Oliver looked past the maître d’ and sneered, “Tell him hell no.”
The maître d’ paled, looking between Oliver and Massimo before whispering, “Mr. Thorpe, please.”
Oliver’s jaw clenched, eyes flashing with defiance. “We’re not interested in dining with him,” he said, his voice low but commanding. The maître d’ seemed frozen, caught between loyalty to the influential patron and the discomfort of the moment. I sensed the weight of expectations pressing in from everyone in the room, each movement under scrutiny. My pulse quickened as I tried to steady myself, feeling the tension radiating from both Oliver and Massimo, their silent exchange sharp as a blade.
A surge of resolve steadied me as I lifted my chin and met Massimo’s gaze across the room. Without hesitation, I declared, “We’d love to,” making sure my voice carried with confidence and not a trace of the unease coiling in my stomach. I stood straighter, determined not to reveal any discomfort under the watchful eyes surrounding us.
Oliver’s reaction was immediate and sharp. “Savy!” he burst out, disbelief and frustration mingling in his tone. I reached out and patted his shoulder, offering a reassuring, almost playful squeeze in an effort to lighten the tension.
“Free meal, Oli,” I said with a small, forced smile, trying to inject levity into the moment. “Your trust fund is safe tonight.”
With a reluctant grumble, Oliver finally acquiesced, falling in step behind me as I led the way toward Massimo’s table. Though his steps were heavy and his expression mulish, he followed, loyalty binding him to my side despite his clear misgivings.
Massimo stood, buttoning his jacket as I approached his table. The smug look on his face left no doubt—he had just claimed victory in round one of whatever game he was playing.I could feel the weight of his gaze, sharp and calculating, as if he were already measuring his next move.
“Sei bellissima, Savannah.”[You look beautiful, Savannah.]
I narrowed my eyes, letting my words carry both irritation and guardedness. “E sembri esausto. Cosa vuoi adesso? Altre domande invadenti o minacce?”[And you look exhausted. What do you want now? More intrusive questions or threats?]I kept my tone cool even as a flicker of anxiety twisted in my stomach.
“You wound me, Ms. Scott. I merely saw you and your friend arrive and wanted some company for dinner tonight.” He smirked, extending his hand to gesture toward a chair.
With a graceful motion, I accepted the seat, giving Massimo a measured nod as I settled in. My heart thudded in my chest, but I forced myself to keep my expression neutral, unwilling to let Massimo see any sign of weakness. For an instant, I felt every eye in the room on us, the hush pressing in from all sides.
Oliver lingered for a moment before sitting beside me, his glare unwavering—a silent shield between me and Massimo’s intentions. The maître d’ discreetly retreated, relief flickering across his features as he escaped the charged atmosphere. The restaurant’s hum faded into the background, leaving only the tension between us and Massimo’s enigmatic smile. I straightened my posture, nerves taut, ready to parry whatever sharp conversation or subtle challenge might come next.
Massimo, having retaken his seat, studied me intently as the waiter approached to fill our glasses with wine. I felt the knot in my stomach tighten, every sound around me fading except the distinct clink of glass. He broke the silence with a question that cut straight through my defenses. “How is medical school?”
For a split second, I faltered, old hopes warring with the disappointment that had settled in my chest since everything changed. The weight of the past weeks pressed down, thememory of flashing blue lights and whispered accusations flickering behind my eyes. “It’s on hold for the moment,” I answered, forcing my voice steady but unable to hide the vulnerability beneath.
Massimo reached for his glass, the sincerity in his gaze catching me off guard. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is it because of what I witnessed—the incident on campus?” His words hung heavy in the air, reminding me of the chaos he’d seen: sirens, shattered trust, and the day that had upended my world.
I swallowed, the urge to retreat strong, but I couldn’t bring myself to lie. “Yes,” I whispered, my throat tight. Each word felt like a confession, and I silently wished for this moment to end, unwilling to relive the pain and fear that still haunted me.
Before the silence could settle in, Oliver spoke up, protective and firm. “She didn’t do it.”
I offered Oliver a grateful smile as he reached for my hand. The moment our fingers touched, Massimo let out a low growl. I turned to find his steely blue eyes fixed intently on our joined hands, a hard glare slicing through the dim candlelight. There was a history behind Massimo’s glare; one that neither of us dared to speak aloud in front of Oliver.
“Is there a problem, Mr. Vitale?” Oliver challenged, his voice steady as he intertwined his fingers with mine.
Massimo’s lips curled at the corner, but his gaze stayed cold and unyielding. “No problem at all,” he replied smoothly. “I’m just surprised to see you two so... close, given the circumstances.” He swirled his wine, the ruby liquid catching the candlelight. “But perhaps I misjudged the depth of your friendship.” His stare lingered on our hands a beat longer before he looked up at me, searching for any hint of reaction.
The conversation hung taut, the air thick with unspoken accusations. I inhaled slowly, steadying myself. “People are fullof surprises, Mr. Vitale,” I replied, meeting his gaze evenly. “Sometimes the bonds we form are deeper than anyone expects.”
My words carried quiet confidence, but under the table, Oliver’s thumb traced calming circles on my hand—a silent promise that I was not alone.
Massimo’s expression flickered—something unspoken passing over his features—before he raised his glass in a mock toast. “To surprises, then,” he said softly, a sharp edge beneath his words, before he took a slow sip of his wine just as Oliver’s phone rang.
Ignoring the charged atmosphere at the table, Oliver snatched up his vibrating phone and pressed it to his ear. I watched as his shoulders tensed, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “Yeah, sure. I’ll be right there.” His groan was low and frustrated, and when he hung up, he forced a rueful smile my way. “Sorry, Savy, but I’m going to have to cut dinner short tonight. Kendrick wants my stuff out of his apartment tonight or he’s throwing it in the trash.”
I tried to mask my disappointment, covering it with a small, understanding smile. My pulse fluttered, nerves prickling beneath my skin as I pushed my chair back to stand. The moment had barely settled when Massimo’s voice cut through the tension, velvety yet unyielding.
“Stay and have dinner with me. I will ensure you get home safely.”
My breath caught, heart thudding as his words echoed, laced with something that made the hairs on my arms rise. I hesitated, a flicker of unease passing through me—why was Massimo so insistent? What did he really want from me tonight?
I looked to Oliver, searching his face for a solution. He was already on his feet, fists clenched at his sides, his anger radiating like heat from a forge. “She’s not staying with you, Vitale.” His words were a challenge, sharp and protective.
Massimo’s grin was almost predatory, his gaze never leaving mine. “Maybe I wasn’t clear,” he said, his tone deceptively pleasant. “My offer wasn’t a request.” His calm certainty sent a shiver along my spine, and I realized his intentions were deeper—more determined—than he let on.
