Of volume lineage

Giova

There was paint behind her ear.

Isabella had been calculating when choosing her outfit. She knew she was beautiful, knew the right dress would elicit her curves and that a certain hairstyle would make her look older. Add the fur shawl that offered her shoulders coverage until she decided to reveal them, and Isabella almost made my bodyguard forget his loyalty.

I couldn’t deny her beauty. She was eye-catching, almost shocking to look at.

But behind her ear, half hidden by the loose brown curls, there was a streak of blue paint. She obviously didn’t know it was there.

“I’m surprised the engagement party went off without a hitch,” she said as we enjoyed our entrees.

So was I. “Were you expecting a hitch?”

“I was. You don’t get to blend two families together without any drama.” Isabella’s eyes glanced at me. They were so dark they reflected the flame of the candle. “Any news on my father’s whereabouts?”

I arched an eyebrow at her. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that wives should only worry about taking care of the house and warming their husbands’ beds?”

Her lips thi

“No, you’re not.”

“That’s a no, then. You have no idea where Vitale is.”

I had enough advisors and soldati, I didn’t need another one. Especially a meddling young woman who had never seen the violent world of the mafia. She would cause more problems than she would solve.

“I don’t know where he is either,” she said, no hint of a lie in her voice. I knew Isabella didn’t know where he was, but it was amusing to me that she thought I didn’t know that. Her phone was tapped, her residence constantly guarded. There was nothing the Lombardi princess did that I didn’t know about.

“We would be having a very different conversation if I thought you did.”

Nervousness flickered in her eyes, reminding me of her age. It was quickly replaced with a

“I’m not threatening you, Isabella, merely stating a fact.”

“Is this your way of respecting me?”

I sca

“No,” she practically choked.

“You are.” I didn’t understand her anger. I was truthful with her, which was much more than anyone else. “I meant every word. I hope you don’t expect an apology.”

Isabella seemed to be fighting an internal battle. Suddenly, she flinched, pain erupting in her features. I frowned.

“What did you do?”

She covered her mouth and mumbled something. It sounded like “Bit my tongue.”

I passed her a napkin and poured her some cold water. Isabella mumbled a thank you and took a sip. When she placed it back on the table, pink swirls of blood could be seen. She had gotten so angry she had bit her tongue. I recalled her split palms at the engagement party–had that also been an attempt to rein in her temper?

I don’t know why but it bothered me to a certain extent.

“You shouldn’t be hurting yourself in order to contain your emotions.”

“Not emotions,” she muttered. “Anger.”

I wasn’t experienced with trying to control my anger. It had always obeyed me like everything else under my jurisdiction.

I reached across the table, moving her hand out the way. Her eyes grew wide as I traced my thumb along her bottom lip. Blood and lipstick came away, both the same color.

Isabella’s chest rose and fell sharply.

My eyes lowered to her exposed neck and shoulders, to the shape of her breasts. If I dropped my hand, I would be able to wrap it around her throat, feel that soft skin beneath my scarred palms. How fast would her pulse race beneath my thumbs? I wanted to know the answer to that question.

Sex had always been a way to feel pleasure and pain in an environment I controlled. I maintained the same sexual partners for many years, all who were sworn to silence and were trained to do whatever I told them to.

Isabella wouldn’t do whatever I told her to do.

I suspected the rebellious Lombardi princess wasn’t as virginal as her family were assuring me, but she had never had sex the way I had. She would break beneath my hands if I enjoyed her the way I wanted to. Which would lead to discontent amongst the Lombardis.

I drew my arm back and she let out a stuttering breath. She looked rattled and surprised, but quickly dabbed a napkin to her mouth.

“I don’t want you doing that anymore,” I said.

Her eyebrows furrowed. “Doing what?” There was the undercurrent of something in her tone.

“Cutting your palms with your nails or biting your tongue to control yourself.”

“My mother told me to do it when I needed to calm down,” Isabella retorted. She wasn’t happy I was giving her an order. “Or would you prefer I unleash my anger?”

Had Isabella been keeping her anger on a leash? It must be a very long one since I had seen her go from wrath to fury to ballistic within the past three minutes.

“Well, now I’m telling you to stop. Don’t worry about this metaphorical leash you’ve chained your anger to, Isabella. The scathing comments of a little principessa won’t bother me.”

Her face and neck flushed, lips peeling back to reveal her teeth. Paired with the blood from her tongue, it was quite a scary expression. Like a rabid dog.