CHAPTER TWO #3
She grabbed my hand, squeezing. “Remember what I told you. You are the power.” Lucia kissed my cheek and quietly left the room.
After Lucia left, I remained frozen before the mirror, trying to gather my courage. Rehearsing the part I would play tonight. Every gesture, every word would be scrutinized, not just by my future husband, but by both families.
Tonight was more than just a dinner; it was my first evaluation.
I needed to be the perfect balance of everything they wanted. Intelligent yet demure. Confident yet not challenging. Submissive yet intriguing.
My stomach twisted with anxiety when I heard the clock from the corridor chime seven times, each melodious note sending a jolt through my veins.
My time was up.
My father’s instructions had been clear. To join them in the dining room at seven o’clock sharp.
I inhaled deeply, squaring my shoulders before opening my bedroom door. The weight of generations of bloodshed and politics laid heavy on my shoulders, and for a moment, my feet almost crumpled under me. But I stayed standing, firm and composed.
The corridor with expensive hardwood floors stretched before me like a runaway, and each step I took in my stilettos echoed against the walls.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Voices drifting from below made me pause at the grand staircase. My fingers grazed the polished banister as I listened on, deep masculine voices and the slight echo of feminine laughter. God, everything sounded so hollow.
Fake.
The Morellis and Salvatores hated each other.
The funeral was a public scene and our families had no other choice but to be civil. We had too many eyes on us, the rest of the New York Famiglie. We needed to prove that we had put our past enmity behind us and we were ready to move on. So we were polite and courteous.
But now, in such a private setting… for the first time since the war broke out between our families, I wasn’t sure how we’d survive this evening, behind closed doors and in each other’s presence.
With practiced grace, I descended the stairs, my emerald gown trailing behind me like a verdant waterfall. My heart hammered against my ribs, but each step I took was perfectly composed, betraying nothing of the tempest within.
The closer I got, the voices grew clearer, punctuated by the occasional clink of crystal.
The dining room doors stood open, heavy oak panels carved with intricate designs on either side. Everything about this doorway was daunting, but still my legs took me forward.
Two bodyguards stood on either side of the doorway.
A long, solid mahogany table stretched under the chandelier's light, its warm glow pooling like amber over white porcelain plates and untouched wine glasses. Every cutlery, every decoration, every dish was arranged with military precision.
Twelve chairs surrounded the oak table, each occupied except for two—mine, and my deceased mother.
My father sat at the head of the table, unmovable and carved with authority. Damon was on his right, my father’s shadow, and his future successor. His shoulders were squared and his expression carefully blank.
On my father’s left sat Leonardo, his younger cousin and trusted consigliere. Beside him was Giovanni, his son and Morelli’s capo. I saw him at the funeral yesterday, but neither of us had spoken a word to each other since I had arrived back at the Morelli Estate two days ago.
Enzo Salvatore sat directly opposite my father, at the other end of the table. I knew they were seated in a way that made them appear equal. A simple formality out of respect for the power they each held.
Bosses of two very powerful families.
Enzo met my father’s stare, cold and unblinking. They didn’t smile. They didn’t need to. The table between them felt like a border drawn in polished, expensive wood.
Conversation halted as I appeared in the doorway. Every head turned, every gaze fixed on me. Intrigued. Assessing. Calculating.
Predatory.
There was nothing but utter silence.
The physical weight of their eyes pressed against my skin, my flesh feeling the burn of their collective judgment.
Oh God, I don’t think I can do this.
“Serafina.” My father’s voice cut through the silence. “You’ve kept our guests waiting.”
I blinked to stop myself from flinching. There was a sharpness in his voice that I wasn’t expecting.
I didn’t keep them waiting.
The clock had only just struck seven.
Maybe it took me two minutes to walk from my bedroom to the dining room, but… it was only two minutes…
How foolish of me.
Even two minutes was unacceptable for tonight.
“Good evening.” I didn’t know how I stopped my voice from shaking, but I sounded demure and clear.
Fake to my own ears.
“I apologize for keeping everyone waiting.”
Matteo stood up and pulled out my chair, a gesture too gentlemanly that it surprised me. So, they had me placed beside my future husband, the farthest away from my brother and father.
A clear message to both families, that I was no longer the daughter of the Morelli family but now a Salvatore woman.
The distance to my seat felt impossibly long under their scrutiny, but I kept my chin up and my pace unhurried. The empty chair beside my own was a cutting reminder of the only person missing from this table. My deceased mother.
If she were here, she would have been seated beside me. As any other caring and devoted mother would. Except, Caterina Morelli was anything but loving.
I slid into the chair gracefully, arranging my dress as I sat.
I had avoided any eye contact before, but my gaze finally settled on the person across from me.
Thud.
And that was when I saw him.
Casually sitting back against his chair.
Thud.
Thud.
A half-smirk on his lips.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
His eyes lingered on me, and there was something in them—dark mischief. Almost like he had been waiting for this moment, oh so impatiently. For me to discover him.
For us to come face to face again.
The table separated us, but for a single moment, it disappeared.
And I was transported back to the gazebo, sitting on the bench and him, leaning against the marble pillar.
“What a vision you are, Serafina.” The voice dragged me back to my senses.
I blinked, forcing my gaze away from my mystery man.
“Your beauty wasn’t exaggerated,” Enzo Salvatore continued, smiling but it didn’t reach his eyes. He was quite literally the much older version of Matteo. Silver hair and eyes that had seen too much. Every wrinkle on his face was measured by his experience.
“You’re too kind,” I responded, the practiced words falling easily from my lips.
My attention slid over to my mystery man again.
He was still watching me.
Oh God.
He licked the corner of his lips.
“The dress suits you,” he drawled, his dark stare traveling deliberately from my face to the neckline of my gown before returning to meet my eyes. Confronting. Probing. Invasive.
The challenge in them was unmistakable. “Though I must say, I preferred the black from yesterday. It showed your... devotion to family.”
A test, already. Fuck.
The implication was clear. Did I lack respect for my recently deceased mother?
If I lacked devotion to my biological family… then how was I expected to give the Salvatores my complete loyalty?
My mystery man was setting me up for failure—for his own personal amusement.
Fuck him.
And fuck me.