Chapter 7 #3
Leon waves a hand. “Please, your family has been through enough. We had no complaints from any family for the new law.”
So, I’m a part of a law now?
Then, Amelia Caputo rises, her silk blouse barely rustling as she moves. She’s beautiful in that crisp, editorial way. Cheekbones that look sculpted, golden hair swept back like she’s about to give an icy monologue in a political thriller.
“Magnolia,” she says, her voice smooth like chamomile tea. “We’ve been looking forward to meeting you again, properly this time. You were a tiny little newborn the last...” She looks at my mother with a sharp frown.
“Thank you for having us,” I say, voice smooth but not too soft. They may be smiling, but I have hardened my walls, not wanting anyone in.
And then there’s Zeik.
He’s lounging with one foot kicked up, a wine glass balanced on his knee, his fingers lazily holding the stem. He wears charcoal slacks and a crisp black button-up, open at the collar, sleeves rolled to reveal expensive tattoos inked up his forearms.
The first time I saw Zeik was at Sin’s family dinner. He looked like he’d crashed it on his way back from a fraternity rager. Hair tousled, shirt untucked, loud, charming, and way too comfortable in someone else’s chair.
This Zeik?
This version?
Cool. Restrained. Calculated. Like the frat boy put on a suit and remembered he’s royalty.
He stands with a smirk, like he’s been expecting me. “Magnolia.”
“I see you finally bought a shirt with buttons.” I say with a smile, and everyone around laughs, except for my mother who is glaring at me.
He raises his glass, chuckling low. “Growth.”
Amelia gestures toward the chairs, and we all settle around the table. Wine is poured into crystal glasses, and I get a mental flash of accidentally knocking one over and being charged in emotional trauma.
Leon raises his glass. “To gratitude. And to peace. The kind that lasts beyond names and bloodlines.”
Cameron lifts his. “I’ll toast to that.”
My mother clinks hers lightly. “As will I.”
I lift mine more slowly, eyes narrowing just a bit.
Peace is a beautiful word. But it feels a little too curated here.
“So,” Zeik says, refilling his own glass as his parents catch up with my mother. “How’s it feel being in the Rusco fold, Magnolia? I imagine it’s…a lot.”
I give him a sidelong glance. “Did you get that from a therapist handbook?”
Cameron snorts into his wine.
Zeik shrugs, unbothered. “Genuine question. Last time I saw you, you were storming out of my club.”
It’s Sin’s club, but I don’t say that. I’m trying to be light, but I don’t trust Zeik. Maybe I should, I don’t know. “That sounds accurate, Sin was on my nerves.”
Leon chuckles, making me remember we’re not alone and I need to behave. “Well, anyone who’s met Sin Donati understands the urge.”
Amelia hums, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “Still, the shift from one family to another can feel…disorienting.” I don’t like anyone talking about Sin but I’m not about to defend him here.
“Like time travel,” I say lightly.
That gets a real laugh from Zeik. I clock the way Amelia and Leon watch me, like they’re taking notes with their eyes.
“You know,” Amelia says after a beat, “you remind me a little of myself.”
I blink. Hopefully not in the ice queen with a killer resting face way? “How so?” I question.
Amelia just smiles wider. “I wasn’t born into this, and I know you were, but you weren’t raised in the chaos. You seem so well equipped to be in this world, in the way you calculate before you speak. That kind of awareness, it’s valuable.”
My mother gives me a look that reads: Say thank you and stop talking.
So I say, “Thank you,” and sip the wine.
It’s good. Too good. Probably enchanted.
“We’re just grateful for the peace this city offers now,” my mother says, setting her glass down with care.
“Especially with Magnolia needing a space to feel safe. As you said, she wasn’t raised in this world, and I don’t want her life outside of the orphanage to be dangerous.
Your family’s neutrality allows her to move freely. That kind of grace won’t be forgotten.”
Leon waves a hand, his expression warm but unreadable. “No need for thanks. We’ve always believed that the health of our city depends on its balance. If keeping two young women safe helps maintain that, it’s a choice we make gladly.”
Bria and I can see each other, thanks to them.
I can see Sin, if I decide to, thanks to them.
It is a kindness that deserves thanks, if not respect.
A comfortable quiet falls over the room for a few seconds. Long enough for the fire’s soft crackle to be heard. Then Cameron leans forward, snagging a fig off the nearest platter like he hasn’t eaten all day. “You know, this charcuterie spread could bring about world peace all on its own.”
Leon chuckles. “A man of fine taste. Amelia insists on sourcing from this small shop in the West Village. Their prosciutto is flown in weekly.”
“I knew I tasted diplomacy,” Cameron says with a grin, earning a laugh from everyone but my mother, who looks ready to swat him under the table.
“I’m just saying,” he adds with a shrug, “we should host more meetings like this. Food, wine, and no one pulling a gun.”
“High bar,” Zeik murmurs dryly, and that sets off another ripple of laughter.
“Don’t tempt fate,” Amelia says, smiling faintly as she reaches for a crystal decanter and pours more wine into the glasses. “The moment you say things are calm, someone sets a building on fire.”
I sip my drink, watching the way she moves. Poised, deliberate, but there’s a sharpness in her gaze I’m beginning to recognize. She’s always calculating, even in kindness.
Leon leans back in his chair. “I do hope you’ll all attend the autumn gala next month. It’s shaping up to be a strong turnout, most of the families are sending someone.”
My mother nods. “We plan to. Magnolia’s schedule allowing, of course.”
I blink. No one told me I had a schedule.
“I’ll make it work,” I say, managing a neutral smile unsure what an autumn gala is but this is my way of saying thanks.
“Well, I’ll be there,” Cameron says. “Someone has to keep the dance floor interesting.”
“You’ve never been interesting,” I shoot back, kicking his ankle under the table. He yelps and nearly drops his wine, making my mother hiss my name like a warning.
“I’m fine,” Cameron says, rubbing his shin and glancing toward Leon. “This is how we show affection.”
Leon chuckles, eyes crinkling. “It’s good to see family with that kind of dynamic. Sometimes I think the city forgets how human we all still are.”
That statement lingers for a beat, heavier than the rest. No one says it, but we’re all thinking it: in this life, being human is often a liability.
After another few minutes of polite conversation, light politics, and debates over the merits of Paris vs. Rome, Amelia stands and smooths her blouse. “Magnolia, would you join me for a moment?”
“Of course.” I rise, setting my glass down and following her out of the room. As we walk through the long corridor, I pass another oil painting. This one of a young Leon in uniform, maybe military or something more obscure. He looks just as unreadable then as he does now.
Amelia pauses in a quiet alcove near a window. The late day light streams through gauzy curtains, casting her in a soft glow.
“I meant what I said about you reminding me of myself,” she says, turning to face me.
I blink. “How so?” I ask, curious despite myself.
Amelia smiles, and for once, it feels like there’s a crack in the porcelain.
“I wasn’t born into this world. I met Leon when I was twenty.
Fell in love with the man, not the world he came from.
And for a long time, I hated the work. The deals, the rules, the watching your back even in your own home. ”
I study her face, the edge behind her words. “So, what changed?”
“I did,” she says softly. “Because love, real love, doesn’t mean erasing yourself. It means finding where you can still exist honestly, even in rooms like that one.”
I nod slowly. “It’s been so hard,” I admit. “My whole life changed the moment -” I stop myself. I don’t even have the words for the constant emotional whiplash.
“I know this world is hard to adjust to. Breathe and talk to me.”
I inhale a deep breath, “Thank you, I mean that truly.” Amelia places a delicate hand on my shoulder.
It’s light, but it anchors me like a pin through silk.
Her presence is graceful, sure, but there's steel beneath it. A different kind of power than I’ve grown up witnessing.
One that smiles, and waits, and wins without raising its voice.
“My whole life changed when I met Sin,” I finish, truth hanging between us, knowing it’s safe to talk to her about him. “and then finding out I was a Rusco…”
Amelia does the hand motion of mind blown, and it’s so unexpected coming from someone who looks like she runs a luxury espionage firm that I actually laugh.
“I was hoping that would break the tension,” she murmurs, smiling.
“It worked,” I admit, softening.
Her hand lingers just a moment longer before she moves to the window, where golden light spills across the marble floor like it knows its place.
“I didn’t know anything either,” she says. “When I met Leon, I was a barista in Tribeca. I wore combat boots and thought capitalism could be overthrown with enough protest signs. Then I met a man with a smile that made me forget my apartment had mold in the ceiling.”
That makes me grin. “You wore combat boots?”
She tosses me a look. “Don’t let the tailored dresses fool you. I had a punk phase that nearly gave Leon a heart attack.”
“I can’t picture that.”
“I had purple hair.”
“No.”
She nods solemnly. “There are photos. They’ve been buried.”
We both laugh, but it fades quickly, like a lighter flame flickering out just as the wind shifts.