Snapping Point||Book 1

6|Part II

I'd avoided sharing a bed with her, just in case she chose to find comfort in the bedroom, spending the remnants of the night perched on my couch until dawn's light. And then I'd quietly gotten ready for the morning and slipped out unnoticed.

Such a dead sleeper she was.

In spite of my efforts not to intrude into her space, she had planted herself at the table, head resting there all damn night like my presence was some sort of eerie shadow to be avoided. I'd always aimed for that demeanor, so I guess this was evidence enough for me.

After enduring what felt like an eternity on the phone with Luciana last night—a one-sided conversation disguised as a discussion—I had returned to find the redhead fast asleep.

Nice gestures weren't simply my style. There was no sweeping her into my arms and tucking her into bed. No, there was only a hard stare, as if she'd forgotten to put on a damn dress, followed by even harder staring, before settling back on the couch to catch up on the news.

For once, an event in the Family slipped under the media's radar. My inauguration didn't make the news. And let me tell you why—because it was as shadowy as our darkest deeds. We kept it hush-hush, gave the media only what they deserved to know and swept the rest away from sight, like yesterday. Everyone would normally be searched thoroughly for any devices before entering the estate.

A quarter of Italy's curious souls knew us for what we were—not as individuals now but a collective entity steeped in darkness—while the rest thought we were just a noble family coasting on historical wealth.

I wished that were true.

History? Hm! There was no history here, save for the lingering memories of those foolish enough to cross our paths.

And why did we often grace the headlines? Because money talks, and wealth draws attention. When folks stumbled upon a rich family, they usually dug deep to uncover every last detail, searching for legitimacy or scandal. Most of our businessmen gained fame that way. But, our shady dealings remained just that—speculation from envious souls too cowardly to pin anything criminal on us. Sure, we had legal enterprises, but let's just say the illegal ones were a bit more... discreet.

Today was shaping up to be a sluggish day, obvious the moment I left the West wing. Yesterday's antics had left the men drunk, the servants exhausted, and everything else bored to tears. Except for the relentless nagging in my mind, reminding me of the woman still untouched inside my quarters.

"Where's your charm?" it taunted, and I smirked. She was off-limits for two damn good reasons. First, she was supposed to be six feet under. Second, ever touched fire? It burns, leaving nothing but ash behind.

I preferred being a man, not dust.

Normally, Ottavio would be the first person I'd encounter each morning, but after our recent spat over the girl, I avoided him. Instead, I strolled into the Rossi mansion like I lived the damn place. I hadn't forgotten the rift between my mother and Rossi, and since I'd promised to handle it, I needed to find my father.

I marched through the anteroom, past the cocktail lounge, and into the living room, where my eyes were met—not graced, but marred—by four of my cousins.

Angelo, Bernardo, Marco, and young Geronimo looked like they'd been hit by a damn truck, lounging on the sofas, bickering over the remote. Angelo and Bernardo sported sunglasses indoors—a glaring sign of red, swollen eyes. Overindulged, I'd say. Brothers like them probably had a shared penchant for snorting lines or shooting up to numb the night away.

Marco and young Geronimo, brothers themselves, had six sisters back in Rome. As for Angelo's second brother, Zito, he usually preferred the company of online porn stars over his insufferable siblings. And the rest of my cousins? They likely retreated to the family hotel, since my father had a thing against them sharing bedrooms like bunch of gay men.