“You two look beautiful together.”
“Oh, you’ll make such gorgeous babies.”
“They’re just perfect!”
At some point, I zone out of the conversation, diving into the delicious food before me. The main course is black truffle risotto with Parmigiano-Reggiano, accompanied by duck-fat roasted potatoes and asparagus tips.
The conversation shifts seamlessly between talking about business, old money gossip, and politics.
Marco makes a point to randomly feed me from his plate or ask me if I’m okay. The stares I’m getting don’t go unnoticed. A few women eye me with envy, others with curiosity.
But it’s the glance from one of the other older wives that tightens my spine.
Regal. Dressed in dark velvet with a brooch shaped like a dagger pinned to her shoulder. Her stare pins me in place. It’s not curious or envious. She looks at me like sheknowssomething. She lifts her glass to her lips, eyes still locked on me, and gives the smallest smirk.
It sends a dark chill down my spine.
I swallow and look away.
“What’s wrong?” I hear Marco whisper close to my ear.
I almost forgot how observant he is.
I don’t say anything, but he glances in the direction I was just staring at.
“She’s trying to intimidate you. Pay her no mind.”
He squeezes my hand lightly, but I barely register it. My thoughts are already spiraling. How much does she know? Does she know about Francesco? About the baby?
As if on cue, Francesco walks right down the aisle toward the bar. My eyes follow him across the room.
Francesco sits at the bar, and when his drink is served, he just stares at it, his jaw tight. He hasn’t looked at me once all night, but I can feel him. Like gravity. Like fire pressed behind my ribs. He’s here, and it’s killing me to pretend he isn’t.
Marco leans in again. “You’re trembling.”
I straighten my spine and look at Marco. “I’m fine.”
His thumb brushes my cheek, and he leans in for a kiss.
My spine stiffens, but I let him kiss me. What I think will be a quick peck gets deepened into a heated kiss as Marco grabs my head and pushes his tongue further into my mouth. I grab a fistful of his chest, resisting the temptation to push him away.
I hear some laughter and chuckles around us. A camera flicks in our direction. His kiss is firm as he claims me publicly.
But all I care about is the heated gaze I feel from across the room.
When the kiss ends, Marco pulls away slowly, cupping my face. “You’re mine, Lia. I don’t want anything to make you forget that.”
He brushes a thumb over my lower lip. His eyes look at something behind me, but then come back to meet mine almost immediately.
“He might be the father,” he whispers so low that nobody else can hear, “but I’ve taken responsibility.”
I nod, unsure of his intent.
He continues, his tone hardening. “Francesco is on a path to ruin. Don’t follow him. Whether or not he’s the father, our child deserves stability. I’ve already explained this to you, Lia. As Keeper of the Black Hand, I’m the only one with enough authority to make sure this baby is safe. You know that. So don’t try to do anything funny.”
My head spins. I nod again.
Dinner continues, but I don’t feel like myself. My mind keeps flashing back and forth between Marco’s words and Francesco.
