I draw breath to answer.
Giovanni steps forward first, angling his body subtly in front of mine without blocking me, the move protective rather than silencing.
“Unconventional is not the same as unstable,” he says pleasantly. “And tonight has been long. Buona notte.”
The dismissal is elegant. Final.
Salvatore studies him for a moment longer, then nods once. “We’ll speak again. Sooner than later, I suspect.”
“I’m sure,” Giovanni replies.
As they move towards the door, the old man pauses just long enough to add, “It looks like Queens breeds interesting instincts. Survival ones. Sometimes those instincts prove… inconvenient.”
I feel Giovanni’s hand press more firmly at my back. “And sometimes,” he says, unbothered, “they save lives.”
The Bellandis leave as they arrived. Measuring and unsatisfied.
The last guests follow, their farewells polite, their eyes lingering with the awareness that something unresolved has just been sharpened rather than settled.
When the doors finally close, the house exhales.
Giovanni’s hand settles fully at my back, possessive and steady, anchoring me to the reality I can no longer pretend I’m observing from the outside.
“Nothing has been resolved, has it?”
He grunts, moving me around until I’m in front of him. I look up into his dark eyes as his hands settle on my hips, then move up and down in a heated caress that snags my breath.
“No. But then no ground has been ceded either. If anything, the lines have been drawn deeper, clearer, more dangerous for having been tested in public.”
My heart catches for a different reason now. “Which means what, exactly?”
He drifts his mouth over mine, perhaps to distract, perhaps because he wants to. I suspect it’s both.
“Which means we’re still locked in a stalemate. But that’s only ever the moment before someone reaches for heavier weapons.”
11
LUCIA
The morning after the dinner party arrives with an almost insulting sense of normalcy.
Giovanni sits at the head of the table in a dark robe, coffee in hand, unbothered in a way that feels deliberate, as though calm itself is one more weapon he knows how to wield.
As if the night before hadn’t been thick with threat and power plays and men who smiled while imagining where to put the knife.
Sunlight filters through the tall windows of our private dining room, spilling across the breakfast table in clean, elegant lines, catching on polished silver and crisp linen.
I watch him for a moment longer than necessary, then clear my throat.
“I want to go into town today,” I say, keeping my voice level. “I want to visit my uncles.”
He doesn’t look surprised. If anything, he looks prepared.
“No,” he replies, without inflection.
Just like that.
My fingers curl around my napkin. “I wasn’t asking permission.”
