Page 39 of Broken Crown

It was why the House of Diamanti was in a vulnerable position for the machinations and threats of someone like Judge Marzio Delluci.

When I finished handling the judge once and for all…my father would be next.

My tolerance of his antics in public and with the Diamanti board was at an end.

House of Diamanti was my company now. He would learn. They would all learn.

"No. I have the matter in hand."

Rafaello picked up a ball that had rolled off the side table and tossed it between his hands, the wood making a dull thud as it hit his palms. "Yes, I saw how well you were handling the matter a few weeks ago."

I snatched the ball from his hand, tugging against the momentary resistance before he released it. "That was an unfortunate incident. It won't happen again."

"And I'm saying let's make sure of it by bringing in Benedict and Matteo." He pulled on his collar, showing the crown and purple passionflower tattoo over his heart, which matched my own. "They are, after all, also members of the Brotherhood of⁠—"

My butler and two servants entered carrying silver trays, their footsteps echoing against the centuries-old flagstone. The courtyard suddenly filled with the aroma of fresh basil and sun-ripened tomatoes.

I acknowledged them with a smile and a nod as they set up a makeshift bar near the center fountain, where water trickled musically over moss-covered stone, the sound a gentle backdrop to our conversation.

Additional servants arrived with more trays. After setting them on the lace-draped table, they removed the cloches, revealing an array of appetizers that made my mouth water despite the tension in my body.

Platters of paper-thin prosciutto di Parma curled alongside wedges of aged Parmigiano-Reggiano. Plump Castelvetrano olives glistened with oil next to crisp bruschetta topped with diced tomato and basil.

The arancini balls were still steaming from the kitchen, their golden crusts hiding centers of molten cheese and risotto, and delicate slices of vitello tonnato were fanned out on their serving dish, the pale veal nearly hidden beneath creamy tuna sauce.

I glared at Rafaello. "You should know better. The walls have ears."

His sigh disturbed the fragrant air. "Fine. But when this blows up, consider this my ‘I told you so.’”

Arcangelo arrived. After greeting our butler warmly, he moved straight to the bar, but not until he detoured to hand me a white envelope first.

Even as I opened the flap, I asked, "What's this?"

He reached for the crystal decanter of Campari, combining it with prosecco and a splash of soda water to create a perfect Campari spritz. The ruby-red liquid swirled hypnotically as he stirred.

"A bill."

I unfolded the piece of vellum. At the top was his Monsignor seal, affixed to official Vatican letterhead. It was an invoice for a broken door, mirror, and a soap dispenser.

I held the sheet up. "Was this really necessary?"

Rafaello snatched the paper from my hand and laughed before pressing it against my chest and joining Arcangelo over at the bar. "Be grateful. He gave you the family discount. He billed Benedict twice as much for the shower door he shattered fucking⁠—"

"Do not say fucking when referring to that beautiful angel of a woman he married." Arcangelo held his drink up, the ice clinking against crystal.

Rafaello gave him a mock bow, nearly spilling the Negroni he'd just mixed, the orange peel garnish sliding dangerously close to the rim. "You are correct. My apologies. Lily isn't just an angel. She's a freaking saint for marrying that grumpy curmudgeon."

Arcangelo sipped his drink as he approached, handing me one too, the bitter aroma of Campari rising from the glass.

"Speaking of beautiful women…" He looked around, scanning the lush greenery that lined the courtyard walls as if she might be hiding among the cascading bougainvillea. "Where is yours?"

I checked my watch, the heavy platinum timepiece warm against my wrist. It was still up in the air whether she would willingly come down from her room or if I'd have to drag her down.

The ride back from the office had been silent. As usual.

Today was the most Sabrina had talked to me in a little over two weeks.

The air between us had crystallized into something dangerous these past couple of weeks, fragile enough to shatter with a single word, sharp enough to draw blood.