Page 54 of The Mafia's Broken Vows

I take a deep breath, forcing down the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me. As I turn back to the woman, her pretty face marred by that smug, ugly sneer, the truth hits hard—she’s somehow enjoying this.

“Well, Alina, it would seem congratulations are in order then,” I say, my voice steady despite the turmoil churning beneath the surface.

She arches an eyebrow, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “I would wash that garish hair dye right off, hun. It’s no use. Clearly, he doesn’t do redheads anymore.”

My jaw drops. The audacity of this woman! Before I can come up with a suitably scathing retort, I notice people are stopping, staring, and whispering behind their hands.

“Alina.” A deep voice cuts through the tension like a knife, bringing the temperature in the room down a few degrees.

Dante.

He materializes beside Alina, his face tight with tension and a muscle ticking in his jaw. He looks gorgeous with his black tailored shirt clinging to his big frame like a second skin, tanned tattooed throat peeking out of his partially buttoned shirt.

He doesn’t even spare me a glance, yet, like a besotted fool, I can’t tear my gaze from him. My breath catches as I stare. I don’t think a time will ever come when I’ll get used to Dante’s presence, his aura. His beauty.

And right now, his hand is resting possessively on Alina’s lower back.

Well, isn’t that just perfect?

“Come with me, cara,” Dante says to her.

I watch as Dante helps Alina off her stool. She follows him, her gaze filled with undisguised hunger. It occurs to me as Dante and Alina disappear into the sea of bodies that I’ve never seen him touch another woman before. It’s torture. It makes me sick to my stomach to think of Dante with her.

Touching her.

Making love to her.

Putting his baby inside her.

A wave of disgust hits me, and I know I should turn away, but I can’t stop watching, staring at that hand hovering on the small of Alina’s back.

Chapter Fifteen

Dante

“Come with me, cara.” I guide Alina off her stool, my fingers barely grazing her back.

The saccharine smile I plaster on my face feels like it could crack at any moment. I’d much rather be facing down a rival family than having this conversation.

The bass thrums through the floor, vibrating up my shoes as we weave through the crowd. Alina’s designer perfume, all roses and sophistication, mingles with the scent of sweat and spilled alcohol. Yet somehow, Addy’s sweet vanilla smell is burned into my brain, cutting through everything else.

And that fucking dress. My eyes keep drifting back to the bar, where Addy stands out like a beacon in that white number. It had taken everything in me not to march downstairs and snap that DJ’s neck as I watched him slobber over her. I barely heard Senator Sheridan as he pitched his plans for re-election, my mind filled with images of Addy in that dress that should be illegal for what it does to her curves.

Knowing she rarely goes out like that in public sparks up a deep possessiveness in me, a primal urge to yell over the crowd that she belongs to me. But I can’t. Not yet. First, I need to deal with Alina.

As we ascend the curving stairs, Alina stumbles. Instinctively, I catch her elbow to steady her. When she takes that as a cue to press close and rub against my side, I immediately drop my hand and put some distance between us.

“Watch your step,” I mutter, scanning the room. The VIP area is an oasis of relative quiet, the music muffled enough for conversation. I notice the absence of Alina’s usual entourage.

“Where are your friends?” I ask as I settle into a booth, angling myself to keep the main floor and Addy in my line of sight through the glass wall.

Alina slides in opposite me and then shrugs. “They were boring me.”

I nod as if it all makes sense to me, though I’m surprised. Alina usually thrives on attention. It occurs to me this is the closest I’ve been to her in . . . ever.

Now that I’ve finally got her away from Addy, I can’t think of one thing to say to ease her into the impending breakup. Fuck, this is going to be harder than I thought.

I flag down a waiter. “Whiskey, neat. And water for Signorina De Luca.”

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