Dominic nods. “That’ll outlast love. Love makes men foolish. Two people who want the same thing don’t lie to each other.”
I keep a smile on my face as he starts asking more, but Matteo and I have prepared for this, and there’s nothing that can catch us off guard. Of course, Dominic keeps everything about his business super vague.
But at least he’s still talking to us, which means he finds us interesting, and that’s good. That’s really, really good.
Chapter 11
MATTEO
DOMINIC TALKS AND Ibarely listen, my hand resting at the small of Amalia’s back like a husband who’s heard all this before. He’s good at this, giving nothing away, just asking his little questions and watching, so I figure he learns more from what a person won’t say than from what they do.
One of his men leans in to tell him something, and Dominic waves him off. Then he turns back to Amalia.
“I have to say,” he says, his voice all warm, “you’re not what I expected. Most women who come to these things just stand there and look pretty, but you’re both beautiful and ambitious.” His lips curve. “That’s a rare combination, and a dangerous one.”
Amalia laughs and tilts her head. His gaze drifts off her face and moves down, lingering way too long.
I grit my teeth, but I keep a smile on my face anyway. A part of me wants to take the glass out of his hand and break it against the nearest wall, then slash it across his throat. Amalia’s my wife. He can look all he likes, but she’s mine, and the fact that I’m thinking that at all should probably bother me.
But I’m actually frustrated because I want to put myself between them.
“She’s hard to ignore,” I say, keeping it light, like a man bragging about his own good luck. “Trust me, I tried back when I thought I had the upper hand.” A grin tugs at my mouth. “But we didn’t come here to talk about my wife, as much as I enjoy that. We came to talk business.”
Dominic’s gaze slides over to me, and there’s amusement in his eyes, as if he knows exactly what I just did and finds it cute. Maybe he does. Fuck it.
“Business?” he says.
“We have everything we need. Family legacy. Muscle. Money. But we’re missing the key element. Experience,” I say.
“What he means,” Amalia says, touching Dominic’s arm like they’re already friends, “is that we’d rather learn from someone who’s done it all than waste years figuring it out the hard way.” She tips her head. “I hear you’ve been busy lately with new ventures. There’s been a lot of talk.”
It’s a good move, because she makes it sound like flattery, but she’s fishing, and Dominic’s too smart not to realize it. He just doesn’t seem to mind. At least not yet.
“There’s always talk,” he says.
“There is,” she says. “I’m just curious how a man like you manages it all without the whole thing falling apart. My father never could.”
She’s wrapped the question up so prettily that Dominic opens his mouth as if he’s about to reply, but then he suddenly laughs. Shit.
“You ask very interesting questions, Mrs. Petrelli,” he says.
My fingers press a little harder into Amalia’s back, and she leans into my hand, which I take to mean she knows she went a little too far. Dominic’s still smiling, but his eyes have gone cold, and I’ve spent enough of my life around dangerous men to recognize the look one of them gets when he starts wondering whether you’re a problem.
“I think we’ve done enough talking for one night anyway,” I say. “We didn’t get this dressed up to bore the most interesting man in the room with questions.”
Dominic’s gaze moves between us, and the suspicion slowly eases out of his face until his smile turns real again, or as real as it gets with him.
“A man who knows when to stop is rarer than an ambitious wife,” he says. “Enjoy the party. We’ll talk again.”
Once we’re far enough that nobody’s listening, Amalia sighs. “That was close,” she says under her breath. “He got curious about me, but the wrong kind.”
“Yeah.” I steer us toward a quieter corner, my hand still at her back. “We knew he was good.”
“But we handled it.” A laugh huffs out of her, and I grin.
I’m enjoying this whole thing way more than I should. My gaze falls on the couples dancing in the middle of the room, and an idea comes to me that’s probably a bad one.
“Dance with me,” I say.
