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She pouts, her lower lip jutting out. “I don’t want water.”
“Tough,” I reply, noticing the slight glaze in her eyes. She’s well on her way to getting tipsy, and a drunk Alina would be far from ideal right now.
“Dante, who is that redhead?” Alina starts to drum an impatient rhythm on the table, her perfectly manicured nails clicking against the polished wood.
“Not your concern.” I accept my whiskey, taking a measured sip. The smoky liquid burns a path down my throat, steadying me.
Alina’s lips curl, her eyes narrowing. “Not my concern! You’re my fiancé and she’s clearly one of those whor—”
“Choose your next words carefully, Alina,” I cut her off, my voice low and dangerous. I can feel my control slipping, and the urge to defend Addy is overwhelming.
She leans in, undeterred. “Did you not see how she looked at you? Like you’re a tall glass of water, and she’s parched.”
The waiter appears, bringing Alina’s water. She huffs, then takes an exaggerated sip, arching both her brows as if to say “Happy now?” I tip my glass in response, biting back a sarcastic retort.
“You know, Dante,” Alina continues, her voice taking on a wheedling tone, “this is the most attention you’ve given me in months. I could do naked cartwheels, and you wouldn’t notice. But I talk to some redhead, and suddenly you’re all over me.” She gathers her silky dark hair, twirling it coquettishly. “Maybe I should dye my hair red too.”
I can’t help but snort. “It wouldn’t suit you.”
Her face colors. “You’re impossible!” Alina snatches up her glass of water, her movements jerky with frustration. “We’re supposed to be getting married, for God’s sake.”
Here we go. I lean forward, bracing my elbows on the table. “About that. It’s not going to happen after all. As of now, the wedding is off.”
“What?” The glass slips from Alina’s frozen fingers and shatters on the floor. Without thinking, I stretch my foot over the broken pieces of glass, shielding her from any splinters while I summon a cleanup crew. They appear almost instantly, efficiently dealing with the mishap.
Alina leans back in her seat, barely taking notice of the woman cleaning her mess. I suppose she’s reeling and needs a few minutes to digest what I just dropped on her.
“You . . . you can’t be serious, Dante,” she finally sputters, her eyes wide with disbelief.
I hold her gaze, letting her see the finality in mine.
Suddenly, she throws her hands up, nearly hitting a passing patron. “I knew it! I fucking knew it! I should have just stuck with Nico! But no, mama said—” She clamps her mouth shut, realizing too late what she’s revealed.
“Go on,” I say dryly. “Mama said what?”
She shakes her head, looking everywhere but at me. “Nothing. I only agreed to wed you because . . . because I like you a lot. And I thought you were so much nicer than Nico, but it turns out you’re not,” she finishes lamely, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
I’m pretty sure that’s not Bianca’s reasoning for wanting me instead of Nico, but I’m too relieved to be free of her schemes to care anymore. Still, I soften my tone, feeling a pang of sympathy for Alina.
“You deserve better, cara. You deserve a man who wouldn’t ignore you. Who’d die before he hurts you or lets you go. And he’s out there somewhere.”
She snaps, “Don’t patronize me, Dante,” but there’s a quiver in her voice that tells me she’s desperate for the same thing. It’s just too bad that she’ll likely end up in another arranged marriage situation.
I continue, ignoring her false bravado. “So, if you ever find yourself hitched to a man you don’t want, come and talk to me. Okay?”
“Oh, bore off.” She rolls her eyes, but I know she heard me loud and clear. “I’m going home.”
She stands, and I signal to her guards, who instantly materialize in a protective formation around her. She turns back on her way out, chin lifted in a show of defiance.
“I expect you’ll be hearing from my father first thing tomorrow, and then we’ll see if you really have the balls to back up your bluff. So go do your thing tonight, but I know you’re not stupid enough to fuck this up over some random lay.”
She flicks her hair gracefully and leaves.
I release a breath, feeling the weight of an unwanted future lift from my shoulders as I watch her go, her gold dress shimmering under the lights as she weaves through the crowd. Alina is beautiful. A spoiled mafia princess, yet untouched in so many ways. She deserves better than to be a pawn.
Through the glass floor, I spot Addy at the bar, toe-to-toe with Pietro, and my lips curve into a wolfish smile. Her wild curls bounce as she jabs a finger at his chest, and even from here, I can practically feel the heat of her anger.
Pietro steps back from her and rubs his chest, his usually expressionless face twitching like he’s about to laugh or cry. He’ll probably whine to me later about the bruise he got from being poked in the chest.
