I take in the silver-haired and sharp-eyed man, his smile too polished to be trusted, his presence calculated to unsettle rather than dominate.
And beside him…
His daughter, Isabella.
She is exactly as I imagined she would be, even before my clandestine internet search. And dammit, even the pixels lied.
Because she’s even more beautiful in the flesh. Composed. Effortlessly elegant in the way only women raised to win can be.
I tell myself I’m not at all glad for Giovanni’s warm hand in the small of my back as we approach the latecomers.
As Salvatore examines then immediately dismisses me.
As his daughter’s gaze flicks over me with practised precision, cataloguing, assessing, then also dismissing me as an unworthy opponent.
Right before she smiles. At my husband.
“Gio, so lovely to have us in your home. I look forward to seeing what wonders my designer created for you.”
I’m absorbing that unpalatable piece of news when she turns to me.
“Well,” Isabella Bellandi says lightly, her eyes glittering with open disdain, “I suppose even Giovanni has his lapses in judgment.”
Tension screams.
And just like that, the war becomes personal.
10
LUCIA
“If you call a lapse in judgment the best thing that’s happened to him, then yes, I suppose I’ll see my way to taking it as a compliment.”
The words leave my mouth smooth and steady, which is a small miracle considering my pulse has gone feral and Isabella Bellandi is standing three feet away with the serene cruelty of a woman who has never been told no.
The room holds its breath.
Giovanni’s hand slides into mine before anyone can react, his fingers warm and unshakeable, the kind of grip that anchors rather than restrains.
“My wife,” he says calmly, lifting my knuckles to his mouth and pressing a kiss there that is unapologetically intimate, “has a talent for identifying excellence. I’ve found that listening to her instincts has improved my life considerably.”
His gaze lingers on me just long enough to make the meaning unmistakable.
Isabella’s smile tightens. Only for a heartbeat.
But I see it.
The faint crack in composure, the flicker of something sharp and displeased that she smooths away with polished grace.
Salvatore Bellandi turns his attention to Giovanni at last, his expression cool, appraising, and entirely unconcerned with politeness.
“This dinner is long overdue,” he says. “You disappeared. People noticed.”
Giovanni meets his gaze without blinking. “I didn’t disappear. I had priorities.”
Salvatore’s mouth twitches. “That so?” His eyes flick briefly to me, then back again. “Absence creates instability. Especially when a man’s household is… unsettled.”
A couple of the men nearby go very still.
