“Of course,” Christian drawled. “Have fun.”
One day, I’d pay him back for all the crap he gave me about Vivian.
I followed her to the photo setup, where Francis waited with Cecelia, Vivian’s sister Agnes, and Agnes’s husband. My brother stood off to the side, his eyes glued to his phone while the photographer fiddled with his camera.
Something dangerous uncoiled in my chest.
I’d avoided Francis all day. He didn’t deserve my attention in public, which would only elevate his status, and I didn’t need more temptation to commit murder.
Apparently, my run had come to an end.
“You didn’t tell me this was a family photo.” The word family came out with an acerbic bite.
“I didn’t realize it mattered.” Vivian slid a sideways glance at me. “I asked Mode de Vie to wait until everyone was together, but they specifically wanted a photo from the party. However, they agreed to take another one with your parents whenever they’re stateside.”
I almost laughed at the insinuation I was upset over my parents’ absence. I couldn’t remember the last time Giovanni and Janis Russo showed up for one of their kids’ milestones.
“I’ll survive without a photo of our big, happy family,” I said, my tone dry.
I took my place in front of the camera as far away from Francis as possible. When the photographer gave us the go-ahead, I wrapped my arm around Vivian’s waist and forced a tight smile.
God, I hated photoshoots.
Luckily, this one didn’t require a kiss, and we got the shot in less than five minutes. Vivian’s friends pulled her away after for some reason or other while Luca turned to me.
“Hey, uh, I just wanted to say…congratulations? On the engagement.”
My glare could’ve set the room on fire.
He held up his hands. “Whoa, I’m trying to play nice, okay? I’m…” He lowered his hands and glanced around the room before facing me again. Guilt slashed across his expression. “I’m sorry this fell on you.”
His voice was barely audible over the other guests’ chatter, but it cut straight into my chest.
“It is what it is.” I was used to cleaning up after my brother. Hell, considering some of his past choices, I should be glad he hadn’t joined the mafia.
Things were shit, but they could always be worse.
Luca wiped a hand over his face. “I know, but I…fuck. I know you never wanted to get married. This is a big deal, Dante, and I know you’re working on finding—”
“Luca.” His name was a warning. “Not now.”
Christian was discreet; my brother wasn’t. I didn’t want anyone overhearing us at my own damn party.
“Right. Well, I just wanted to congratulate—I mean, apologize. And thank you.” His expression turned embarrassed. “I know I don’t say this often, but you’re a good brother. You always have been.”
Tightness crowded my chest before I acknowledged his statement with a curt nod.
“Go enjoy the party. I’ll see you at dinner next week.”
I wanted to see how things were going at Lohman & Sons and make sure he was staying away from Maria. Despite his seeming remorse, I didn’t trust him enough to go long periods without checking in on him.
After Luca left, I made my way to the bar only to get stopped by Francis, who’d been busy talking to Kai until now.
“Excellent turnout,” he said as Kai shot me an indecipherable glance before slipping away. “It looks like the entire East Coast Valhalla membership is here.” A pause, then, “You have quite a presence in the club, don’t you?”
I regarded him coolly, the tightness from my conversation with Luca sinking beneath a well of distaste.
My great-grandfather had been one of the club’s twelve founding members. If I nominated someone for admission, they were guaranteed a spot, provided they met the basic eligibility criteria.
“Not any more or less than other members,” I said.
“Right.” Francis’s smile came alive like a shark sensing blood in the water. “I hear there’ll be an opening in the Boston chapter soon. Some nasty business with Peltzer’s bankruptcy.”
Ironic he should sound so gleeful about it when he would be in the same boat as Peltzer soon.
I couldn’t fucking wait. Until then…
“So I heard.” I tilted my head. “You were denied the last time you applied, no? Perhaps you’ll have better luck this time.”
Francis’s face darkened before relaxing into another smile. “I’m sure I will with your support. We’re practically family now, and family helps each other out. Don’t they?” He cast a meaningful look in Luca’s direction.
Rage clamped my jaw tight at his obvious threat.
Legacy Valhalla members were granted five nominations in their lifetime. I’d already used two—one for Christian, one for Dominic. I would rather cut off my dick than waste a third on Francis.
“I don’t have much insight into the Boston chapter.” It was only half a lie. I had connections there, but each chapter acted fairly independently in accordance with the local culture, politics, and traditions. “Valhalla’s membership committee is diligent in its selection process. If someone is worthy of being admitted, they’ll be admitted.”
Red splashed across Francis’s cheeks at my subtle dig.
“While I’m all for helping family…” My smile hardened into a warning. “They should know better than to push too hard. It never turns out well for the parties involved.”
Francis had enough balls to blackmail me but not enough to pretend he owned me. He was testing my breaking point to see how far he could take things.
Little did he know, he’d crossed it the minute he walked into my office and put those photos on my desk.
Before he could respond, Vivian returned, her cheeks noticeably more flushed than before. I wondered how many drinks she’d had with her friends.
“What did I miss?” she asked
“Your father and I were just discussing wedding logistics.” I didn’t take my eyes off Francis. “Isn’t that right?”
Resentment filled his eyes, but he didn’t dispute my account. “Right.”
Vivian’s eyes roved between us. She must’ve picked up on the underlying hostility because she quickly nudged her father toward Mode de Vie’s lifestyle columnist before pulling me aside.
“I don’t know what you were really talking about, but you shouldn’t provoke my father,” she said. “It’s like provoking a wounded tiger.”
A wisp of amusement cooled my anger. “I’m not scared of your father, mia cara. If he doesn’t like what I say, he can take it up with me himself.”
“Don’t call me that. Mia cara,” she clarified. “It’s insulting.”
I notched an eyebrow. “How so?”
“You don’t mean it.”
“People say things they don’t mean all the time.” I nodded at a silver-haired guest standing by the bar. “For example, your riveting conversation with Thomas Dreyer earlier. Don’t tell me you were actually interested in the minutiae of tax write-offs.”