I freeze, my fork halfway to my mouth. I can’t believe he’s bringing that up. The tension around the dinner table skyrockets. “I was never afraid. I had Damiano with me.”
“Of course.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Antonio Conti is still in the hospital, isn’t he? Cristiano mentioned the Sokolis are getting bolder.”
Across the table, Damiano watches Andreas with sharp, glittering eyes.
Andreas cuts into his steak. “I imagine your father is taking extra security precautions. The Barones must be making sure the Sokolis can’t predict your movements again.”
The question is phrased casually, but there’s nothing casual about it. He glances around the table, his eyes finally resting on Dad, as though expecting Don Carlucci to confirm his assumptions.
Dad is deep in conversation with Cristiano and doesn’t answer. Andreas turns back to me expectantly.
“I wouldn’t know,” I say. “Dad doesn’t discuss those things with me.”
“No?” Andreas raises his eyebrows. “But Cristiano mentioned you were at the jewelry auction at the Corinthian. You were working for Don Carlucci, weren’t you? Helping with the gems?”
My stomach drops. I’ve been asking Adora about him, and he’s obviously been asking Cristiano about me.
“Andreas.” Damiano’s voice cuts across the table like a blade. His eyes are black and lethal. “My sister isn’t interested in discussing business. Perhaps you should focus on your dinner instead.”
The temperature around us drops ten degrees.
“I helped out that night,” I say carefully. “But that’s not the same as being involved in security decisions.”
“Of course not.” He smiles again. “Still, you must overhear things. Living in the same house as Don Carlucci and Damiano.”
“Andreas.” Dad has finally noticed our conversation, and his voice cuts across the table, sharp and warning. “This isn’t appropriate dinner conversation. The ladies don’t need to hear about business matters.”
“My apologies, Don Carlucci.” Andreas sits back, but I catch something in his eyes. Frustration. Hunger for information.
The rest of dinner passes in a blur. Andreas tries again, more subtly this time, asking about Dad’s associates and which families we’re closest to. Always phrased innocently, always with that charming smile.
But I’m watching him now. Really watching. And I don’t like what I see.
Down the table, Cristiano and Ariana have settled into uncomfortable silence. When Ariana tries to make conversation, Cristiano responds with the bare minimum required by politeness.
“Ariana is quite accomplished on horseback,” Mom interjects desperately, trying to fill the awkward silence. “She’s been riding since she was six. She’s won several competitions.”
“How impressive,” Cristiano replies.
Ariana takes a careful sip of wine, her movements precise and controlled, like she’s trying very hard not to break.
Mom beams as if this stilted exchange is a rousing success.
When dinner finally ends, I feel like I’ve run a marathon. Andreas walks me to the door, standing too close, his hand hovering near my lower back but not quite touching. He knows Damiano is watching, and he’s testing how far he can push.
“I look forward to getting to know you better, Lucy,” Andreas says. “We have so much to discuss. About your family. About the future.”
I force a smile. “Good night, Andreas.”
Tonight didn’t feel like a polite dinner with my prospective husband. It felt like an interrogation.
There’s something very wrong with Andreas Montoni.
13
Lucy
Aweek after the engagement dinner, Andreas picks me up in his sleek black Mercedes. He’s all smiles and charm as he opens the car door for me, but I notice the little things he doesn’t do. Doesn’t ask how I’m doing. Doesn’t ask if I slept well. If I have any preferences for where we go today.
