I play my part. Smile. Laugh at the right moments. Touch Dante's arm affectionately when people are watching. When he leans closer to whisper, I plaster a smile and try not to shiver.
It's exhausting.
"Bianca! There you are! There's someone I want you to meet," Alessia appears at my elbow, saving me from a conversation with a state senator who won't stop staring at my chest. "Come on."
She loops her arm through mine and extracts me with the kind of grace that comes from practice. Dante nods his permission—because apparently, I need permission for everything. I wonder if I should ask every time I breathe as we walk through the crowd toward a quieter corner near the windows.
“Thank you for saving me there, I was ready to scream.” I say and Alessia grins.
“I totally understand. I saw you and knew I had to save you.”
A woman stands there, with long dark hair and striking features that remind me of Matteo. She's beautiful and looks to be in her early twenties but there's something guarded in her eyes, something that speaks of walls built high and thick.
"Bianca, this is Isabella Romano. Matteo's sister." Alessia gestures between us. "Isabella, this is Bianca. Dante's girlfriend."
"Hi." Isabella's smile is warm but doesn't quite reach her eyes. "It's nice to meet you. I've heard you caused quite a stir with Caterina. Sad I wasn’t there to witness it."
I grunt. "News travels fast."
"In this world? Always." She glances across the room, and I follow her gaze to where Enzo stands alone, near the bar, his expression thunderous. When he sees Isabella looking, his jaw clenches and he turns away deliberately.
The tension is thick enough to cut.
Hmm.
"Everything okay?" I ask carefully.
"It's complicated." Isabella's voice is tight. "Enzo has... opinions. About my life. About my choices."
"Opinions he has no right to have," Alessia adds pointedly.
"He's protective," Isabella says, but there's hurt underneath the words. "Too protective. He treats me like I'm still twelve instead of twenty-two."
I know that feeling. Being treated like you can't make your own decisions. Like you're property instead of a person.
These dangerous mafia men need to be taught a lesson or two.
"Men in this world think they own everything," I say. "Including the women around them."
Isabella laughs, but it's bitter. "Exactly. Though I see you're holding your own, it seems. I like you already," Isabella says.
We talk for a while—safe topics, surface level, but there's an understanding between us. Three women navigating a world run by dangerous men. Three women trying to maintain some piece of ourselves in the process.
It's nice. Almost normal and I’m starting to really enjoy myself.
Until everything crashes.
"Hello?" A male voice behind me, uncertain. "Excuse me?"
My blood turns to ice.
Goodness, please no.
I turn slowly, already knowing this is bad, and see a man in his fifties. Well-dressed. Graying hair. A face I recognize from three years ago when I was desperate, my mother’s medical bills were piling up and I did what I had to do to survive.
Richard something. Finance. Married. Paid me two thousand dollars for dinner and conversation and nothing more because he said I reminded him of his daughter and he just wanted company.
One of the few decent ones.
