Page 100 of Brutal Heir

For a man with aspirations to the highest court, any attachment to someone named Badalamenti would prove problematic.

The Badalamenti were among the Sicilian mafia’s original families, deeply rooted in its legacy.

Her mother’s secret wealth and survival were no doubt due to her family’s connections.

Although the Badalamenti influence had waned over the generations, rendering them unable or unwilling to challenge the judge when he ordered one of their own—Sabrina’s mother—killed, it did not change the fact that they were deeply associated with the Cosa Nostra, the Sicilian mob.

I was certain Sabrina was completely unaware of her Sicilian mafia connection. My close friends, the Cavalieris, were now equally married into the Sicilian mafia web, through both Benedict's and Matteo’s recent marriages.

And Dante Agnello, the current boss of the strongest Sicilian mafia, while not a friend, was someone who had proved useful recently.

Everything was falling into place.

Everything except for Sabrina.

I had not planned on my growing obsession with her.

She was turning out to be far more fascinating and engaging than I'd anticipated.

It would prove more difficult than I cared to admit to keep my hands off her.

Unfortunately, I had no choice—at least for now.

As much as I would have preferred to simply tie her to a bed, it was essential that Sabrina not only stayed in Italy but appeared in public associated with me and the House of Diamanti.

In order for that to happen, she would have to believe—at least at first—that our relationship had shifted to a business one.

So I was forced to play the strictly professional boss…for now.

As I hustled her forward, one photographer broke free of my guards and blocked our path.

“Is she your latest pussy, Sebastian? Hey, beautiful, smile for me.”

I grabbed the man by the collar and wrenched him off his feet. “Attento a come parli!”

The man’s eyes widened as his camera crashed onto the asphalt. “What the hell? I didn’t mean it.”

Cameras continued to flash.

Without taking my eyes off the rude photographer, I let the pack behind us know, “Anyone who photographs this will find themselves working the tourist traps in the Piazza Navona by the end of the week, understood?”

The photographers fell silent.

With slumped postures, they stopped jockeying over my guards’ shoulders for a final photo and attempted to slink away.

They wouldn’t get far.

My guards would now have to confiscate all the cameras.

So much for my plan.

I yanked the unfortunate photographer close as I twisted my fist into his collar, pressing my knuckles into his throat to cut off his air. “If I ever set eyes on you again, I’ll break your neck with my bare hands.”

The man gurgled his response before I tossed him to the ground.

Taking Sabrina’s hand, I pulled her forward to the open Range Rover door.

She looked back. “Was that really necessary?”