My father was sick, not helpless. He might not be as together as he once had been, but he knew his own mind. He also knew his business. Right then, with him sitting in that leather chair, a watered-down tumbler of scotch in his hand, it was business—my business—that he wanted to know more about.

“Tell me, then. Why haven’t you seen him?”

Vinnie.

It was always about Vinnie lately.

My father’s mind might be dulled a little by the medicine and liquor filling his veins, but he still had his faculties. He hadn’t forgotten what he wanted me to do.

“Papa,” I started, thinking the pout might work again. It had melted his heart when he’d asked about Vinnie and the date I’d canceled with him. He’d warned me not to put off the man for too long. Since Kiel had come back to the city, I’d stopped answering Vinnie’s calls altogether. My focus wasn’t on him, my father, or any plans either of them had for me.

It was steady on Kiel. On his mouth and sarcastic grin and that glorious, sweet cock I wanted back between my fingers.

I tilted my head, coming to kneel next to my father. He kept his attention on his glass, staring blankly at the ice cubes. He did that sometimes when he was disappointed. By the message he’d left on my phone this morning, the one that simply said, “Come. There is a problem,” I knew he was disappointed. I could tell by that cold, bitter tone and the low grumble in his voice.

My father never beat us. He didn’t spank or ever touch us to hurt us. His words, though, wounded deep and bit hard, and that somber look of disgust and disappointment was something I’d never been able to stomach for long.

It was that look he gave me right now as he swirled the scotch around his tumbler and said, “Why don’t you tell him?” He tightened the grip on his glass. He still wore his wedding ring, though it had been fifteen years since my sweet mother had died.

For Papa, for many men of his generation, you married for longer than life. He wanted everyone to know he was still loyal to her.

The click of shoes on the marble floor announced Vinnie’s arrival, and I glanced over my shoulder, cursing myself for waiting on Kiel to save me. It had been stupid to expect him to show. He hadn’t answered even one of my texts or messages since I’d last seen him. No surprise he hadn’t made an appearance today.

This was a conversation I should have had with my father years ago. The truth had been buried under worry, resentment, and years of denying that I’d actually loved Kiel. That loving him and marrying him without my father’s blessing or approval was one disappointment he’d never get over.

I’d disobeyed him by rebelling. I’d fallen for a man he’d never approve of without a lot of gentle persuasion and months, if not years, of patient introductions and conversations. That Kiel was in the damn media would have precluded him from even being introduced to my papa. Now? Cazzo, it was too late.

“Ciao, bella,” Vinnie said, nodding once as he flopped onto my father’s tufted sofa, fingering the gold Zippo in his hand. He stretched an arm along the back of the sofa, grinning at me as though he was pleased to have a front seat to what would end up a gigantic family squabble. “Your Papa says you want to tell me something?”

I stood then, pushing down my skirt as I forced a smile on my face. “Vinnie,” I started, folding my arms tightly over my chest. He watched me, attention on my legs, pausing over my hips before his eyes went straight to my breasts. That’s where his gaze stayed, only moving to my face for a few seconds at a time. That disgusting grin he wore went wicked, and I had to push back the urge to smack it from his face.

“Cara, explain to us,” my father said, moving his glass between himself and Vinnie. “Tell us why you’ve been avoiding Vincent’s attention.”

The man in question leaned forward, that Zippo opening and closing as he fingered it. The bright light overhead sent a glare across his bald head. He rested his elbows on his knees, and his shirt tightened around his waist, exaggerating the paunch of his gut. “Sì, Cara. You don’t like me? I’m not bello enough for you, eh?”

“Papa,” I tried again, ignoring Vinnie and his stupid question. But that quick disappointment hardened my father’s mouth, pulled it into a line that no amount of my pouting could erase.

“I give. You take. You are spoiled, like your brother, but I am a rich man. I have given you a good life, and I ask this small thing of you.” He gestured to Vinnie, head shaking. “And you disrespect me by ignoring what I want for you. Why, mi passerotto? Why do you hate your Papa so?”

“You know I love you,” I told my father, kneeling back down next to him. The hurt that clouded his dark eyes stung worse than the disappointment that hadn’t moved from his features. It broke my heart to be the source of this. “On Mamma’s grave—” I grabbed the crucifix around my neck, kissing it before I crossed myself “—you know I would never intentionally disrespect you.”

For a second, my father relented. He reached forward to touch my face. I swear I caught the lower mutter of “Theresa,” my mother’s name, before Vinnie cleared his throat, and my father’s attention went to him.

“I called, Cara.” Vinnie’s gaze was downcast as he fiddled with that damn lighter. “I sent flowers too. Pink roses the day after you canceled our date, sì? Red and white the days after to let you know I thought of you all that weekend. And still…niente. No word. No thank you.”

I’d sent all of them to the hospital, to the geriatric ward. They’d appreciate them more than I would.

Vinnie lifted his chin at my father. “I know Signore Carelli raised dutiful children. Children with manners.”

“There wasn’t time for—”

“And all I’m trying to do by persuing you,” Vinnie interrupted, rising from the sofa, “is to make your father happy.” He stood with his hands in his pockets, gaze on my face, watching closely as I stood. When Johnny entered the room, Vinnie kept his focus on me, not bothering to acknowledge my brother. Instead, he flicked the Zippo in his pocket, the noise irritating. “Our two families would make great business…”

“I’m not interested in—”

“That doesn’t really matter, does it?” Vinnie said, finally turning to look at Johnny when he came to my side.

I grabbed my brother’s wrist when he stood in front of me, like Vinnie had crossed a line and Johnny would call him out on it.

“Figlio,” Papa said, a warning in his tone. “This isn’t your business.”

“Yeah, Pops. It is…”

“Stop,” I told my brother, pulling him to my side. “I can fight my own battles.”

That made Vinnie tilt his head and my father clear his throat, like neither man understood how seriously I took their ideas about my life, or how disgusted I was by those ideas.

“We’re in a battle, bella?” Vinnie’s tone was light, amused, and the urge to smack him only intensified.

“Cara…” my father warned.

I inhaled, straightening my shoulders as I watched my father, ignoring how hard Vinnie’s expression had gotten or how he’d taken a half step toward me.

“I can’t marry anyone, Papa. I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Vinnie asked for my father.

It was Papa I answered, eyes squeezed tight as I blurted out, “Because I’m already married.”

There was no sound in the room for an entire minute. Even my father’s mildly labored breathing went quiet as he watched me. The disappointment shifted into several different emotions I recognized. Confusion, because I’d always been such a dutiful daughter. At least, as far as he knew, I had. Worry, that I’d somehow messed up my life without asking him for help to get out of it. And finally, anger that he’d been so easily fooled. I’d seen those expressions before, most of the time when Papa yelled at one of his men or at my brother when he’d fucked something up.

But never had those looks been meant for me. Now they were, and I wasn’t sure I could take more of them, though I knew they were coming.

When the quiet seemed to overwhelm him, Papa exhaled, the long, slow breath moving from his nostrils. “And who is your husband?” His tone was calm but cold.

Johnny moved closer, pulling on my sleeve with his long fingers as though he meant to back me up. One glare from my father and my brother dropped my hand.

I made sure to look my father directly in the eye. Chin lifted, I tried to keep any emotion off my face. Showing weakness wouldn’t help my situation. “Kiel Kaino,” I admitted, keeping my mouth relaxed.

Anger swelled and brimmed, reddening Papa’s face. “Prendere in giro,” he said, the sentence coming out in an astounded breath.

“No, Papa.” I shook my head, ignoring Vinnie as he backed away from us and walked to the bay window at the back of the room. I kept my gaze on my father’s red face, counting the seconds until he’d release his fury. “I’m not fooling around. I’m serious.”

“Sei impazzita?”

“I’m not insane,” I promised him, grateful when Johnny squeezed my hand again. “I’m…I’m married. To Kiel. We have been for five years.”

Then my father released a litany of cursing and Italian phrases that made the hair on my arms stand on end. I was convinced by his reaction, by that rage that bellowed around the room, that my father wasn’t sick at all. No one as terminal as the doctor promised could curse and fuss and carry on the way Papa did.

“How?” he kept asking over and over, not listening when I tried to explain.

“I lied to you, Papa. I was angry because Kiel didn’t want there to be bad blood between our families. He told me he was going to leave until you knew the truth because of how we snuck off to get married without your blessing—”

“Che palle!” my father yelled, ignoring my desperate words and how I kept trying to touch him or keep my voice from sounding weak. He only heard the words “lied” and “snuck off.” At least, those were the phrases he kept repeating back to me in Italian.

I continued, raising my voice to be heard over his ranting. “I was so mad at him for leaving that I told you I didn’t know him and swore to the cops he was a stalker. It was so…stupid and…”

“Why? Why would you keep such a thing from me?”

“Because I asked her to,” a voice sounded, deeper, stronger than my father’s. I turned, feeling that stupid relief rush back into my chest when Kiel walked into the room. “Mr. Carelli,” he tried, lifting his hands in some semblance of surrender that kept my father quiet. “This has been such a bad situation, and I realized, after all this time…”

Papa threw the tumbler to the floor, the heavy glass shattering against the marble tile. Kiel pulled me back, keeping me clear of the shards of glass and scotch.

“You come here? To my house,” Papa started, voice lethal, furious as he pointed at Kiel. “Disrespect my home when I don’t want you here?”

“Papa, please…”

“No! Basta!” He motioned toward us, and on a few thundering feet, my father’s men swept into the room, standing on either side of Kiel and me. “Go away. Now!” he shouted at us.

Papa wouldn’t hear reason, not yet. Once my father was angry, once he’d felt betrayed, there would be no calming him. It was best to walk away and give him the space he needed.

I nodded, taking Johnny’s hand when he reached for me, walking with both Kiel and me as the guards waited for us.

“Figlio,” my father growled, and my brother stopped, standing in the center of the room. It was as if there was some tether Papa kept him on that prevented him from leaving with us.

Vinnie had disappeared somewhere between my confession and my father’s furious curses, and that, at least, made me breathe a little easier. Kiel led me down the hall with his palm in the center of my back. His gaze shifted around us as we navigated the hallways until we came to the front entrance and my black S-Class, door opened, my own guards waiting for me.

“Bella,” I heard behind me. Vinnie pushed off the stucco next to the door. He didn’t bother acknowledging Kiel. Instead, the man kept that ridiculous grin on his face. Only now it felt like half a threat, like Vinnie knew something good, something juicy that he was bursting to share with me. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Excuse me?” I lifted a hand when Kiel came to my side, looking ready to push me behind him just to keep Vinnie at a distance.

“You heard me fine, puttana.”

This time, Kiel did stand in front of me, glaring down at Vinnie, who was at least three inches shorter than him.

“You need to back the fuck up,” he told Vinnie, seeming unworried by my father’s guards as they moved away from the front door.

“Or what will you do, figlio di puttana?” Vinnie’s mouth shifted then, and that condescending smirk became a grin that made my stomach twist. “You’ll do nothing, and I will still laugh over your cold, dead body, sì?” He moved his jacket, flashing the black metal butt of his gun before he refastened the button. “You’ll be dead, and I’ll be fucking your wife in the ass while her papa hands me the keys to his business.”

“Try me,” Kiel said, seeming unworried by the guards or the weapon Vinnie had displayed. “Please, asshole, fucking try me.” Kiel shook his head with a tight, lethal smile that scared me, that should have scared Vinnie if he had been smart enough to recognize the threat for what it was. But Vinnie stared at Kiel, unflinching, seemingly unworried. The seconds passed, the tension ratcheting up until Kiel gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching before he called over his shoulder to me, “Get in the car, Cara. Now.” His voice was deep, the tone another threat.

I decided not to challenge him. Vinnie was a disgusting asshole, but he also had a gun. I moved quickly, slipping into my Benz, muttering under my breath in Italian to one of my guards, “Don’t let anything happen to my husband,” before they slammed the door shut. I sat there on those leather seats, watching Kiel and Vinnie square off against each other.

I couldn’t make out what they said, but I did notice Kiel’s stance. How much larger he was. How he didn’t flinch or display any twitches the way Vinnie did. The big Samoan wasn’t scared.

At least, if he was, he didn’t let it show. I held my breath until Vinnie turned and left, my father’s guards following him. It was only after Kiel was standing out there on the driveway alone that he finally turned, nodding a thanks to my guard when he opened the door for him.

“Take us to my hotel,” he told my driver. His jaw was still working like it took effort to keep his voice even.

“Are you okay?” I asked him, getting only a nod back in answer. His profile was sharp, the fine lines around his eyes and the long slope of his nose making him look fierce, dangerous. “Kiel,” I said, wanting him to look at me.

When he didn’t, a little throb of anger surfaced. It was irrational and stupid, but I was only trying to make sure he was okay. Still, the way his muscles tightened around his face, in his neck had me reminding myself how imposing, how grumpy Kiel could be when he was pissed off.

I tamped down my irritation and swallowed back my anger, trying to make my voice sound soft and grateful. “What you did today… I… Well…thanks.”

He moved his head, taking most of that profile from me as he looked out the window. His jaw never relaxed. Kiel took a breath, his throat working as he exhaled. “The shit you got me in,” he said, voice raspy, reminding me of a growl some feral animal might make before he pounced, “…it just got deeper.”