"My personal life is not up for fucking discussion," I say, my voice deadly quiet. "Not even at this table."
Silence stretches across the dinner table, thick and uncomfortable. The clink of silverware against china sounds thunderous in the quiet. I can feel their eyes on me, concerned and wary.
I take another sip of wine, letting the rich taste ground me. The nightmare from this morning feelscloser somehow, more real. Bianca's face flashes behind my eyes—her smile, her laugh, the way she looked the last time I saw her alive.
Lucrezia breaks the silence first, setting down her fork with deliberate care.
"I'm not saying you should marry Easton's daughter," she says, her voice soft but determined. "I would never want you to marry someone you don't love."
I level a hard stare at her. "Love has nothing to do with this conversation."
"But it should." Lucrezia leans forward, those large brown eyes—so much like our mother's—fixed on me. "I believe in real love, Damiano. The kind that changes everything."
I scoff, but she continues.
"Maybe this girl is your karma, fratello."
"My what?" The word drops from my mouth, sharp with disbelief.
"Your karma." Lucrezia's voice gains strength. "Maybe the universe is trying to tell you something. Suddenly Easton offering his daughter? It's too strange to be coincidence. You've been alone for years."
"It's business, not fate," I counter, but something in her words unsettles me.
Lucrezia shakes her head, that stubborn set to her jaw I know too well. "You don't believe in anything you can't control. But some things—important things—can't be controlled. Love, fate, karma... they find us whether we want them to or not."
"I don't need a philosophical lecture at dinner," I say, but there's less bite in my words than intended.
"All I'm saying is, don't dismiss itcompletely." she says.
"Are you a fortune teller now?" I ask, but my irritation has faded somewhat.
She smiles, a flash of mischief breaking through her seriousness. "Just your sister who knows you better than you think."
I set my wineglass down with a sharp tap. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Enzo, but weren't you the one who said we shouldn't trust anything Easton offers? That whatever deal he proposed would be poison?"
Enzo doesn't flinch under my stare. He never has. While others in our organization pale when I direct my full attention on them, my brother meets my gaze without hesitation.
"I did say that," he admits, loosening his collar. "And I still believe Easton is a manipulative bastard with an agenda we don't fully understand."
"Then explain to me why the fuck you're now suggesting I should consider marrying his daughter." The temperature in my voice drops several degrees.
Enzo leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. "Because whatever that bastard has in mind, the fact he's willing to give his daughter must work for us somehow." His eyes flash with something calculating. "Think about it, Damiano. He wouldn't offer something this significant unless he's desperate."
"Or unless it's a trap," Alessio interjects quietly.
"Exactly," Enzo continues, gesturing with his fork. "Either way, it tells us something important. Easton doesn't make moves without careful planning. The fact he's offering his daughter—his personal life—means there's an angle we should exploit."
I consider his words while cutting into my food. The meat yields easily under my knife. "You're suggesting we use his own strategy against him."
"I'm suggesting we don't dismiss potential advantages," Enzo says.
Lucrezia shifts uncomfortably. "We're talking about a person, not a bargaining chip."
"In our world, they're often the same thing," I remind her, the words bitter on my tongue.
"Enough of this," I say, setting down my knife and fork. "I need to think."
I push back from the table, the legs of my chair scraping against the polished floor. The sound cuts through the tense silence hanging over the dinner table.
