He loved his wife desperately.
But my attention was quickly stolen when herfriendskirted the couple to sit in the empty chair beside Signora Mancini. Poppy had changed into an ivory dress. The long sleeves cinched at her wrist in tight cuffs, but the flowy material billowed up the length of her arms until it connected with the sheath cut. It was a tease. Her full curves pressed against the material, reminding me that they were there.
Warmth shot down my body, stirring between my legs.
Servers placed the first course in front of each guest with choreographed precision. A delicate arrangement of seared scallops nestled on beds of microgreens, drizzled with something that smelled faintly of citrus and truffle. I barely noticed the food.
I couldn’t take my eyes off Poppy. The way she tilted her head when she laughed at something Signora Mancini whispered. The elegant curve of her neck. The subtle movement of her throat as she sipped her wine. Each gesture sent a fresh pulse of heat through my body.
This was unexpected. Dangerous, even. I hadn’t come here for a woman. I’d come for business, for territory, for respect.
Yet as she dabbed the corner of her mouth with a napkin, catching a drop of wine before it could stain the dress, I wished I was closer. That it wasmyfinger that caught the bead of crimson. My mouth watered for a taste.
She lifted her fork, passing the bite of scallop behind her teeth. I stared at her lips, a groan caught in my chest.
Something distracted me to the left. I mumbled a response, not aware of the words I spoke. It was only as I reached for my own fork that I paused. There were…several.
Ebasi, why?Why the hell were there so many?
Yet every other guest seemed to know the proper utensil to use for the dish. A sharp glance at my neighbor spared me the embarrassment of using the wrong fucking fork. But the feeling didn’t dissipate. The polished crowd knew how to act during this next scene, and I was left to fumble on stage. As usual. On paper, I might be qualified to be here, and my ruthlessness carved a path to the top, but I was still the poor boy, born in a mountain hovel on a distant shore.
The rich food seemed sour, almost bitter on my tongue.
I cut a look across the table.
Of course, the perfect flower knew how to behave. And why wouldn’t she? Her story might be a mystery, but it was clear she belonged here, the same as everyone else.
I fisted my fork, feeling the metal weaken and bend under my strength.
I subtly pressed on the fork, forcing it back to its original shape. It wasn't about the utensils or the fancy food. It was about her. About having what I couldn’t—shouldn’t—possess.
Poppy caught my gaze across the table. Her lips curved into a smile that vanished as quickly as it appeared, a private moment between strangers. My pulse quickened. The conversation around me faded to a dull hum as I imagined crossing the space between us, taking her by the hand, and leading her away from this gathering of vultures in expensive suits.
She belonged to Mancini’s world. Protected. Untouchable. A perfect ornament among his other treasures.
But I had never been good at respecting boundaries or ownership. Everything of value in my life had been taken, not given. My territory. My respect. My power. None of it was handed to me on a silver platter.
Why should she be any different?
Chapter 4 – Poppy
“Just let go!” Brady panted. “I got this.”
No, you don’t.“Alright, ready, steady….”
I released my grip on the seat. Then the handlebar. One small leg pushed. His body wiggled.
The bike tipped and crashed.
“Uff!” Brady pushed himself up and wiped asphalt grit from his hands. The pinched look on his face said that one hurt.
I bit my tongue.
“You let go too late,” he accused. “I have it, Mama.”
My son was the sweetest kid in the world. Affectionate to a fault. But along with the wild streak, there was a sharpness that came out when he was in pain, ill, or crabby. He was the very definition of hangry. Any deviation in sleep schedule could bring out a cranky spell. Or, like now, physical hurt and frustration made his bark come out.
“I let go exactly when you said,” I reminded him gently.
