Page 78 of Between Us

Roman pressed his palm to Alessandra's lower back as they made their way into the garden. They alreadyknew this wasn't a small get-together by the fleet of cars parked in the driveway, and it still surprised both of them to see just how packed the place was. People mingled about, switching between the tall tables dressed in white linens as the soft croon of jazz music poured from the speakers set all around the garden. There was an open bar tended by two young women in pink outfits and a Swedish buffet with all sorts of Italian delicacies.

Nero Rossetti was standing at the other end of the lawn, drinking hard liquor and speaking with his underboss and two other men. Alessandra spotted her father, and she met Roman’s eyes briefly before grabbing his hand and pulling him in that direction.

Nero watched them approach, his dark eyes as opaque and unrevealing as the rest of his face.

“Happy birthday, Papà.” Alessandra gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Your present is in the living room.”

“Thank you,cara.” His gaze moved from her to his son-in-law. “Roman, it's good to see you.”

Roman shook his hand. “Happy birthday.”

“How is your father? I hear our business arrangement has made him a richer man.”

“Both sides have had their profits from this deal, no?”

Nero gave him a cold smile over the rim of the glass he brought to his lips. “Indeed.”

Before the conversation could resume, a girl with platinum-blond hair came squealing at Alessandra, arms raised in greeting and an excited smile on her face. She fired off some rapid Italian Roman couldn’t understand then dragged Alessandra away with an apologetic smile thrown at Nero.

“Isabella, my niece,” he explained, and they allwatched as the girls joined a group of about ten women of different ages.

As the men started talking politics, Roman kept quiet, not really caring to join in. He alternated between watching Alessandra and surveying the other guests, only answering when being asked a direct question. He had half a mind to head to the open bar, but before he could do that, someone from the wait staff came carrying a tray of drinks. He picked up a glass of whiskey as everyone else and took a sip, enjoying the burn of the alcohol coating his throat.

He was almost done with his drink when two other men joined their small group. Matteo came to a stop beside him, hands casually tucked into his pockets, though the stiff line of his shoulders betrayed his agitation. Behind him, Luca Morano followed, jaw set and hostile gaze pinned on Roman’s face.

“I believe you remember Matteo,” Nero said, gesturing to his eldest. “And Luca, Vito's son.”

Roman bit the inside of his cheek as he returned the hate-filled stare aimed at him. Morano didn’t even bother to pretend he didn’t despise his fucking guts. As luck would have it, the feeling was absolutely mutual, and the memory of the asshole's hands on his wife was still too fresh in Roman’s mind.

A testament to his self-control, he managed to sound calm when he finally opened his mouth. “I remember them well enough.”

Even though the tension suddenly permeating the air was obvious, Nero ignored it, deciding to ask Vito a question instead. As soon as the men got distracted by their conversation, Luca's eyes shifted toward the expanse of the garden, and Roman knew exactly whathe was looking for.

Alessandra stood with her back to them, chatting with her cousin. She wore a tight, olive-green dress and silver heels, her long hair falling down her back in soft waves. Her skin glowed with her tan, and with her pert ass on display in that sinful dress, she was a sight to behold.

Luca stared at her like a dehydrated man seeing water for the first time in days. The hard lines on his face softened, and he ran a hand over his mouth in a weak attempt to hide the effect she had on him.

Roman's fingers tightened around his tumbler so hard he actually heard a faint crack. He was going to murder the prick right in front of his father if he didn't tear his gaze away in the next two seconds.

Sensing the hostility aimed at him, Luca finally looked away and met Roman's furious glare. Keeping a blank expression, he stared right back.

Nero's voice drifted off as he caught scent of the growing tension. He looked between the two of them, his brows furrowing.

“Roman, can I have a word with you?” Matteo’s hand came down on his shoulder, and Roman fought the urge to break it.

He didn’t move, but when Matteo’s hold tightened in warning, he gave a stiff nod and followed him to a nearby table.

“Fucking hell,” Matteo muttered under his breath, draining his glass and throwing it on the table carelessly. He glanced over Roman’s shoulder to where they’d left the other men before scowling at him. “Look, man, I know you're still pissed about what Luca did, and I don't blame you. But right now, you’re making it prettyfucking obvious to everyone how you feel about him.”

“And?”

“And my father might get suspicious. You really want him to know?”

“I don't give a fuck if he knows.”

Matteo shook his head disapprovingly. “I think you do. He'll get angry and take it out on Alessandra; innocent or not.”

“You know what I think?” Roman said in a lethal voice, taking a step closer. “I think both you and your father forget she's my wife.”

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