“Boring as ever.” She laughs falsely. Her dark eyes slide to me, assessment turning to dismissal. “And this must be your little fiancée. How…quaint.”
The condescension in her tone makes my hackles rise, but I force myself to smile politely. “Giuliana Conti. Nice to meet you.”
“I’m sure.” Isabella’s attention returns to Luca like I’m already forgotten. “We should catch up properly sometime,” she says, her voice dropping to a seductive whisper. “Without the crowds.”
It takes everything in me to keep my jaw wired shut even though it’s begging to be dropped to the floor. Is sheseriouslypropositioning Luca right in front of me?
“I’m afraid my schedule is quite full these days,” Luca replies, his voice cooling noticeably. “Between business and wedding preparations.”
“Of course.” Isabella’s smile turns brittle. “Well, congratulations on your…arrangement. I hope it works out for you both.”
She glides away, and I’m left feeling inadequate in ways I hate. These women—beautiful, confident, comfortable in this worldof violence and power—they belong here in ways I never could. They speak the language, understand the rules, navigate the dangerous social dynamics with practiced ease.
I’m just a veterinarian playing dress-up in clothes I didn’t choose, pretending to be something I’m not.
“Ignore Isabella,” Luca murmurs, his hand tightening possessively on my waist. “She’s bitter because I refused her advances years ago.”
“It’s fine,” I lie, because what else can I say? That watching these women circle him makes me realize how temporary my position is? That I don’t belong in this world and everyone here knows it?
We’re rescued from further awkward encounters by a dinner bell—an actual crystal bell, because apparently that’s how crime lords signal meals. The crowd begins moving toward what I assume is a dining room, and Luca guides me along with the flow.
The dining room is fucking obscenely opulent. A table that seats forty stretches down the center, set with China and crystal and enough silverware to confuse an etiquette expert. Place cards indicate assigned seating. Luca and I are positioned near the middle, close enough to Salvatore’s head of the table position to indicate respect but not so close as to suggest equality.
I find myself seated between Luca and an older man who introduces himself as Antonio Benedetto—another crime family head. Across from me is Natasha, her perfect features arranged in an expression of polite interest that doesn’t quite hide the assessment in her eyes.
“So,” Natasha says as waiters begin serving the first course—some seafood thing that looks too fancy to eat, “how are you adjusting to your new life, Dr. Conti?”
The question seems innocent enough, but there’s something sharp underneath. “It’s been an adjustment,” I admit carefully. “But Luca’s been very…patient.”
Her perfectly shaped eyebrow arches. “Patient. What aninterestingchoice of words.” She takes a delicate sip of wine. “Most women in your position would use terms like ‘attentive’ or ‘generous’ or ‘devoted.’”
Heat creeps up my neck. I need to play my part. “I’m not most women,” I respond.
“Clearly.” Natasha’s smile is victorious. “Which makes you either very brave or very foolish. I haven’t decided which yet.”
Before I can formulate a response that won’t get me in trouble, Salvatore stands at the head of the table, tapping his crystal wine glass with a fork. The conversations gradually die down as attention turns toward our host.
“Friends, colleagues, family,” he begins, his voice carrying easily through the large room. “Thank you all for joining us tonight. It’s not often we have such a wonderful excuse to gather—a celebration of new beginnings, of alliances forged and bonds strengthened.”
His eyes sweep the table, landing briefly on Luca and me. My stomach clenches.
“Luca Marchetti’s engagement to the lovely Dr. Conti represents exactly the kind of stability and commitment our community needs. A reminder that even in our world, there’s room for love,for family, for creating bonds that lasts beyond temporary power plays.”
The hypocrisy makes me want to scream. This man—this murderer who orchestrated Marco’s death, who used my father as a disposable pawn—is standing here giving speeches about stability and commitment like he values anything beyond his own advancement.
“So please, join me in raising a glass to Luca and Giuliana. May your marriage be long, prosperous, and filled with the kind of happiness we all deserve.” He lifts his glass.
Glasses rise around the table. “To Luca and Giuliana,” the crowd echoes.
I lift my wine glass with trembling fingers, forcing myself to smile, to nod graciously, to play the role expected of me. Across the table, Natasha watches with knowing eyes, and I wonder what she sees—a woman in love with her fiancé or someone barely holding herself together?
Maybe both.
The dinner continues with course after endless course. Soup, salad, fish, palate cleanser, main course, dessert, each one more elaborate than the last. Conversations flow around me about business and territory. Luca participates with easy confidence, his hand occasionally finding my thigh under the table in a possessive gesture that makes my breath catch.
I’m hyperaware of Salvatore’s presence. Every time he laughs, every time his voice carries over other conversations, my hands clench around my fork.
Your father sold the information that got him killed.
