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It was what I supposedly killed his brother with. Wouldn’t that be a fitting twist of fate!
Marco moved to sit on a barstool behind the island like he was settling in for the evening. “Scotch. The good stuff Vincent kept hidden.”
I bristled but maintained my composure as I went to fetch the drink.
“I’m headed out to visit some neighbors,” I said, scooting the glass over the marble for him. “I can’t chat long. Is everything alright?”
“I was just wondering if you’ve picked out a dress yet?” Marco asked, sipping the scotch.
I froze with the disastrous biscuits in my hand. “A dress?”
“For the wedding,” he said, as if explaining something to a child. “My mother’s been asking. She wants to coordinate with the church decorations.”
I turned slowly, my expression carefully blank. “What wedding would that be?”
Marco laughed, slapping his thigh as if I’d told the funniest joke. His men shifted uncomfortably, suddenly finding the crown molding fascinating.
“Our wedding, of course! Don’t play coy, Isabella. It doesn’t suit you.” He snapped his fingers. “Tony, get the lady a drink. She's looking pale.”
I waved the goon off. The last thing I was doing around these men was losing my edge.
“Marco,” I said quietly, “you haven’t proposed to me.”
He waved his hand dismissively. "Details, details. We both know it’s your only option.”
I know something you don’t.“Your brother hasn’t even been gone a month. It’s too soon.”
His keen gaze pinned on me. “Pining for Vincent? I didn’t think you were that loyal to him.”
I held up the wedding band that I had yet to take off. “Too soon, Marco.”
The mobster clucked his tongue. “It’s happening. If I need to wait a few more weeks, fine. But you’ll be mine, cara mia.”
I slid the burnt lumps of dough into the trash. “I have to go.”
“You can’t run from this.”
I dropped the baking sheet in the sink to cool. “I’m not. I’m supporting our people. I’m filling my days with useful work.”
“You would be better served learning to cook.” Marco tipped his head. “I expect you to keep a better house when I take over.”
That was the last straw.
Something inside snapped. Just like it had at the bar. The bastard was lucky there were no beer bottles within my grasp.
“Get out,” I said, my voice deadly quiet.
It was insanity. If he wanted to take me upstairs and have his way with me, none of those goons in the living room would lift a finger.
Hell, they would probably be upset he didn’t do it down here where they could watch!
Marco’s eyebrows shot up, glass pausing halfway to his lips. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” I turned to face him fully, shoulders squared. “Get out of my house. Now.”
The kitchen, and the living room beyond, fell silent. Even his goons stopped pawing through my belongings, heads turning toward the confrontation brewing in the kitchen.
Marco set down his glass with deliberate slowness, the crystal making a sharp click against the marble countertop. “You don’t give orders to me, Isabella.”
