—
The dinner partyis exactly what I expected: a carefully orchestrated performance designed to show Giulia off to potential husbands while maintaining the illusion that she has some say in the matter.
She doesn't. We all know it. Even the men sitting at the table, watching her with varying degrees of interest and entitlement, know it.
I’m seated next to Romeo, two seats down from Dante Ciresa, a place of clear favor. It’s a reminder to me of just how muchfavor has been given to me in this organization because of my proximity to Romeo, and how easily it could be taken away if I were to fuck up by, say… letting on that I’m lusting after the Ciresa heiress.
Marco Ferri is the first to really engage her in conversation. He's twenty years older than Giulia or more. He's not handsome—his face is too hard, his eyes too calculating, his hairline receding in a way that makes him look even older than he probably is. But he has a fortune that rivals Dante's and a standing in the organization that makes him a valuable ally.
"Tell me, Giulia," Marco says, cutting into his steak with precise movements, "what did you study at school? Your father mentioned you were at one of the finest schools money can buy.”
“I had a well-rounded education, of course, but I focused on as many literature classes as I could take.” Her voice is steady, polite. The perfect daughter.
Marco's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "That's refreshing. So many young women today have no appreciation for the finer things. They're too busy with their phones and their social media to understand real beauty."
He's talking to her like she's a child. Like she's something to be molded and shaped into what he wants. I watch Giulia's fingers tighten slightly around her fork, the only sign that his condescension bothers her.
"I think every generation finds beauty in different forms," she says carefully. "Art evolves, just like everything else."
"Perhaps." Marco takes a sip of his wine, studying her over the rim of his glass. "But there's something to be said for traditional values. For understanding one's place in the world. Your father has done an excellent job raising you to understand duty and family obligation."
The words make my jaw clench. He's not even pretending to see her as a person. She's just a well-trained asset, a daughter who knows her place.
"I have holdings in three states now," Marco continues, shifting to talk about himself. "Real estate, mostly, but I've been diversifying into shipping. The profit margins are excellent, and with the right connections—which your family has, of course—the potential for growth is substantial."
He goes on like this for several minutes, listing his properties, his investments, his connections. Giulia nods along, making appropriate sounds of interest, but I can see the emptiness in her eyes. She's not interested or impressed. She's just enduring.
Marco leans forward slightly. "I think you and I could have a very comfortable life together, Giulia. I have a house in the city, another in the Hamptons, and I'm considering purchasing a villa in Tuscany. You'd want for nothing."
Except for a husband who sees her as more than a trophy. Except passion. Except for any fucking choice in her own life.
"That's very generous," Giulia says, and the words are hollow.
My hands curl into fists at my sides. The violence that lives in me—the part of me that Romeo has honed into a weapon—stirs restlessly.
Enzo Gallari is different. He's younger, maybe thirty, and handsome in a way that probably works on most women. He's been watching Giulia since he arrived, his gaze tracking her movements with an intensity that makes my skin crawl.
"So, Giulia," Enzo says, leaning in closer than necessary, his voice dropping to something more intimate. "Four years away, only coming back for summers and holidays. That must have been quite an experience. All that freedom, away from family obligations."
The wordfreedomhangs in the air like a challenge. Like he knows exactly what kind of cage she's been living in, and he's testing to see if she'll acknowledge it.
"It was educational," Giulia says carefully.
"I'm sure it was." Enzo's smile widens, and that makes me want to put my fist through his face. "A beautiful young woman, alone with other beautiful young women. I imagine you had quite a few... experiences."
The implication is clear, and I see Giulia's spine stiffen. Dante's eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn't intervene. This is a test—to see how she handles herself, how she responds to pressure.
"I spent most of my time studying," Giulia says, her voice cool. "The program was quite rigorous."
"Of course, of course." Enzo's hand lands on her arm, his fingers trailing down to her wrist in a gesture that's far too familiar. "But surely you had some fun? Went to parties, met interesting people?"
His thumb is making small circles on her skin, and I can see the discomfort in her eyes even as she maintains her polite smile. She shifts slightly, trying to create distance without being obvious about it, but Enzo doesn't take the hint.
"Some," she says. "But I took my studies seriously."
"A woman of discipline. I like that." Enzo's voice drops lower, more intimate. "I think you and I would be very good together, Giulia. You're beautiful, intelligent, well-bred—everything a man could want in a wife."
His hand is still on her arm, possessive and presumptuous. Like he's already decided she's his and this is just a formality.
