King of Wrath: from the bestselling author of the Twisted series (Kings of Sin)

28. Dante

Vivian and I had one more blissful week to ourselves before her parents blew into town like a tornado. Sudden, unexpected, and carving a path of destruction in their wake.

One minute, I was planning a symphony date with Vivian. The next, I was sitting across from Francis and Cecelia Lau in Le Charles, fighting the urge not to knock the smug smile off Francis’s face.

Our conversation about him at Valhalla had summoned him like a demon out of hell.

“I’m glad we could make this work.” He unfolded his napkin and placed it on his lap. “I hope we’re not disrupting your plans too much.”

“Not at all.” Vivian placed her hand over mine under the table and gently uncurled my fist. “We’re thrilled to see you.”

I remained silent.

Her parents had arrived, unannounced, that morning and requested dinner with us sometime during their stay. Considering they were only here for two nights, and they had tickets to a Broadway show with friends tomorrow, tonight was the only option.

“We haven’t seen you since Christmas, so we figured we’d check in. See how the wedding planning is going.” Cecelia toyed with her pearls. “You never answered my question the other day about the flowers. Shall we go ahead with the lilies?”

Vivian shifted in her seat. Instead of her usual dress, heels, and red lipstick, she wore a tweed suit similar to the one from our first meeting. Her necklace was identical to her mother’s, and the sparkling vivaciousness I’d fall—I’d come to appreciate had dulled into painful gentility.

It wasn’t her; it was some Stepford clone version of her that only showed up when Francis and Cecelia were in the room, and I hated it.

“Yes,” she said. “The lilies are fine.”

“Excellent.” Cecelia beamed. “Now, about the cake—”

Thankfully, our server showed up at that moment and interrupted her before she launched into a spiel about icing or whatever the hell she wanted to talk about.

“We’ll have the Golden Imperial caviar and tuna tartare on foie gras to start, and the lamb chops for the main,” Francis said, ordering for both himself and his wife. He handed the menu dismissively to the server without looking at him.

“I’ll have the tagliatelle, please,” Vivian said.

Francis’s brows beetled. “This isn’t an Italian restaurant, Vivian. They’re known for their lamb. Why don’t you get that instead?”

Because she doesn’t like lamb, you fucker.

My back teeth clenched. Even if Francis weren’t blackmailing me, I’d despise him.

How could he have gone twenty-eight years without knowing his daughter’s aversion to that particular meat? Or maybe he simply didn’t care.

“The waitlist for a Le Charles reservation is four months long,” Francis said. “Even the governor has trouble getting a table when he’s in town. It’s ridiculous to waste a meal here on anything other than their best.”

“I…” Vivian faltered. “You’re right. Can I change my order to the lamb, please?” She gave the server an apologetic smile. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” The server’s polite expression didn’t waver. We might as well be discussing the weather for all the reaction he showed. “And for you, Mr. Russo?”

I closed my menu with deliberate precision and kept my eyes on Vivian’s father while I ordered. “I’d like the tagliatelle.”

Francis’s lips thinned.

If we were at home, I would’ve called him out directly, but we were sitting smack dab in the middle of the restaurant. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of making a scene.

“How’s your brother doing?” Francis asked. “I hear he’s working a sales job at Lohman Sons now. Seems…below his pay grade.”

“He’s doing just fine,” I said coolly. “Contribution is contribution, whether it’s in a retail or corporate role.”

“Hmm.” He lifted his wine to his lips. “We’ll have to agree to disagree.”

I wasn’t fooled by the seemingly innocuous change in topic. Francis was trying to remind me what was at stake.

He said he was in town for a show, but the sudden visit was a power play designed to throw me off balance.

We were only a few months out from the wedding. He was many things, but he wasn’t stupid. He must’ve known I was working behind the scenes to destroy the blackmail evidence.

I’d been quiet too long, and he was getting nervous, for good reason.

My Valhalla date with Vivian had triggered an epiphany. She said he was superstitious about dates and numbers, and the digging I had Christian do in the past week backed up her assertion.

His home address, his business address, his license plate…all of it centered around the number eight. I’d bet my brother’s life he had eight copies of the blackmail photos.

Christian was already tracking down the remaining three sets. Once he found them, it was game over for Francis fucking Lau.

For the first time that night, I smiled.

The rest of dinner passed without incident. Vivian and her mother carried the conversation, though it took all my willpower not to lose my shit when Cecelia chastised her for wearing the “wrong” makeup shade or when her father overruled her dessert choice the way he had her entree by insisting she try the restaurant’s chocolate tart instead of the cheesecake.

I didn’t know what was worse—her parents’ overbearing attitude or Vivian’s willingness to take it. She would’ve never let me talk to her the way they did.

“Whatever you want to say, say it,” she said when we returned home. She took off her earrings and dropped them in the gold dish on the dresser. “You’ve been silently fuming the entire car ride home.”

I took off my jacket and tossed it over the back of a chair. “Not fuming. Simply wondering how you overcame your lifelong disdain for lamb within the past twenty-four hours.”

Vivian sighed. “It’s one meal. It’s not a big deal. “

“It’s not about the food, Vivian.” Aggravation simmered in my veins. “It’s about the way your parents treat you like you’re a child. It’s about how you turn into a cardboard cutout of yourself whenever you’re around them.” I gestured at her outfit. “This isn’t you. You hate lamb. You’re not a tweed and pearls person. You wouldn’t be caught dead in that outfit on a normal day.”

“Well, it’s not a normal day.” A hint of irritation slipped into her voice. I wasn’t the only one on edge tonight. “Do you think I enjoy having my parents show up at the last minute? Or that I like being criticized for everything I say and wear? Maybe this isn’t what I’d choose to wear if they weren’t here, and maybe I wouldn’t have ordered the lamb if my father hadn’t insisted, but sometimes you have to compromise to keep the peace. They’re here for two days. It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s two days this time, but what about in the future?” I asked, my voice hard. “Every holiday, every visit, for the rest of your life. Tell me it’s not exhausting pretending to be someone you’re not with the two people who should accept you as you are.”

Vivian tensed. “People do that every day. They go to work and show one side of themselves. They go out with friends and show another side. It’s normal.”

“Yeah, except they’re not your colleagues or your fucking friends. They’re your family, and they treat you like shit!” My frustration boiled over into a shout.

“They’re my parents!” Vivian’s voice rose to match mine. “They’re not perfect, but they have my best interests at heart. They sacrificed a lot to give me and my sister the type of life they never had growing up. Even before we were rich, they worked their butts off to make sure we could afford the same clothes and field trips as our classmates so we weren’t left out. So if I have to give up some things temporarily to make them happy, I will.”

“Temporarily, huh? Is that why your father basically sold you both off in exchange for a rung up on the social ladder?”

Vivian’s face paled, and regret slammed into me, hard and fast.

Fuck.

“Viv—”

“No.” She held up a hand. “That was exactly what you meant to say, so don’t take it back.”

My jaw tightened. “I don’t see you as a bargaining chip, but can you honestly tell me your parents feel the same way? I’m not trying to make you feel bad, amore mio, but you don’t have to put up with their bullshit. You’re an adult. You’re beautiful, successful, intelligent, and three times the person either of them will ever be. You have your own money and career. You don’t need them.”

“It’s not about needing them. It’s about family.” Frustration etched lines on Vivian’s face. “We do things differently, okay? Respect for our elders is important. We don’t talk back just because we don’t like what they say.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes elders are full of horseshit, and you need to call them out on it.” I was belaboring the point, but I hated how Vivian turned into a shell of herself around her parents. It was like watching a beautiful, vibrant rose wither before my eyes.

“You can,” she fired back. “You grew up the heir to the Russo empire. Yes, I know it wasn’t all fun and games, but you were still the center of your grandfather’s attention. I had to be perfect just to get an ounce of affection. My grades, my image, everything.”

“That’s my fucking point! You shouldn’t have to be perfect to get your parents’ affection!”

“That’s my point! I do!”

We stared at each other, our chests heaving, our bodies close but our minds light years apart.

Vivian broke eye contact first. “It’s been a long night, and I’m tired,” she said. “But I wish you’d at least try to see where I’m coming from. Your view of the world is not universal. I want a partner, Dante, not someone who’ll berate me because he doesn’t agree with the way I handle my relationship with my own family.”

Remorse blunted the edge of my anger. “Sweetheart…”

“I’m going to take a bath and do some work after. Don’t wait up for me.”

The bathroom door closed with a click behind her.

That night, for the first time since we started dating, we went to bed without kissing the other good night.