“Ready?”
I nod, and he offers me his hand like this is a date and not whatever dangerous game he’s pulling me into. I place my fingers in his, and he leads me inside.
Every head seems to turn when we enter.
We’re escorted to a table in the center of the restaurant, directly beneath a glittering chandelier. It throws shards of light over the white tablecloth and polished silver, dazzling enough to make me blink, but all I can think is how exposed I feel sitting beneath it. Like prey pinned beneath a spotlight.
Like bait.
People are watching us. Watching him. Watching me because I’m with him.
I lift a hand to smooth my hair, suddenly wondering if I look polished enough to belong at Dante’s side.
He pulls out my chair for me, his movements easy and practiced, then takes the seat across from me with all the controlled confidence of a man who owns not only the room, but everyone in it.
“This is a lovely restaurant.”
A faint smile touches his mouth. “Thank you.”
I glance around again, taking in the gleaming crystal, the candlelight, the soft murmur of voices. “It’s yours?”
His gaze holds mine as he reaches for his wine glass, fingers brushing the stem. “Most everything in Bari is.”
He turns the glass slowly between his fingers, but there’s tension in the movement. A crack in the polished surface. Something restless underneath all that control.
I study him for a moment. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”
That gets his attention.
His eyes lift fully to mine, dark and sharp. “Am I that easy to read?”
“Dante…”
He exhales through his nose, the sound soft with irritation at himself, not me. “Lorenzo knows you’re in Italy.”
The words hit like ice water.
“What?” My voice comes out thin. “How do you know?”
“He sent men ahead of him to investigate.” Dante’s tone is calm, but that only makes it worse. “They’ve been sniffing around Bari.”
My heart slams against my ribs. “Then why in the hell did you bring me out tonight?”
“Because,” he says, his gaze never leaving mine, “I want him to know you’re here.”
Shock sends me halfway out of my chair before I can stop myself, but Dante lifts one hand between us. It’s a quiet command and somehow that’s enough to freeze me in place.
“Hear me out.”
Every instinct I have is screaming, but I force myself to nod once.
He leans back slightly, watching me with that unreadable expression that always makes me feel like I’m standing too close to the edge of something. “I had an idea. One that solves both of our problems.”
A chill slips down my spine.
“You don’t want to go back to Chicago,” he says. “And I need a wife.”
For a second, I’m certain I misheard him.
