And for a long moment, he’s silent.
Then his fingers tighten fractionally around the stem of his flute.
The tiny betrayal of emotion surprises me.If he’s not careful, I might begin to think he’s somewhat human.
When he speaks, his voice is lower, rougher at the edges.“My father loved the water.Galveston, mostly.He’d take us out on the boat at dawn, just him, my mother, me, and my brothers along with the gulls and pelicans.Soldiers were in another boat.Close.But far enough away that we had the illusion of freedom.”
It’s as if I’m seeing someone else.
“He taught me to read the tides, to listen when the sea went quiet before a storm.”He pauses, gaze distant, and for the first time, I see the grief there—not soft, not vulnerable exactly, but real, carved deep like the scar on his temple.And the fresh wound I’d put on the other side.
I wince.
He believes—wrongly—that my family has something to do with his father’s death.Making me suffer is part of his revenge.
“There are things he needs to know, and I still reach for my phone to call him.Still expect him to sit at the head of the table for Sunday dinners.”The words hang between us, raw with pain.“Then I remember he won’t be coming.”
For a heartbeat, I see him differently—not just as the man who drugged me, who locked me away, who chose a gown that made me feel seen in ways that terrify me.He’s also the son who lost the father he loved.The knowledge of how deeply he cared makes me shift.
And still… We’re enemies.
If we weren’t, I wouldn’t be sitting across from him.
And that reality will never go away.
Thankfully, shattering the moment, our food arrives.As expected, my fish is perfectly seasoned, while his steak is perfectly rare.
Though he finishes his champagne, I don’t touch mine.
When he turns to the business at hand, I lose what little appetite I have.
He tells me our wedding will be at ten a.m.the next morning.
My brother is aware and will be in attendance.
A few of his friends will also be there, along with his family.
“Your older brother, and his wife, Alessia.They’ve been married for a few months.Nico—your consigliere—and his wife, Bella.He’s apparently doing a fine job after Roberto’s death, despite his age.Also, I assume I’ll meet Dario.Your brother and the family CFO who has”—I smile—“certain tastes.”
He raises an eyebrow.
To his credit, he doesn’t let on that I know something I shouldn’t.
“Your mother, as well, no doubt.Gina.”
He lifts his glass and tips it in my direction.
“But you’ll limit it to that.Your priest is no doubt grateful for your family’s tithes.You contribute the full tithe, plus you give generously to fundraising efforts.Maybe there’s even a hall or something named after one of your ancestors.So he’ll sign a date that’s sometime in the future on the license.To be sure we waited the required amount of time before getting married.Keeping you on the right side of the law.”
He doesn’t argue.Probably guessing that my family has the same sort of arrangement, which we do.
“It’s my hope that you can be equally as beneficial in your role as my wife.”
I take a sip, and I smile broadly.“No chance in hell, Moretti.”
His lips tighten.
Good.
