Page 50 of Broken Crown

A distinguished older man entered with a much younger woman clinging to his arm.

The man looked like an older version of Sebastian with silver hair and the same aura of power and arrogance, but where Sebastian's eyes held controlled danger, this man's gaze contained pure malice.

Sebastian, Rafaello, and Arcangelo immediately rose, chairs scraping against marble in a chorus of alarm.

Sebastian's body went rigid beside me, a coiled spring ready to unleash violence.

The atmosphere went from tense to…dangerous.

The air thickened, charged with loathing.

The man smirked, scanning the table with predatory satisfaction. "Did I miss my invitation to this cozy family dinner?"

Sebastian wiped his mouth with his napkin and tossed it onto the table. The white linen fluttered down like a surrender flag, but his eyes promised war.

"What are you doing here?" Each word came out clipped, controlled—but barely.

"Can't a father visit with his children?" He spread his arms wide, an actor taking center stage.

Sebastian's father, Fabrizio Sebastian Diamanti.

I knew his name from how often I'd tried Googling Sebastian and the House of Diamanti. Signore Diamanti the elder was rather infamous in fashion circles as well as in Italy, his scandals as legendary as his business acumen.

Filomena rose with such force that her chair toppled backward and crashed against the floor.

She clutched a knife in her hand, the silver flashing under the chandelier. "You dare to bring your whore with you?"

Spittle flew from her lips, and her face contorted into a mask of hatred.

I exchanged a look with the younger woman on Fabrizio's arm, feeling an odd camaraderie with her.

Seemed Sebastian's mother really liked tossing the word whore around.

I wondered if she practiced in the mirror.

The target of her rage couldn't have been more than twenty-five, beautiful in that manufactured way that required regular maintenance—perfect blonde hair, perfect tan, perfect teeth. Her eyes, though, were wide with fear, darting like a cornered animal between Filomena’s face and the knife in her hand.

I knew how she felt.

Fabrizio sneered, his hand settling possessively on his companion's waist. "What's the matter, wife? Want to suck her blood to steal her youth?"

His words were carefully chosen daggers, each one finding its mark.

Filomena shrieked—the pitch so bloodcurdling it raised the hair on my arms—as she picked up the half-empty bottle of wine from the table and hurled it at his head.

The bottle sailed through the air.

Fabrizio ducked with practiced ease, and the bottle shattered against the wall behind him, wine splattering across the priceless wallpaper.

Not content with her failed attack, Filomena scrambled onto the table, kicking aside crystal and china. Fine porcelain plates crashed to the floor in her wake as she crawled on all fours, her designer dress hitching up to reveal too much thigh.

She lunged for more missiles to fling at Fabrizio, the knife still clutched in her white-knuckled grip.

Sebastian moved with a speed that stopped my heart.

One moment he stood beside me; the next, he had me hauled against his chest, one arm locked around my waist while the other shielded my head.

"Don't look," he commanded, but it was like telling someone not to breathe.