On the flight home, Alaric pours himself a drink and settles back in his seat with satisfaction. “Twelve million,” he says. “Not bad for a morning’s work.”
“You seem pleased.”
“I am. Klaus was ready to walk away. The deal only happened because you were there.”
“Good to know I’m useful for more than decoration.”
“You’re useful for a lot of things.”
The way he says it makes my cheeks warm, but before I can respond, his phone rings with another business call.
The weekend brings an invitation I didn’t expect—lunch with the wives of the Moretti family.
Maria delivers the message with obvious excitement. “It’s quite an honor, Mrs. Moretti. The ladies don’t often include newcomers so quickly.”
The gathering takes place at the estate’s outdoor pavilion, a structure I’d never noticed before tucked between the gardens and the polo field. Tables are set with fine china and crystal, creating an elegant picnic atmosphere that only people with unlimited resources could achieve.
Ten women ranging in age from twenty to seventy gather around the tables, and I recognize several faces from the family tree Marco showed me weeks ago.
“Kasimira!” The oldest woman approaches with arms outstretched. “I’m Elena Moretti, Lorenzo’s widow. Welcome to the family, dear.”
Elena must be nearly seventy, but she moves with the grace of someone half her age.
“Thank you for including me.”
“Nonsense. We always welcome new wives. Sit, sit. Let me introduce everyone.”
The introductions blur together—wives of cousins, daughters-in-law, sisters of various Moretti men. Some are clearly born to wealth, others obviously married into it. The youngest, barely twenty, clings to Elena like a nervous daughter.
“That’s Sofia,” Elena whispers. “Married to my great-nephew last month. Still adjusting to the family dynamics.”
“It can be overwhelming,” I agree.
“Oh, you’re handling it beautifully, dear. Alaric seems quite taken with you.”
“Does he?”
“A woman learns to read the signs after fifty years in this family. Trust me, I know smitten when I see it.”
Lunch conversation ranges from gossip about rival families to discussions of charity work and social events. I learn that the wives maintain their own network of influence, using socialconnections to advance family interests in ways their husbands can’t.
“We’re not just decorations,” explains Carmen, wife of one of Alaric’s cousins. “We gather intelligence, make connections, smooth over conflicts. The men handle business, but we handle everything else.”
“What kind of intelligence?”
“Whose marriages are failing, who’s having financial troubles, which politicians are vulnerable to pressure. Information is power, and we collect it at dinner parties and charity galas.”
I understand for the first time that marrying into the Moretti family means more than just wealth and protection. It means becoming part of a machine that operates on multiple levels.
“Kasimira,” Elena says as dessert arrives, “I hear you speak several languages.”
“A few.”
“How useful. We often struggle to communicate with international partners’ wives. Perhaps you could help translate at future gatherings.”
“I’d be happy to.”
By the time lunch ends, I feel more integrated into the family than I initially wanted to. These women accept me not because I’m Dante’s ex or Alaric’s wife, but because I bring skills they can use.
