Cristiano turns his attention back on me, those amber eyes traveling down the plunging neckline of Rosa’s dress with proprietary heat.
That dress is for me, his gaze says.You had better have worn it for me.
“May I have a word?” he asks tightly. “In private.”
“I’m on a date, Cristiano.”
“Now, Mina.”
It’s not a request.
Danny starts to rise, puffing up with indignation. “Hey, buddy, she said she’s on a date—”
Cristiano doesn’t even look at him. “Sit down.”
The words are quiet. Almost conversational. But something in his tone makes Danny drop back into his chair like his strings have been cut. I watch him shrink, all that courage evaporating in an instant.
Cristiano doesn’t need to raise his voice or make threats. He justis, and people fold.
But not me.
“Mina.” Cristiano extends his hand, palm up. An invitation that’s more like a command. “Come with me.”
The whole restaurant is watching. I can feel the weight of dozens of eyes, the hush that’s fallen over nearby tables.
Maybe it’s the dress. Maybe it’s the smoky eyes and bold lips, this armor Rosa gave me that makes me feel like someone else. Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve spent five years afraid of this man, and I’m so goddamntired.
Or maybe I just want to know what happens when I push back.
“No.”
The word comes out steady. Defiant. Loud enough for the nearby tables to hear.
Something flickers in Cristiano’s amber eyes.
“No?” he repeats.
“I’m on a date.” I pick up my water glass with a hand that barely trembles and take a deliberate sip. “Whatever you want to say to me can wait until I’m finished.”
I set the glass down and turn back to Danny with a smile that feels like a weapon. “I’m so sorry about the interruption. You were telling me about your work?”
Danny’s mouth opens and closes. He looks between me and Cristiano like a man watching a car crash in slow motion.
“Mina.” Cristiano’s voice has dropped lower, darker. A warning. “Don’t do this.”
“Don’t do what?” I meet his eyes, and I let him see my anger and the reckless heat that’s building inside me. “Don’t have dinner with a nice man who asked me politely instead of ordering me around? Don’t wear a pretty dress to a restaurant? Stop acting like you own the place.”
“I do own the place.”
“Of course you do.” I laugh, and it comes out sharp and brittle. “Everything in this city is yours, isn’t it? Every hotel, every casino, every—”
“You,” he says. “You’re mine.”
The words hang in the air between us. I can feel people straining their ears to listen, and I want everyone to know that I, Mina Santoro, am standing up to dangerous Don Cristiano Montoni without flinching.
“I’m not yours.” I hold his gaze, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. “I’ve never been yours, and I never will be.”
For a long moment, Cristiano doesn’t move. His jaw is tight, his hands are clenched at his sides, and there’s an expression in his eyes that I haven’t seen since he was nineteen. That wild, desperate look he got right before he tied me up with his belt.
