His eyes narrow. Then he takes a step back. “Get in the fucking car.” Jabbing a finger in my direction, he adds, “No talking to men that don’t have the “Visconti” last name. In fact, don’t even look at them. No more than three drinks. And I’ll have Amelia take you home at midnight.” He slides into the driver’s seat, muttering under his breath. “Otherwise you’ll turn back into Cinderella.”
