my hand never leaving her back. Men watched her pass with undisguised hunger. Women assessed her with envy or calculation. I felt the weight of eyes tracking our progress, noting who acknowledged us, who turned away, and who whispered behind cupped hands. The Gray wasn’t just a club. It was an intelligence hub, a place where alliances formed and broken, where business occurred under cover of pleasure.

The private dining room waited beyond the main floor, accessed through a doorway guarded by one of our men. He nodded as we approached, stepping aside to let us enter. Inside, the noise from the club dampened to a distant thrum. Five men rose as we entered, the elite of Port Haven’s business community. Each person was connected to our shipping operations, each one crucial to maintaining the flow of goods through territories increasingly threatened by Rossi incursions.

“Gentlemen,” I said, my voice cutting through their conversations. “Allow me to introduce my fiancée, Sofia Marchesi.”

She moved forward with perfect timing, extending her hand to the nearest man, Christian Donati, head of the port authority and a critical asset to our operations. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Donati,” she said, her voice carrying an almost lilting, musical quality made word sound intimate, as if she spoke only to him.

He took her hand, visibly charmed. “The pleasure is mine, Miss Marchesi. We’ve heard much about you.”

“All good things, I hope,” she replied with a smile that suggested she knew better.

I watched her work the room with new appreciation. The way she tilted her head when listening. The perfectly timed laugh. The thoughtful questions that made each man feel like the most fascinating person she’d ever met. This wasn’t just social grace. She gathered intelligence with the same skill she’d used to compile that damning dossier on her father.

We settled at the table, Sofia beside me, her thigh occasionally brushing mine beneath the white tablecloth. Each touch sent electricity through me despite the serious business at hand. I found myself dividing my attention between the conversation and the way her fingers toyed with her wine glass. The curve of her neck as she leaned in to listen, the measured rise and fall of her chest beneath that black dress beckoned me like a siren’s call.

“Your father’s connections with the eastern families will prove invaluable,” Christian said to Sofia, refilling her glass. “The old networks still respect the Marchesi name.”

I watched her face for any reaction to the mention of her father, knowing now what she planned for him. She didn’t even blink. “My father built his reputation on honoring traditions,” she replied smoothly. “The old families appreciate consistency.” The irony nearly made me choke on my whiskey. Cesare Marchesi had built his reputation on fear and manipulation, and his daughter had documented every dirty detail.

Throughout the meal, Sofia kept surprising me. When the conversation turned to shipping routes, she asked questions that demonstrated unexpected knowledge of maritime operations. When one associate mentioned labor disputes at the docks, she offered insights that showed she’d done her research on our businesses. She wasn’t just playing the role of decorative fiancée. Sofia positioned herself as a valuable asset in her own right.

Sofia caught my eye across her wine glass, something knowing in her gaze. For a moment, the masks we both wore seemed to slip, and I glimpsed the real woman beneath hers. Sofia had a brilliant, calculating mind. And she was so much more dangerous than anyone at this table realized.

I placed my hand on her thigh beneath the table, a gesture that appeared possessive to anyone watching but was really a silent acknowledgment. Whatever game we played had just become infinitely more complex.

The main course arrived—prime cuts of beef paired with wines worth more than most people’s monthly salaries. Sofia leaned forward slightly as she cut into her steak, the movement drawing every male eye at the table to the subtle curve of her cleavage. But I wasn’t fooled by the calculated distraction. While they watched her body, I noticed her calculating gaze as her mind at work, setting up her next move with the precision of a chess master. I’d underestimated her before finding that flash drive. I wouldn’t make that mistake again.

“Mr. Donati,” Sofia said, her voice carrying just enough warmth to sound interested without being eager, “Matteo mentioned you oversee most of the port authority operations. That must be fascinating work.”

Christian preened visibly, swirling wine in his glass. “It has its challenges. We’ve expanded the eastern terminal recently to accommodate larger vessels.”

“I imagine security for such expansions must be complex,” she replied, taking a delicate bite of her steak. “Especially with increased competition in the shipping industry.”

I hid my smile behind my whiskey glass. She’d maneuvered the conversation perfectly, asking nothing directly suspicious but steering toward exactly what she wanted to know.

“We’ve implemented new protocols,” Christian said proudly, leaning toward her like a flower turning to sunlight. “The eastern docks now have twice the security detail, particularly for next week’s shipments.”

“Next week?” Sofia asked, her tone casual but her eyes sharp. She placed her hand on my forearm, the gesture intimate enough to suggest she already knew everything I did. “Matteo mentioned something important coming in, but he’s been so busy lately.”

I hadn’t mentioned shit to her about next week’s shipments, which included three containers of weapons and one of pharmaceutical precursors. All were technically legal but requiring careful handling. Christian, however, had no reason to doubt her.