Page 51 of Unholy Union
And then turns her back on me, like it’s preferred she doesn’t see me at all.
A tightness pulls at the muscles in my chest. I drain the last of my champagne and debate marching over there.
Before I can, another man steps over to the small circle of wives. Rudy Mancini from the Falcos wanders over in his usual club jacket and greasy slicked hair, grinning ear to ear at the group of women. They smile politely in return as he wedges himself between them.
…what the fuck is this prick doing here?
The Falcos don’t normally attend black-tie events like these, and it’s no wonder, considering how Mancini’s shown up in nothing but his usual uniform of a suede jacket and slacks. In a room where everybody else is in formal wear, he sticks out like a sore thumb.
But he doesn’t give a damn. He utters something to Sabrina and her mouth falls open in laughter.
The first time she’s laughed—or evensmiled—all night long.
She fucking radiates as she does. The twinkle returns to her hazel eyes and a loose strand slips over her brow.
My hand flexes open and shut at my side, tempted to reach over and brush it behind her ear. Not that she would ever want me to; anytime I’ve touched her, she’s made it clear she despises me.
For a second time tonight, I’m distracted enough that I forget my surroundings. I forget Papà is watching.
“She can’t be trusted,” he says, his tone blasé as he sips his liquor. “But neither can Mancini and the Falcos. You said they agreed to our deal.”
“They did,” I say, still not taking my eyes off her. She and Rudy have broken away from the group and are talking one-on-one. He’s edging closer with that ugly fucking toothy grin of his. “He made it clear who’s side they’re taking.”
“You sure about that? Because it doesn’t seem so clear. I keep telling you, Cato—beautiful women are nice to look at, but it’s all a distraction. You need to make sure you don’t fall for her games. Don’t you let her trick you, not for a second.”
“She’s my wife.”
“She’s aCorsini. Always has been. Always will be at heart. You said you understood what was at stake with this marriage. What we were going to do,” he lectures in his deep baritone. “Break her if you have to. But you… you must always be in control.”
I grit my teeth and snap at him from over my shoulder. “Idohave it under control. I don’t need you micromanaging me. If you want me to take over the family, you’re going to have to let the reins go sooner rather than later.”
I walk away before his lecture can continue, skin prickling with hot irritation. I’ve had enough of his micromanaging to last me a lifetime. If he ever expects me to rule the family and be in charge of the businesses, he needs to step back and let me have the driver’s seat.
But my father can’t seem to let go; he can’t seem to accept that his time has come and gone.
That my time is on the horizon.
I’ll handle Sabrina as I see fit.
First, I’ll handle Rudy Mancini, who seems much too fucking comfortable breathing in my wife’s personal space.
I’m closing in on the pair when Giada steps directly in my path. She resembles Morticia Addams more than usual tonight in a sleek black gown that makes her look deathly pale. Her signature red lips spread in a wide, flirtatious smile as she reaches out a taloned finger and trails it along my tie.
“Still playing house with Saint Sabrina? Must be exhausting pretending she’s enough for you.”
I smack her hand away, flattening my tie like it’s dirty now that she’s laid a finger on it. “What have I told you about touching me, Giada? One of these days, I’m going to make good on that threat to slice those fingers off.”
“I saw the pap photos. But then again, didn’t everyone? So is that what tonight’s about? The two of you doing damage control?” She smirks, folding her arms across her chest. “I don’t think your wife likes you, Cato. She’s flirting with another man.”
My jaw clenches as I look above her head to where Sabrina and Rudy were standing. But it seems Rudy’s finally wisened up and wandered off.
Sabrina’s staring over at me. For the first time tonight, she’s actually glanced over in my direction, and it’s to catch me talking with Giada.
Her expression is enigmatic and impossible to read. It’s a cross between the practiced grace she performs so well and the cleverness I know she’s capable of. She holds my gaze as she sets off in our direction.
At my side, Giada sneers. “Oh look, Cato! Your wifey is coming. I think she might actually be jealous. Have you told her about us?”
But she goes ignored—Sabrina’s crossed the room in a few quick strides. She resembles a goddess the way she carries herself, the golden silk draping her body to perfection, her dark sheets of hair flowing.
