"Probably because you’re constantly undressing him with your eyes," I murmur, sipping delicately.
"Oh, please,hestarted it. Remember last month at my brother’s birthday dinner? He pulled my chair out and brushed my back with his hand. It wasn’t an accident. It was astatement."
"You’re going to get him killed," Izzy says, grinning despite herself. "Luciano answers to Toni, and Toni would absolutely murder anyone who touches you."
"Then I’d better make it worth it." Gigi winks and downs her glass.
We all laugh, and for a second, it feels normal. Light. Easy.
Then Izzy sighs and rests her chin in her palm. "You two are lucky. At least you can go out without needing six guards and a signed permission slip. My brothers are insane. The last time I went to brunch alone, Enrico threatened the maître d’ for not reporting my entrance."
"Well, to be fair," Gigi says, "you do have a history of sneaking off with boys your brothers hate."
Izzy grins. "They hateeveryboy."
I smile, but it doesn't quite reach my eyes. I envy them—Gigi’s recklessness, Izzy’s captivity that’s still wrapped in love. My own cage comes with velvet walls and violent shadows. There's no warmth in it. Only surveillance. Only consequences.
I glance across the terrace, and for a second, my heart stops.
A tall man in a black suit leans by the bar. The cut of his jaw, the stance, the cold gravity of his stillness, it’shim.
Raffael.
My pulse spikes, and my breath catches.
But then he turns.
And it isn’t him.
Just a stranger with the same bone structure. The same ghost of danger.
I look down quickly, masking the ache that rises without permission. I shouldn't still hope. Shouldn’t stilllook.I haven't seen Raffael in over a year. He's long gone, maybe even dead. Anyway, he never cared about me. I was just a job, nothing else.
I told my father about Roberto after ourhoneymoon. I showed him the bruises after waiting until we were alone. Showed him the way the skin under my ribs bloomed purple and black.
He laughed.
"Suck it up," he said. "Marriage is compromise. You’re not dying, are you? Good. Now tell me something useful."
But I couldn’t. Roberto doesn’t trust me with anything—no business talk. No names. No meetings. I’m an accessory, not a partner.
He’s smart like that.
My father wanted leverage. Wanted me to spy. But I have nothing to offer. Nothing to trade.
Except maybe my silence.
The only person who might listen—who mighthelp—is Marcello. My big brother. The one who used to tuck me in and break the noses of anyone who made me cry. The only man in my family who ever truly loved me. But he’s still in Sicily, building something of his own. An empire, they say. Power. Freedom. I don’t know the details, and I don’t dare ask.
He’s too far away.
And even if hecouldhelp me… it'd cost him everything.
So I smile for Gigi and Izzy. Laugh when they do.
Let them believe I’m okay.
Because outside of this little terrace, my life belongs to a man who touches me like I’m property. And treats me like a whore.
