Chapter 8: Proving a Point

I enter the office, followed by Livia, who cautiously stays a step behind me.

“Why do they have to be such idiots?!” I huff, dropping into my chair behind the desk. “I remember why I was happy in London,” I say to Livia, who looks at me with an apologetic smile. “I’d forgotten what it was like to live with so much testosterone around.”

“If I may, I think they’re just tense because of the new project.”

“It’s more than that,” I mutter.

“Would you like me to order anything?”

I shake my head.

“I’m fine for now.” I stand up, walk over to the executive fridge on the side, and grab a bottle of water.

I turn around and find Salvatore filling the doorway.

Livia shifts uncomfortably under his presence, and when he lowers his gaze to her, I see how intimidated she is.

I scoff.

“Livia, you can step out.”

“Are you sure?” she hesitates.

“Now,” Salvatore barks, making her jump.

She leaves, abandoning us to our isolation.

“Did you have to be such a jerk to the poor girl?”

He doesn’t respond. He closes the door behind him, looks around as he advances, and then sits in one of the chairs facing my desk.

Inufferable asshole.

I take a sip from my bottle before sitting down and facing him.

“What are you playing at? You come in here giving orders, making demands, and insisting we adapt to your ways of working. Tell me, what is your game?”

“Instead of asking that, you should be thanking me for saving your ass from your father.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Come on, Salvatore, you didn’t do it because you’re a good husband.” I laugh, and he remains imperturbable. “You do it because you want to make your position clear to my father. You like to assert your dominance.” I lean forward. “But I have news for you: you can’t dominate me.”

“How perceptive.” He is reclined in the chair, rolling a rose quartz—part of my desk décor—between his fingers. He stands up and smoothly circles the desk, planting a hand on either side of me, effectively cornering me. He fixes his dark eyes on mine. “But you’re right. If anyone is going to make your life miserable, I’ll have that pleasure. Not that filth, your father.”

I watch him with contempt, and neither of us moves. It’s like a battle of wills, and only the strongest will emerge victorious.

A knock on the door alerts us, but neither of us makes a move to separate.

“Lovely couple. The press is already in the main lounge,” we hear Renzo say. The man is an imbecile who always uses that sarcastic, shitty tone that makes me want to hit him.

Salvatore straightens up and buttons the jacket of his suit, looking down at me from his height.

“Fine. Let’s see what Rossetti is trying to pull.”

He turns and walks casually toward his brother, stopping in front of him before patting his chest, making him grimace before following.

I stand up, grab my phone, and follow the two brothers. I glance toward Antonio’s office and see him with Eva, working on the details to kick off the project. The elevator is open, where Renzo and Salvatore are waiting for me, so I walk straight up and join the duo. The doors close, and I press the ground floor button. I can feel Salvatore’s gaze on the back of my neck and struggle not to fidget.

Usually, announcements are made in the main ballroom. Dad loves to flaunt luxury, and the room, with its large windows, chandeliers, and elegant furnishings, screams luxury and status—something the Rossetti patriarch adores.

The elevator doors open, and I step out first. As I walk, some people who have worked at the hotel for years recognize and greet me.

I enter the lounge, and I’m not surprised to see the media seated while Dad talks to Lorenzo beside the podium.

“The man loves a circus,” I hear Renzo speak behind me.

Placing a fake smile on my lips, I slow my pace until I am right next to Salvatore. I don’t look at him, but it's obvious I’m doing it so no one can question this absurd union.

“Let’s begin,” Dad announces before stepping onto the podium. I can feel Salvatore’s rigidity as we ascend the podium and position ourselves in a straight line, so close that I feel the brush of his arm against mine.

“This is ridiculous,” he mutters through clenched teeth.

I could tell him he’s right, but that would be taking his side.

Dad begins his speech, and I maintain an impassive gaze as he speaks.

“The Di Santes and Rossettis are beginning a new era, an era where we will be the ones to hold the economic power of this city…”

Questions fly, making their curiosity clear.

“Mr. Di Sante, congratulations on your marriage.” He nods. “I wonder, will all investments be joint ventures?”

“We are starting with the new hotel as a joint venture. We’ll see what the numbers dictate next,” he responds in a neutral tone.

“Will you take a position in your husband’s company?”

I open my mouth, but Dad intervenes.

“Helena will share the Director of Operations role with Lorenzo.” I watch him with apprehension. “My ultimate goal is for Helena, as my only daughter, to take my place in the future, and I expect the children she and Salvatore have will unify both empires.”

My eyes widen at his words, and I feel the rage emanating from Salvatore’s body; he is clearly struggling not to speak his mind.

I don’t know what he intends by saying something like that. But a part of me understands Salvatore’s discomfort. We’ve known each other for five minutes, and it’s obvious we both despise the other.

I blink when the attention focuses on us. I try to calm the mood, but it’s impossible; they give no quarter and continue:

“Do you plan to have children?”

“Do you intend to unify the companies in the future?”

The questions fly, but we refuse to answer. Instead, Salvatore steps down from the podium, and I have no choice but to follow.

I know he’s angry at the cornering maneuver my father pulled. He walks through the door and enters a smaller room.

“Salvatore?” I inquire, closing the door behind me so no one can hear us. He has his back to me, rubbing his face with one hand while the other rests on his waist. “My father shouldn’t have said that.”

He turns and lunges at me. I stifle a cry as he grips my shoulders before slamming me against the door, his eyes savage.

“What game are you and your father playing?”

I open my eyes and shake my head.

“I didn’t…”

“Don’t lie to me! You knew your father planned that idiocy.”

“Of course not,” I nervously wet my lips. I try not to lose my composure in the face of his behavior. “But he assumes that you and I will one day…”

“Don’t waste your breath on me. Do you think I dream of having children with you?” he spits cruelly. “Do you think I want to pollute my blood with a Rossetti’s?”

“You’re a bastard,” I hiss, feeling my heart pound with the rage that is currently coursing through me.

“Yeah, whatever, but don’t try to fool me,” he counters, snorting like an enraged bull.

“Don’t be an imbecile! As if having a child with you would be my prize,” I say sarcastically. “It would be a punishment to sleep with a pig like you.”

He gives me a cold smile, and before I see it coming, he shoves one of his knees between my legs. My mouth drops open in surprise, and the shock intensifies as he morbidly rubs his knee against my core. What does he think he’s doing?!

“Are you the one playing games now?” I question, clearing my throat.

His response is to friction his knee against my center, and my hands grip his forearms.

“Just proving a point.” He speaks in a low voice, without stopping the movement, and I’m horrified when my hips instinctively move, seeking more friction. I bite my lip as I feel my core begin to awaken.

But just as it begins, it ends when he removes his leg from between mine and the friction vanishes.

“Don’t try to screw with me, or the one who ends up screwed will be someone else.”

I move aside in shock, giving him space to leave, and he doesn’t disappoint, slamming the door shut as he exits. Once alone, I breathe and clench my teeth. What just happened was so insignificant, yet it awakened a sense of desire I hadn't felt in a long time.

I curse under my breath, because the last person I want to feel a carnal attraction to is that imbecile.