Devoted. Obsessed.
"Controlled. Strategic." I force myself to meet his eyes. "He's grieving his brother still. It drives everything he does."
"Is he…" Alessandro pauses, unusual for him. "Is he hurting you?"
The question hangs over the table like a blade. Everyone waits: Ana's hand stilling on Antonia's back, Faith's fingers finding Luca's, Eleanor leaning forward slightly.
"No." The word comes out steadier than expected. "He needs me alive. For leverage."
But that's not why. He needs me alive because he needs me, period.
"There's more you're not telling us," Marco observes, setting down his wine.
"There's always more," I say, forcing myself to take another bite. "I'm still gathering information."
"Speaking of," Alessandro interjects, and I've never been more grateful for his timing. "Did I tell you about the Detroit situation?"
"The one with the shipping container?" Luca perks up, that manic gleam in his eyes.
"Better. There was a goat."
Eleanor laughs. "There was not a goat."
"There was absolutely a goat." Alessandro grins, settling into his story. "So this supplier, right? He thinks he's clever. Says the shipment is delayed because of 'livestock complications.' I'm thinking he means the port authority found something, maybe dogs sniffing around."
"But?" Faith prompts, already smiling.
"But he literally had a goat. In the container. With our weapons." Alessandro's green eyes sparkle with mirth. "Thisgoat, I swear to God, had eaten through three crates and was working on the fourth when we opened it."
"You're making this up," Eleanor insists, but she's laughing.
"Luca was there!"
Luca nods solemnly. "There was indeed a goat. I wanted to keep it."
"Of course you did," Dante signs, eye-rolling evident in his expression.
"What? It had spirit. It ate three crates of evidence. That's impressive."
"We are not keeping a goat," Marco says, but there's the faintest smile tugging at his lips.
"You never let me have any fun," Luca pouts, actually pouts, this man who has a master's degree in chemistry and uses it primarily for creative torture methods.
"You have seventeen knives," Dante signs.
"Knives aren't pets, Dante."
"Neither are goats!"
The laughter that erupts around the table is so normal, so purelyus, that for a moment I forget everything else. Forget that I'm lying to them. Forget that I chose their enemy. Forget that this might be the last time I sit at this table.
But then I catch Nico watching me, see him note how I'm not really eating, just moving food around my plate. See him clock the way I keep touching my throat where Alexei's fingers left their invisible brand. See him see everything I'm trying to hide.
"I need some air," I say suddenly, pushing back from the table.
"I'll come with you," Nico says immediately.
Marco looks between us, reading the situation with those dark eyes that miss nothing. But he nods. "Ten minutes. We're not done talking."
