Each word cut almost as sharply as the slap.
Movement caught my attention. Antonella appeared at the far end of the corridor, limping deliberately, her clothes rumpled, a stain blooming across her blouse like part of a carefully staged performance. I opened my mouth to speak, but she stumbled suddenly, gasping loud enough to draw attention.
Rocco moved instantly.
He brushed past me and caught her, lifting her into his arms with practiced ease. The gentleness in his touch made my chest tighten painfully. His voice softened when he spoke to her, stripped of all the fury he’d aimed at me.
“I said I’d bring you over so she could apologize,” he murmured. “Why did you leave?”
Antonella shook her head, tears shimmering in her eyes, though her tone was carefully mild. “It’s nothing. She didn’t mean it. Please don’t be angry,” she said softly, playing the peacemaker.
Then her gaze flicked to me, false concern layered thick in her eyes. “If your fiancé hears about this, it could cause problems. It might even disrupt the alliance.”
At the mention of my brother—the one who had negotiated my marriage like a contract—Rocco’s jaw tightened. But the hesitation lasted only a moment.