Chapter 7

VICENZO’S POV

Rosa was jealous.

She thought she was hiding it, but I could see it in the way her hands curled into fists at her sides, the slight hitch in her breath, the tight set of her jaw. She wouldn’t look at me. Not directly.

I didn’t push Bianca away, even though I didn’t like her so close. Her perfume was sharp and cloying as she leaned in, pressing just slightly against me while handing me the envelope. Rosa noticed.

Good.

It was rare to see her struggle to mask her emotions. Rare to catch a glimpse of the fire still burning beneath all that defiance.

I tucked the letter into my pocket and turned to her. “Inside.”

Her lips parted slightly, just a flicker of hesitation, but she didn’t argue. It took everything in her not to. That only pleased me more.

She straightened, lifted her chin, a quiet reminder that she still had pride, still had fight. Good. She’d need it.

Without another word, she walked past me, her shoulder brushing mine as she headed into the bedroom. I watched the sway of her hips before shutting the door behind her.

Bianca sighed, crossing her arms, lips pressing into a thin, dissatisfied line. “Why is she back?”

I glanced at her, unimpressed. “Not your business.”

A small, bitter laugh escaped her. “Really?”

I didn’t reply. I didn’t have time for Bianca’s games.

Brushing past her, I moved toward the door, but she followed, her heels clicking against the marble, insistent. Clinging.

The second we stepped outside, she moved closer. Too close. Like she had a right. Maybe she did. Once.

Her fingers slid over my wrist, tracing up toward my forearm. I let her, let her play her little game, let her believe she still had control. Then, just as her grip tightened, I shrugged her off.

Bianca huffed a laugh, flipping her hair over one shoulder. “Cold as ever, amore mio.”

I didn’t answer. Because she was nothing to me.

Still, she didn’t take the hint.

She exhaled sharply, shifting her weight before finally saying what was really on her mind. “What the hell is she doing here, Vincenzo?” Her voice turned petulant, whiny. “Why is she back? You owe me that much.”

Slowly, I turned, fixing her with a look.

Bianca swallowed.

“You want to watch that tone with me,” I murmured. “And remember your place.”

Her lips parted, anger flashing across her face before she smoothed it into something softer. With a dramatic sigh, she feigned exasperation. “Oh, please, Vincenzo. I’ve been by your side for years. If anyone has a place here, it’s me.”

I said nothing.

She wasn’t wrong. My parents had forced her on me for as long as I could remember, dangling her in front of me like some perfect little mafia princess I should be grateful for. Even now, with only my father left, the pressure remained, subtle but constant.

She knew it.

She thought it gave her power.

It didn’t.

We stepped into the car, and the second I settled, she shifted closer, her nails dragging lightly over my thigh. I knew what she was about to do before she did it.

The chauffeur, a seasoned man who had seen worse, said nothing. The divider was down, but that had never stopped Bianca before.

She unfastened the first button of her blouse, tilting her head, a slow smile curling on her lips. “You’ve always liked a thrill before a confrontation,” she purred.

Her hand trailed up my thigh, slow and deliberate, her fingers grazing my belt as if testing the limits of my patience.

I didn’t move.

She took that as an invitation, a silent challenge. With a knowing coy smile, she straddled me, her body settling into a familiar rhythm. I let her.

Her palm smoothed over my slacks, fingers pressing just enough to feel the hardness beneath. She dragged her mouth along my thigh, her breath warm through the fabric, teeth scraping lightly as she hummed against me.

“Mmm.” A pleased sound, filled with indulgence. “Still so fucking hard, tesoro.”

Her fingers toyed with my belt, undoing it with the kind of unhurried ease that came from experience. Teasing. Testing. She knew how I liked it—how I used to like it.

When she freed me from my slacks, she moaned, exaggerated and sultry, as if the mere sight of me aroused her. Her hand wrapped around me, stroking from base to tip, her thumb circling, coaxing.

“I missed this,” she whispered, her tongue flicking out to taste, trailing a slow, deliberate path along my length. “Missed how you feel in my mouth.”

Her lips parted, breath warm, tongue ready…

I fisted her hair and yanked her back.

She gasped, a sharp inhale of surprise, her head snapping up to meet my eyes.

“Enough.”

Her eyes flashed. She tried to pout, tried to look innocent, but I saw the sharpness behind it. The anger. The jealousy.

She licked her lips, still gripping me. “You like this, Vincenzo. What’s changed?” There was surprise in her voice.

I stared down at her, my grip still tight in her hair. I could have said a hundred things, I could have reminded her she was never more than a distraction. Could have told her the only thing on my mind right now was Rosa.

But I didn’t waste my breath.

Instead, I released her, pushing her away as I tucked myself back in, fastening my belt with slow, deliberate movements.

“Focus.”

Bianca huffed, smoothing down her hair, buttoning her blouse with jerky, irritated movements. “You used to love mixing business with pleasure,” she muttered.

I scoffed. “I only mix business with things that actually matter.”

The look she gave me was venomous.

Good.

We pulled up to the meeting point, and Mateo slid into the seat across from me, his expression unreadable.

“There’s news, boss.”

I raised a brow. “Go on.”

“The doctors confirmed the child is Rosa’s.”

The car felt too still.

Mateo continued, careful. “They’ve agreed to do a DNA test for you.”

I let the thought settle, my pulse steady, my expression calm. Too calm.

Across from me, Bianca stiffened.

Her head snapped toward Mateo.

“Rosa has a child?!”