The whispers began instantly, a subtle shift in the ballroom’s atmosphere, a ripple of curiosity spreading through the assembled guests. They knew me, or at least the reputation that preceded me, and the sight of Savannah Scott, a woman of quiet intelligence and seemingly innocent pursuits, on my arm, was a delicious anomaly. I felt her subtle tremor, a whisper of fear beneath the surface, but also, I detected it, a flicker of that same defiant spark that had so intrigued me at the deli.
As we moved towards our table, I felt her gaze, not on me, but scanning the faces of my brothers, a silent assessment of the formidable presence that surrounded me. They watched us approach, all standing, their expressions a carefully guarded mix of curiosity and calculation. Cesar, ever the astute observer, offered a barely perceptible nod of approval. Guilio’s eyes, sharp and assessing, lingered on Savannah, as if trying to decipher the riddle she represented. Even Luca, usually immersed in his own brand of opulent indulgence, looked up, his typical veneer of nonchalance momentarily disrupted. She was an unknown variable, an unexpected element introduced into the meticulously ordered equation of Vitale power, and for the first time in a long time, I felt the thrill of true unpredictability.
Chapter Ten
Miranda
Five tall, powerfully built men stood before me, each one fixing me with a piercing glare as my escort brought us to a halt in front of them. The sensation of being put on the spot was almost overwhelming; if I hadn’t been blushing before, I certainly was now. Their formidable presence made the air feel heavier, and I could sense every curious gaze in the room lingering on our little tableau.
Suddenly, a deep, resonant voice broke the tension. “Introduce me, Massimo,” it commanded, the rich timbre sending an involuntary shiver along my skin. My eyes immediately snapped to the speaker. He stood apart from the others—not only in stature but in demeanor. He was older, streaks of gray accentuating his temples, with a meticulously trimmed five o’clock shadow framing his jaw. But it was his eyes that truly ensnared me: an arresting shade of blue, so clear and vivid they seemed almost translucent, drawing me in as though I were tumbling into the depths of a well.
Momentarily flustered, I cleared my throat and glanced at the man beside me for reassurance. As I did, I heard a low chuckle. Looking back, I found the older man smiling warmly, his demeanor unexpectedly inviting. It was then that my escort finally spoke, his tone both formal and familiar. “Ms. Scott, my brother Cesar Vitale.”
Oh shit.
I knew that name.
Cesar Vitale. The name itself resonated with a power I’d only heard in hushed whispers and seen in the guarded expressions of those who knew. He was the patriarch, the silent architect of the Vitale empire, and his gaze, piercing and intelligent, held a depth that both unnerved and intrigued me. Unlike Massimo’s storm-tossed blues, Cesar’s eyes were serene, almost unnervingly calm, yet they missed nothing.
He extended his hand, his grip firm, his touch surprisingly gentle. “Welcome, Ms. Scott. It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”
The introduction was a delicate dance, a subtle probing of my defenses. I felt the weight of their collective stares, a palpable pressure that threatened to expose every uncertainty I harbored. Massimo beside me remained a silent sentinel, his presence a constant reminder of the coiled danger he represented. His gaze, however, was no longer purely predatory; there was a flicker of something I couldn’t quite decipher, a grudging respect perhaps, or a flash of amusement at my hesitant composure. The air in the ballroom, which moments before had seemed impossibly charged, now felt thick with unspoken currents, each of the men before me a carefully crafted piece in a formidable puzzle I was only just beginning to understand.
“Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Vitale,” I managed, my voice steadier than I expected. I returned the handshake, forcing myself to meet his intense gaze, to project confidence I didn’t entirely feel. The Children’s Ball, a glittering spectacle of wealth and influence, had suddenly transformed into a stage for a far more complex and dangerous performance, and I, Savannah Scott, found myself thrust into a leading role I had never auditioned for.
The weight of the Vitale name, a legend whispered in the shadowed corners of my brother’s world, now pressed down on me, a silent promise of both peril and an unsettling allure.
As I withdrew my hand, the room seemed to vibrate with renewed curiosity. Conversations picked up at the periphery, but I knew acutely that all eyes remained subtly attuned to our exchange. My heart hammered in my chest, yet I steadied myself, determined not to appear rattled. For a brief moment, Cesar’s gaze softened, as if acknowledging my resolve, before he turned to signal discreetly to one of his men. The gesture was slight but carried the unmistakable weight of authority—an unspoken reminder that, in this world, power was asserted as much in silence as in words.
Holding out a chair for me, Cesar smiled. “Please.”
I hesitated only a moment before settling into the offered seat, acutely aware of Massimo’s watchful eyes and Cesar’s silent evaluation. The second I was seated, Massimo pulled out the chair on my right and sat as Cesar sat on my left, the rest of the brothers following suit.
“Massimo tells me you are a medical student at Loyola University.”
“That’s interesting, Mr. Vitale.” My gaze snapped to the man on my right. “Considering I didn’t even know your brother’s name until moments ago.”
Cesar’s lips twitched with the faintest suggestion of a smile, as if amused by my retort. “Massimo is not known for his candor,” he replied, his tone dry but not unkind. “But I assure you, we take a keen interest in those who cross into our circle.” The implication hung in the air, heavy and unmistakable: every newcomer was watched, evaluated, and cataloged in their world.
Reaching for the flute of champagne in front of me, I replied, “I’m not planning to cross into anything, Mr. Vitale. My life is already complicated enough with my classes. As for your brother’s candor, he had no problem telling me exactly what he thought of me when we bumped into each other at Fratelli’s Deli last week. What was it you said again?” I smiled, looking directlyat Massimo. “Oh... that’s right...Beh, non sei forse un piccolo piacere gustoso.”
At that, Massimo smirked as another brother discreetly coughed.
Heat rose to my cheeks, not only from recalling Massimo’s words but from the ripple of laughter that followed, low and knowing. I gripped the stem of my glass a little tighter, uncertain whether the teasing was a welcome distraction or another test.
“She has spirit,” remarked a brother with a half-grin, his accent coloring his words with a touch of old-world charm.
Cesar’s eyes flicked to me, still appraising, but now there was an undeniable hint of respect in his expression. “You will find,” he began smoothly, “that in our family, honesty is valued. Even if it comes dressed as sass.”
A grin tugged at the corner of my mouth despite myself. “Well, I suppose there are worse things to be than honest and spirited.” I let my voice lightly tease, hoping to diffuse the lingering tension. The brothers exchanged glances, a silent conversation passing among them, and for an instant, I caught the faint glimmer of camaraderie beneath their carefully guarded exteriors. It was enough to remind me that while this table held its share of danger, it was also bound by its own loyalties and unspoken rules. I took a steady breath and raised my glass in a small, measured toast. “To honesty then—even the sassy kind.”
Cesar’s lips curled in agreement, and the tension at the table seemed to ease a fraction. The clink of crystal echoed softly as the brothers joined my toast, their gazes sharper but not unwelcome. For a brief moment, I felt as though I’d cracked open a door into a world usually closed to outsiders when Cesar asked, “Tell me, Ms. Scott, have you ever heard the saying,La famiglia prima del sangue?”
No one moved.
All eyes were glued to me as I stared at Cesar, who waited patiently, slowly turning the crystal flute on the table.
“It means family before blood,” I whispered.
