From the way he eats, one would think he’s starving—but no man with his physique could be short on food. Sure, he’s probably somewhere around ten percent body fat—if not less—but there must be nearly two hundred pounds of pure muscle on his six-foot-something frame.
He finishes his steak in record time, accepting and eating a full second helping before the rest of us are done with the first. Then he tosses his napkin down on top of his plate as if to signify the end of the meal and promptly rises from the table.
“Sandro,” Rafael growls, the warning so low only I can hear it.
“What?” Sandro says, not bothering to keep his voice down. “The Lombardis clearly want this alliance. We want it. So it’s going to happen whether I’m here or not. I’m sure you can sort out the details. I’ve already forfeited half the fights I signed up for to be here tonight, and clearly, my presence isn’t helping anything. So, either I leave now, or I’ll be picking my next opponent from the options available.”
He gestures to my brothers across the table, and my heart skips a beat as several of them pale visibly. I don’t even want to imagine what it would look like to watch one of my brothers face off against Sandro.
Tendon ticking in his jaw, Rafael rises to stand beside his brother and turns to give my father a polite nod. “You’ll have to excuse us, Signor Lombardi,” he says, his tone smooth despite the irritation on his face that he’s clearly working hard to rein in.
“Of course,” my father agrees, and I can’t tell if his relief is because Rafael has decided a boxing match in our house isn’t the best idea or if he’s just grateful to be rid of Sandro’s company.
Either way, I find I might be the only one at the table who’s disappointed by the abrupt end to the evening.
Shoulders stiff in his fine Italian suit, Rafael says, “My brother and I will see ourselves out. Please, enjoy the rest of your meal.” Then, his back ramrod straight, he heads toward the dining room door.
Face warm, I try to mask my chagrin at my failed attempt to capture Sandro’s interest, and I lower my gaze, too embarrassed to watch him walk out.
Then, my breath catches as callused fingers slip beneath my palm. My chin jerks up in surprise as electricity zings through my veins. And when my eyes meet Sandro’s, something in the way he looks at me makes my heart skip a beat.
“Evelina,” he rasps, his gaze holding mine as he bends over my hand to brush his lips across my knuckles.
My heart comes to a full stop as heat floods my cheeks, and butterflies erupt in my stomach at the sound of my name on his lips. Stunned into silence at the unexpected display, I stare wide-eyed as he releases me and departs without another word.
My family seems just as shocked, and in the wake of their departure, I could hear a pin drop. Only after the front door slams closed with a reverberating clang does the table come to life once more.
“Did you see the state he was in?” my mother gasps, her face openly appalled now that the twins aren’t here to see it.
“With all the upheaval in their family, I’d hoped Sandro might become the new Don, but after tonight, I’d say that’s clearly not going to happen,” my father growls, his salt-and-pepper brows furrowing.
“I should hope not. If we’re throwing all our eggs in that basket, I’d at least like to know our fate’s in the best hands. I’d rather take the smart twin over having our future brother-in-law since Leonardo’s abdicated his crown,” my brother Romeo says.
“The smart twin?” I challenge softly, my pulse fluttering uncomfortably as my family’s tirade of negativity threatens to pull me under.
“I’ve heard rumors that Sandro Chiaroscuro isn’t, you know… quite right in the head,” he explains, his voice dropping and his eyes flicking toward the door, like he’s afraid Sandro might overhear and knock his teeth in. “I’d thought they were just that, rumors, since he hardly ever speaks in public. But now I’m starting to see why.”
“Something must be wrong with him to have the gall to show up to dinner in that state,” my mother agrees.
Emotions on a roller coaster, I swallow down the lump forming in my throat and turn to my father. “Does that mean you’re going to call off the wedding?”
I hate the tremble in my voice—and even worse the look of sympathy in my father’s eyes, like he already regrets the answer he has to give me.
“No,figlia,” he says, his hand extending across the table as if to reach for me, but I’m too far away, both Rafael’s and Sandro’s empty seats separating us. “You will marry Sandro Chiaroscuro. For the family.”
A heavy silence falls across the table, several forks hitting plates as my brothers seem to have lost their appetites. And despite their open disapproval, I can’t help the glimmer of relief that warms my belly.What is it about Sandro that I find so compelling?
“Are you sure it’s worth the risk?” Cassio asks, his attention laser focused on my father now.
“Risk?” my father asks, his face calmer now as he takes up his fork and knife and meticulously returns to cutting his steak.
“You know his reputation as well as I do,” Cassio says. “Before tonight, I’d hoped it was an exaggeration used to strengthen the Chiaroscuros’ image and make them more intimidating. But now… I’m not so sure.”
I’m already confident I’m going to regret asking, but something in the way Cassio says it makes the hair lift on the nape of my neck, and the first sliver of unease needles its way into my stomach. “What reputation?” I ask, and as Cassio turns to look at me, I can see the genuine concern in his eyes.Why must I always be the last to know?
“Sandro Chiaroscuro is supposed to be something of a loose cannon—the family’s ‘mad dog’, people call him, because he’s known for losing his temper and getting violent.”
“He’s a regular in the Murrays’ fighting pits,” Marco confirms grimly. “And he’s perfectly capable of killing a man with his bare hands.”
