Page 96 of The Serpent's Bride
Probably because I hadn’t stopped thinking about Chiara since leaving the suite. Annoying.
Her tears from last night kept replaying in my head. Making me want things I had no business wanting. Softness. Possession. Protection. I hated all of it.
By the time the Ventura estate gates finally appeared through the rain, my mood had turned vicious again. Good.
The guards opened the gates as soon as they saw it was a Moretti car approaching, their loyalty to Ventura waning in my presence. Cowards.
The mansion loomed ahead exactly as I remembered it. Grand. Expensive. Pretending wealth erased weakness. It didn’t.
Sergio parked slowly beneath the stone entrance.
“You want me in the room?” he asked.
I nodded, and we stepped inside together. The staff scattered. Fear rolled through the mansion before I’d even spoken a word. Perfect.
Lorenzo Ventura was waiting in his study when the doors opened. He stood too quickly the second he saw me. Sweat already glistened at his temples. Interesting. Because technically?
He’d won. He got exactly what he wanted. Chiara married off. His reputation protected. His precious alliance with the Morettis secured. And a hefty part of my father’s empire. And yet he still looked terrified. As he should.
“SignoreMoretti,” he greeted tightly. I ignored the greeting entirely and sat without invitation. Sergio moved silently toward the liquor cart near the window. Ventura’s eyes flicked toward him nervously.
“Relax,” I murmured. “If I came here to kill you, you’d already be dead.”
That did not comfort him nearly as much as I think he hoped it would. Sergio poured three glasses of bourbon smoothly. I watched Ventura carefully while Sergio handed me mine first.Then Sergio crossed toward Ventura. Right before the glass changed hands, I reached out lazily.
“Wait,” I said.
Ventura froze. I took his glass personally. Then, while holding his terrified gaze, I adjusted the cuff of my sleeve with my free hand. A small movement. Quick. Invisible. The capsule slipped soundlessly into the bourbon and dissolved. Ventura noticed nothing - or if he did, he was too terrified to make a peep about it.
I handed the drink back with a faint smile. “There. Enjoy. It’s forty years old.”
His hand shook slightly accepting it. Good. I took a slow sip from my own glass.
“So,” I said conversationally. “Tell me what you said to my wife before the wedding.”
Ventura blinked too quickly. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Lie. I smiled faintly over the rim of my glass. “Try again.”
“I told Chiara what any father would tell his daughter before marriage,” he said carefully. “Nothing more.”
Sergio leaned lazily against the desk nearby. Watching. Waiting. Ventura swallowed hard beneath the silence stretching across the room. I let him stew in it for a while before speaking again.
“She walked down the aisle terrified of me.”
“That sounds like Chiara,” he said too quickly. “She’s emotional. Dramatic-”
“She cried in my bed,” I interrupted calmly. That shut him up. My gaze stayed fixed on him.
“She looked at me like something inside her broke before she ever reached that altar,” I continued softly. “So I’ll ask one final time.”
I set my glass down carefully. “What did you tell my wife?”
Ventura’s forehead glistened now. “N-Nothing.”
I sighed. Disappointed. Then I smiled. Coldly. “That’s unfortunate.”
His face paled slightly. “What?”
