My game was always effective.
He shook hands with my father, only removing his eyes briefly, before turning towards me again. I was in the corner, watching silently. The rest of my family were too busy talking among themselves as Mrs. Bonifacio wavered, having severe difficulty with keeping up. I took a sip from my wine glass and trapped my fingers along its glass surface, waiting. It didn’t take long for him to grab his own drink, adjusting his black sweater as he neared me. His other brother veered off towards Lucia, and I held my breath as the taller one approached.
“Enjoying the view?”
I liked it. He didn’t fuck around.
I smiled at him slyly. “Should I not?”
The smell of his cologne overwhelmed my senses. Not only did he look great, but he smelled great, too. I wanted to jump his bones right then and there. It was better, however, to simply remain familiar. Even if my father had his back turned, I knew that he was always watching and waiting for a mistake. He loved it when his children made mistakes — it meant that he could make our lives even worse than what they already were.
“Well, it depends,” he said and stepped closer towards me. “I mean, I don’t like the view over there. Here, though, is enough to keep me satiated.”
I was taken aback by how honest he was. Usually, I was the one to approach the guy, but it was reversed. He knew he was attractive, and he was showing blatantly that he was interested. I wasn’t used to it, but I was enjoying it. Fully.
“It’s too bad you weren’t here earlier. It’s been a bore up until now.”
He raised his eyebrows at me as he took a sip of his scotch. “No one’s come to talk to you?”
“I’m the only Cavetti woman,” I said flatly, peering at the others in the house. “There’s not much point in speaking to me. My father’s made it clear that he’s not interested in having me deal with any of the family business. I’m a glorified heir maker and pawn to be married off.”
I bit my lip suddenly, in disbelief at what I’d said. I couldn’t believe that those words had emanated from my mouth. I hadn’t spoken those words to anyone, except Savio, who understood the burden our father had placed on my shoulders. Why the hell was I telling a complete stranger? A Bonifacio, at that.
“That’s something I wasn’t expecting. It’s hard not to notice you.”
I felt my heart skip a beat, and my cheeks began to flush. He had a way with words, and I was lapping it all up. I wasn’t expecting him to be so smooth.
“I’m Natalia, by the way.”
He gave me a half-smile. “I know. I’m Giorgio. You know,” he said, pausing to take another sip of his drink, “I wasn’t sure what to expect from the one Cavetti I’d heard the least about, but I’m a little surprised.”
“What were you expecting?”
“Maybe a woman version of Angelo?”
I started to laugh, which caught the attention of my father. I cleared my throat, trying to withhold the thought coming to my mind. I couldn’t help but imagine a female version of my father, angrily stalking throughout our house with a pistol in her hand, all while yelling at anyone unfortunate enough to come across her path.
“Well, that makes two of us that are pleasantly surprised, then. I’d hate to be that.”
“So, what are you like?”
Before I could answer him, my father was making his way towards us. He was eyeing Giorgio in that way that I’d seen a few times before. It wasn’t jealousy. It wasn’t anger. It was that strange, dominant way my father would get when I spoke to someone he hadn’t approved of first. It was that sick way that he enjoyed controlling me. I felt a knot forming in my stomach as he strode towards us. I knew better than to stay around, especially as his eyes fell on me.
I would need to get to Giorgio another time. It wasn’t at that moment — we were too public. I was never one to leave a good opportunity hanging though.
With a bat of my eyes, I looked at Giorgio and said, "Maybe once we survive this awful dinner, you can find out," then turning and walking away before my father could cause any trouble.
2
Giorgio
The pain rippled through my body in waves. I was already exhausted by the second round. Each time I peered over, lifting my head to see his face, I was disappointed to find that he was hidden in the shadows. He was reveling in my pain. The torture was unbearable, and my throat felt as though someone had scraped away at it with a grater.
And my brother’s voice was coming from the next room – they were doing the same to him.
In those moments where I wasn’t having an electric current sweeping through my body, I was able to hear him screaming, and I could picture him writhing in pain. It was driving me crazy, more so than the torture. That was what was really breaking me, but I was doing my best not to let it show. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. I had an idea who was hiding in the shadows like the coward he was – Angelo Cavetti. It had to be. Only he would get so much pleasure from my pain. I refused to allow that.
But I couldn’t help but think of how Antonio was fairing.
