Page 8 of Prince of Vice

"Even at the risk of your family?" I ask, trying to pierce the veil of secrecy that surrounds him. But before he can answer, the sound of raised voices permeate through the hallway outside the office door.

"Dammit, Giovanni!" Constantino snarls, his temper flaring like a wildfire. "You're too weak to lead this family!"

"Better to be weak than heartless, brother," Giovanni retorts, his voice laced with venom. "We need to leave this life behind, not dig ourselves deeper into the grave!"

As the argument escalates, I glance at Primo, whose face has hardened into a mask of fury. His eyes smolder with indignation, but beneath the anger, I detect a flicker of vulnerability – as if he's torn between defending his family's honor and acknowledging the truth of Giovanni's words.

“Maybe he’s not such a monster after all,” I think to myself as I try and steal glances into his eyes, desperate to find that bit of humanity I’m slowly convincing myself exists within him.

"Excuse me for a moment, Isabella," he mutters, striding toward the door with a predatory grace. He flings it open, revealing the two brothers, their faces flushed and contorted with anger.

"Enough!" Primo roars, his voice reverberating through the cavernous room. "We have enemies at our doorstep, plotting our downfall, and you two are tearing each other apart like animals? The Irish mob is preparing to strike against us, and we're doing nothing to stop them!"

Giovanni steps forward, his chest heaving with barely contained rage. "That's exactly why we need to get out of this life, Primo," he argues, his eyes blazing. "We can't keep going down this path. It'll only lead to our destruction."

Constantino remains silent, his lips pressed into a thin line as he regards his older brother with steely defiance. His calculating gaze unnerves me, makes me feel like a pawn on a chessboard – one wrong move away from being captured.

"Focus on our real enemies, not on each other," Primo pleads, his face a storm of conflicting emotions. "This family needs unity, now more than ever."

As the brothers stand in tense silence, I watch from my chair, struck by the raw intensity of their rivalry. I've seen families torn apart by ambition before, but never one so steeped in darkness and intrigue. It's a world I never imagined entering, yet here I am, standing at its precipice.

"Very well, brother," Constantino finally concedes, his voice dripping with disdain. "But remember that our enemies aren't the only ones who can bring us to our knees."

"Is that a threat?" Primo demands, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Consider it... a reminder," Constantino replies cryptically before stalking away, leaving an icy chill in his wake.

"Come, Isabella," Primo says quietly, his voice heavy with a thousand unspoken words. "We have much work to do."

The door swings shut with a muted thud, sealing away the storm of contention that rages between the brothers in the corridor beyond. Primo leans against the wood as he takes deep breaths, obviously trying to regain his composure.

"Didn't know you were the type for front-row seats to family drama," he remarks, turning his gaze on me. I'm standing across the room, and his sharp eyes lock onto mine. I return his gaze, unflinching and fearless.

"Believe me, Primo, it's not my preferred form of entertainment," I reply, crossing my arms over my chest. "But I'm not going to cower in the corner either."

His low grumble fills the room. He pushes himself off the door and strides towards me. “I think I might like the idea of you cowering in the corner. On your knees, looking up at me.” His voice is deep and I’m mesmerized by the way he licks his lips. My heartrate quickens and my words catch in my throat.

“Flustered, Isabella?” he asks, invading my space.

I back up slowly until I’m tripping over my desk, all but falling onto the surface. He rests his hands on either side of my thighs and I look down. I hate that I can’t stop myself from thinking about what those hands would feel like on me.

“No,” I stammer.

"Good," he says, standing up and returning to his desk. I take a deep breath, finally able to breathe again. "Because this is the world you've entered now, and if you aren't prepared to handle it, I suggest you find another lawyer to take over my case."

His words bring me back to my sad reality. I stand up and brush imaginary wrinkles out of my clothes. “Stop being an idiot," I retort, my voice laced with exasperation. “I didn’t make the decision to represent you lightly. I have my own reasons, so don't underestimate me."

"Then tell me," he demands, his voice low and challenging. "Why did you decide to take my case at all, since you're obviously not happy about representing a mobster?"

My jaw tightens, and for a moment, I consider not answering. But then I speak, my voice resolute. "You may be a mobster, Primo, but everyone deserves a fair trial. And it's clear that there are forces outside your family trying to make sure that doesn't happen."

His eyes narrow, studying my face as my words sink in. I watch as his expression softens, determination warring with vulnerability in the depths of his gaze. I imagine that it's rare for Primo to see someone stand up to him like this. I hold my breath as I wait for his answer.

“Bullshit,” he says at last, his tone curt. “There’s something you’re not telling me. Something to do with your father.”

Anxiety gnaws at my insides. Does he know? Of course he knows. It would be foolish to think that he didn’t.

“I’m sure you’re aware that my father turned up dead six months ago,” I begin.