Sweet Hatred
Chapter 142: Two can play

Chapter 142: Two can play

Oh, she looked at Kael like he’d walked out of her favorite forbidden daydream. Like she was seeing the man she’d asked God for last night. Her eyes widened, lips parted slightly, and I swear if she blinked any slower, we were going to enter a new timeline.

They introduced themselves one by one—first the bride, all poise and sweetness, her soft "thank you for coming" directed at Kael with a respectful nod. Her husband followed, a man who looked like he probably owned several nightclubs and a body count, offering Kael a firm handshake without so much as glancing my way. The eldest sister went next, refined and polite, then shook Kael’s hand too. Not mine. Not even a look.

And for a moment—I felt invisible. Like I’d stepped out of frame in a painting everyone else was still admiring. But I brushed it off. Mafia people had their own rules, and none of them had to do with manners. Still, it was the youngest sister—the one with big eyes and bigger ambition—who really made her point.

She didn’t speak to me at all, but the glance she tossed my way over Kael’s shoulder was loud and clear: back off. I gave her the best smile in my arsenal—polished, graceful, and dipped in sarcasm. The kind of smile that said, good luck trying to steal him.

I turned my head and blinked at nothing. Nope. Not thinking about that right now.

"Kael," the Don said after a moment, hand on his shoulder. "Walk with me. We should talk."

Kael nodded and turned toward me. Just me. No one else existed for a second. He leaned in close enough that I could feel his breath on my ear, his lips ghosting over the shell of it.

"I’ll be back, little menace," he murmured, his voice coated in amusement. "Don’t wander too far. I’ve got eyes everywhere."

I rolled my eyes, lips twitching as I whispered back, "Go fuck yourself."

He winked.

And then he was gone.

Once Kael was swept away by the Don and his circle of cigar-scented shadows, I suddenly found myself standing awkwardly beside the newlywed bride and her sisters. But this time—maybe because the center of gravity had shifted—they finally turned their attention to me.

"You look too beautiful to be real," the bride said with a soft lilt to her voice, the kind that probably got her everything she wanted growing up. Her older sister nodded, eyeing me with a kind of curious approval, like she was studying a new player on the field.

"Your dress," the eldest added, "that shade on you is lethal."

I smiled, tight-lipped, a little flattered and a little uncomfortable—mostly because my thighs were starting to scream again. Kael Roman was a menace. A deranged, devastatingly gifted menace. And I was only just beginning to pay the price of letting him treat me like a personal amusement park the night before.

The elder sister must’ve noticed the subtle shift in my weight, the way I tried to discreetly stretch one leg without drawing attention. "Come," she offered with a knowing look, "You’ll be more comfortable at our reserved table."

Thank God.

I followed her through the crowd, heels clicking softly on marble floors, until we reached a table nestled under a cascade of glass chandeliers—clearly a spot for the very important and very dangerous. I sank into the plush seat with a quiet groan in my head, finally able to feel my legs again without clenching up from the burn. Moments later, a server approached, dropping off a glittering variety of drinks like it was a challenge.

Wine. Rosé. Something amber and probably illegal.

And I? I was in my element. Alcohol was my vice and my skillset. I sipped like a lady, chugged like a pro, and made sure to lift my glass with elegance even if I secretly wanted to drown in it. The sisters flitted away to socialize, but I was fine being alone for a minute—just me, my sore thighs, and a palette of expensive liquids.

Until a voice cut through the haze like a knife.

"Well, well... if it isn’t the queen herself, hogging all the good stuff."

I turned slightly, barely peeling my eyes off the crystal glass of whatever cherry-infused magic had just kissed my lips. A guy stood there, maybe twenty, maybe barely past legal, with the kind of smug charm that thought it could woo women like me.

Spoiler alert: it couldn’t.

"Noah," he introduced himself, grinning like he was doing me a favor, "cousin of the bride. And future head of something very important. Haven’t figured out what yet, but it’ll be something."

Cute. Lost puppy kind of cute. Definitely not Kael Roman, world-ending, spine-melting, arrogant bastard kind of dangerous.

"Mhm," I hummed, swirling my drink, not even pretending to be interested. "That’s... impressive."

It wasn’t. My attention returned to the drinks still waiting for me like loyal lovers—each one promising a better time than Noah’s nervous chatter ever could. But the poor boy wasn’t giving up. He reminded me of the poor fella that disturbed me at my first meeting with Kael here in Italy as well. I couldn’t even remember his name.

Noah kept talking, cracking jokes that didn’t quite land, and trying to lean in too close while I perfected the art of side-eye and slow sips. He just wouldn’t leave. I was starting to wish for divine intervention—something tall, broad-shouldered, and terrifyingly possessive to show up and rescue me.

But it didn’t happen.

So I stood, mostly to stretch my aching legs, partly to run from this walking rom-com reject—but like a moth to a flame, Noah trailed right behind. I barely heard what he was saying over the slow shift in music. The room darkened slightly. Lights dimmed golden. The melody was soft and warm and made for couples.

Oh, no.

Noah’s hand reached out just as the crowd began shifting to the dance floor. "May I have this dance?" he asked, suddenly all doe-eyed and formal.

I was about to shut him down with a polite but firm ’no thank you’—

And then I saw it.

Across the room. Like a perfectly timed nightmare.

Kael Roman. Towering, devastating, and smug as sin. With the youngest D’Amico daughter—practically wrapped around him—her arm lazily slipping into his as the music swelled. He wasn’t looking at her, though.

He was looking at me.

And that wicked, devil-dipped smile on his face told me he knew exactly what he was doing.

The green monster surged.

Oh, okay. Two can play.