Wicked Dance [Editing]

Fifteen

Contessina

As the words leave my future husband's mouth, I expect for the man holding me to let me go, to walk away, to say nothing but I'm wrong. And I should have seen it because of who Mr. Rossi was, or used to be to my father.

The hand on my wrist only tightens to the point that I buckle underneath the pressure, a whimper leaving me as Mr. Rossi pulls me back harshly- I know it will leave a bruise, I had gotten hurt enough to know it will bruise- stepping up to face Matteo, not one bit intimidated by the sight of my future husband or his tone. "This is not your issue Senator."

It's a warning, I can feel it, the air thick, buzzing and glancing at Matteo, his gaze is no longer on me or my hand but I know he's aware of it all even when his gray eyes are on Mr. Rossi alone. Those perfect and sharp features of him set into what I would call, the act of boredom, but knowing him, even if it's a small part, I know he's pissed. I can see it behind his eyes, the calmness that will unleash into a storm.

He might not like me still, he might not talk to me, have his reservations about me but I doubted he wanted the father of my "ex" hurting me.

My future husband doesn't want anyone touching me and I doubted it meant only intimately but also in every other way one could imagine.

Trying to pull my hand away only makes Mr. Rossi grip tighter, it only makes him pull me closer to him, my back skimming his front. My gaze set on Matteo, seeing eyes that follow each movement with calculation, with a wave of destruction.

Matteo is cold. He's ruthless. He isn't one to be played with. He will cut you to ribbons, I know it and knowing Mr. Rossi too, this won't end well. Nothing will and all because of what? Because I can't seem to stand up for myself?

Maybe I was stupid. Weak even. Nothing but a Mafia Princess.

Looking around with panic setting in my stomach, I try to find someone to stop this. To make them both step away from each other and behind Matteo, I see silhouettes, men, Mayra. I see Mayra but she does nothing, nor do the men, they only stand there, attentive, ready, one of them- Tom's- hand was on his hip, touching the gun I knew he carried, that they all carried.

Glancing back, Matteo is not looking at me anymore but at Mr. Rossi, his voice clipped but direct. "It's my issue when not only are you insulting my fianceé but also hurting her."

Fianceé. The word out of his lips makes my heart beat in a different way. It makes me almost forget about the hand holding me, but I can't because the fingers are digging painfully into my flesh.

Mr. Rossi lets out a humorless chuckle, one that sends shivers down my spine and not the good ones. "So you can insult her and hurt her but I can't? I don't know if you're aware but she would have been my daughter in law if you hadn't blackmailed-"

He doesn't finish the sentence because in a blink, Matteo is pulling my hand free from Mr. Rossi's grip, stepping in front of me, making me stand behind him, towering over him by a few good inches, his voice low. "Listen to me very carefully sir because next time, I won't be as forgiving," each word was punctuated, one hand holding me back, shielding me as opposed to what Mr. Rossi had done.

Mr. Rossi didn't even blink, didn't even move, not one bit afraid. But he should be afraid. Maybe Matteo was on the right side of the law, maybe Mr. Rossi had years and experience of killing but something told me that the man standing in front of me would do worse.

Looking from Mr. Rossi to Matteo, my heart does this thing. Picking up, beating faster, my stomach fluttering as I see the way he looks down at him. How each feature, from his dark eyes to the way his shoulders sit, are toying the line of composure and rage.