The restaurant is beautiful—marble floors, warm lights, soft music. Alessandro keeps a hand at my lower back, guiding me with quiet confidence. Everyone stops what they’re doing when he walks in. Servers. Bartenders. Guests. Some inclinetheir heads. Some whisper. Some look nervous. It’s clear he is someone here. Someone powerful. And then I hear it:
“Mr. Moretti,” the hostess purrs, stepping closer than necessary. “Welcome back.”
I stiffen. Her eyes slide down his chest, all but undressing him right there. Heat flares inside me—sharp and unfamiliar. Jealousy. I hate it immediately.
Before I can think, Alessandro moves— his hand sliding around my waist, pulling me firmly against his side. “This is my wife,” he says, voice deep, unmistakably possessive. “Elena Moretti.”
Wife. Hearing it like that—public, unapologetic—sends a tremor through me. The hostess’s smile falters. She looks me over, suddenly nervous. Alessandro ignores her reaction completely and leads me to our table. My heart is still pounding when we sit down.
The moment the server leaves us with menus, Alessandro studies me. “What’s wrong?” he asks quietly.
I shake my head. “I’m fine.”
He raises an eyebrow. I fold.
“It’s just…” I lower my voice. “If you could try to keep your… affairs… private, I’d appreciate it.”
His eyes narrow instantly. “Affairs?” he repeats, voice icy.
I swallow hard. “I don’t think I could handle people looking at me… knowing my husband is sleeping around.”
For a second there is only silence.
Then Alessandro leans forward, elbows on the table, voice low and razor-sharp.
“Elena.” I look up, breath stuck in my throat. “I take my vows seriously,” he says. “Very seriously.”
My chest tightens.
“Your father didn’t,” he continues. “And mine didn’t. But we’re not them.”
He shakes his head, eyes locked with mine. “I will never sleep with anyone but you.” The words vibrate with conviction. “Ever again.”
My lips part in shock. His voice drops even lower.
“We will be together until death do us part, Dove. And not a moment less.”
Heat rushes through me so fast I feel dizzy. He isn’t just claiming fidelity. He’s claiming me. All of me. Forever.
After that, the tension melts. Conversation flows easier than I expect. He tells me about growing up with Dante—how they’re cousins by blood but brothers in every way that matters. He talks about school fights and races in the yard. About being trained young. About learning to use his fists and his mind. He tells me about business—what he can share, at least. About ports, shipments, negotiations, and the delicate structure of alliances. But the part that surprises me?
He keeps asking what I think.
“What would you do?”
“How would you balance this number?”
“Does this seem like a good investment?”
It makes me feel… included. Respected. Like my mind matters to him. And that is something I have never felt before. Not once.
I’m in the middle of telling him about a project I did in university when I hear a familiar laugh. My body freezes. I look over my shoulder—
And there she is.
Gianna. Sitting at a table across the room with some guy. She’s sipping wine and rubbing his arm with zero shame or subtlety. She spots me immediately. Her face lights up. She waves. I lift my hand awkwardly in return.
Alessandro groans under his breath. “Oh, perfect,” he mutters.
