"She seems like a lovely young woman," I said. "My father spoke highly of the Moretti family's honor."
It was a nothing response. A door closed politely in his face.
I watched Enzo's expression flicker—the briefest tightening around his eyes, the smallest compression of his lips. He'd expected me to bite. To demand clarification, to show curiosity or jealousy or whatever emotion he was trying to provoke.
I gave him nothing.
"Honor." He repeated the word like he was tasting it. "Yes. The Morettis do value their honor. Though some things . . ." He let the sentence trail off, unfinished. A hook left dangling in the water.
I didn't take it.
"Thank you again for coming." I kept my voice warm, my posture open, my face arranged in the expression of a gracious host. "I'm sure we'll have time to speak more in the coming weeks. The families have much to discuss."
"Indeed we do." Enzo's mask slid back into place, smooth as oil. "I look forward to it, Dante. I think you'll find that there's much about your father's business you don't yet know."
The threat was there, buried under layers of civility, but I heard it clearly. He was telling me he had leverage. Information. Ammunition.
He was also telling me he wasn't afraid of the new don.
That was a mistake.
"Take care, Enzo." I held his gaze for one beat longer than necessary. Let him see nothing in my eyes—no fear, no anger, no hint of the fury coiling in my chest. "My father taught me to value all my relationships. Some more than others."
His smile flickered. Just for a moment.
TheMorettisapproachedinformation. Tomasso leading, his wife a half-step behind, and Gemma bringing up the rear like she was trying to make herself invisible. It didn't work. I could have found her in a crowd of thousands.
Tomasso reached me first. His handshake was a test—grip firm, eye contact direct, the measuring stare of a man assessing whether the son was worth what the father had promised.
"Don Caruso." He used the title deliberately. Acknowledging the transfer of power. "Our families share your grief. Vito was a man of vision. We were honored to call him an ally."
"The honor was mutual." I returned his grip, matched his tone. "The Moretti name has always meant something. I look forward to strengthening our families' bond."
A nod. A released hand. The transaction complete.
His wife murmured something appropriate that I barely registered because Gemma was stepping forward and suddenly I couldn't breathe.
She was close. Close enough that I could smell her perfume—something soft, barely there, like night-blooming jasmine after rain. Close enough that I could see the individual strands ofdark hair that had escaped her careful updo, wisping against her temples. Close enough that I could count the freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose.
Five. There were five.
"Don Caruso." Her voice was low, melodic, controlled with the kind of precision that came from years of practice. She extended her hand, palm down, the formal gesture of a mafia daughter greeting a don. "I'm so sorry for your loss. I know words are inadequate, but please know that my family's thoughts are with yours."
I took her hand.
Her fingers were cool in my grip. Delicate bones, soft skin, short nails unpainted. The small garnet ring pressed against my palm. I held her hand for exactly the appropriate length of time.
Except I didn't let go.
I was staring. I knew I was staring. She met my eyes for a measured beat—the correct duration for formal condolences—then dropped her gaze. Modest. Proper. Everything a well-bred mafia bride should be.
But in that moment of eye contact, I'd seen something.
Fear. Exhaustion. A desperate, guarded hope she was trying to crush before it could disappoint her.
My throat closed around words that wouldn't come.
Up close, she was even more devastating than she'd been across the room. The tiny freckle beside her left eye. The way her lower lip was slightly fuller than the upper, the faintest unevenness that made her mouth human instead of perfect. The almost imperceptible tremor at the corner of her jaw, betraying the effort her composure required.
