CHAPTER THREE
I was taught and trained for this very moment. To be the woman they expected… wanted me to be.
“Emerald signifies abundance, prosperity and new beginning,” I countered, poised and confident.
Emerald also meant wealth.
Royalty.
And our families were nothing short of royalty— that was if royalty ruled through fear and if crowns were forged with bullets. Our hands were bloodied in the most despicable and barbaric way.
“And the new bride is meant to bring prosperity and balance, right?” He mused in a humorous tone, as if he found the idea of me bringing prosperity laughable. Unattainable.
“That is correct,” I agreed softly.
His gaze never left mine. “So you think of yourself as some kind of savior to our family?”
My lips parted with a soft, inaudible gasp. Shit. Shock and horror coursed through me. “I d-didn’t say that.”
My role in the Salvatore family could never be as important as a savior or a protector. And I sure as hell couldn’t dream of being anything… more.
Dreaming was for pretty, starry-eyed girls.
And I stopped dreaming when I was fifteen.
“That’s enough.” Matteo’s voice sliced through the tension, sharp and commanding. “It’s not very gentlemanly to bully your future sister-in-law on our first formal dinner together, is it?”
Mystery man didn’t look the least bit chastised. Instead, his eyes gleamed with wicked amusement.
Wait—
Future sister-in-law.
Oh.
Blood rushed between my ears in a deafening roar and the knots in my stomach seemed to tighten. Twisted and painful.
My mystery man from the gazebo was Matteo’s brother.
The man I mistakenly flirted with and thought I would marry was Matteo’s brother.
They didn’t look alike but I saw the familiarity now. They both had Enzo’s eyes: shape and color. The same dark bluish eyes that sometimes looked stormy gray.
“My apologies,” he said, though his tone suggested he was anything but sorry. “I forget my manners sometimes.”
I kept my face carefully composed, even as my heart thundered against my rib cage.
Matteo turned to me, his expression softening marginally. “That’s my dear younger brother. Adrian Salvatore,” Matteo introduced, his tone formal but with an underlying current of warning. “You have to excuse his rudeness. He is always like this.”
He placed his hand over mine on the table, a touch that was so unexpected that it shocked me to my core. We were betrothed, yes. Our wedding was in six weeks. I didn’t know what about his touch made me feel… awkward.
A tensed shiver slid down my spine.
His hand tightened around mine. A possessive gesture that didn’t escape anyone’s notice.
Especially Adrian’s.
His gaze shifted to our entwined hands and his despicable smirk widened, revealing perfect white teeth.
There was something cruel about him. A savage attractiveness that I was starting to detest.
“Forgive me, truly,” Adrian purred. “I promise there was nothing critical about my comment. No offense intended.”
Yeah… lies.
He meant to be derogatory on purpose.
Men like him thrived on making others uncomfortable. It was all a power-play.
“Manners were never taught in the Salvatore household, it seems,” Damon interjected, his voice a cold slice through the tension. “Or perhaps only the younger son missed those lessons.”
Adrian’s eyes flashed dangerously as he shifted his attention to my brother. “And the Morelli men are so civil and cultured? Tell me, Damon, how many bones have been broken and how many bodies have you buried with those well-mannered hands of yours?”
“At least I know how to conduct myself at a dinner table,” Damon snapped. “Unlike some who think antagonizing an innocent woman makes them appear superior or clever.”
He spat the word clever, as if it tasted foul on his tongue. As if the word was too much to describe Adrian Salvatore.
“Antagonizing?” Adrian laughed, the sound hollow and sharp. “I was simply making conversation. Your dear sister doesn’t seem nearly as delicate as you think.”
His eyes landed on me again. He ran his tongue over his teeth in the most crude way I could imagine him doing in the presence of our families. “Unless she wants to be antagonized by me…”
Damon’s knuckles whitened around his knife. Oh my God, I worried my brother was going to stab Adrian and end this foolish treaty before it could even take effect.
No, Damon was too smart for that. He had to be. “You better watch your mouth—”
“And that is enough,” my father snapped, instantly shutting down the argument. “We are here to celebrate a union, not create further division. Damon is just protective of his sister, but I’m sure Serafina wasn’t troubled by Adrian’s words. Right?”
“Yes, no offense taken,” I responded as ever politely.
Enzo cleared his throat. “Santino is right. Let us remember why we’re here.” He cast a disapproving glance at his younger son before raising his wine glass. “To a new beginning and stronger alliances.”
My father raised his glass in response, his expression unreadable. “To the union of our families.”
Everyone around the table raised their glasses in unison.
I lifted my own glass, the crystal cool against my fingers, and took a delicate sip.
The silence that followed was thick with unspoken animosity.
Matteo’s grip tightened fractionally on my hand, a warning or perhaps reassurance; I couldn’t tell which before he let go.
The servers entered then, a parade of white-gloved staff carrying silver platters. The first course was a delicate seafood appetizer arranged with artistic precision.
“So, tell us, Serafina,” Enzo started, surely to make some kind of conversation and to end this dreaded silence. “Six years is a long time to be away from family. What have you been up to in California?”
“Studying, mostly.” I took a small bite of my appetizer. “Though I did develop an appreciation for the ocean. I spent a lot of my time at the seaside. There’s something utterly compelling about standing at the edge of something so vast. Mysterious. Undiscovered. It’s so beautiful and serene.”
“How poetic,” Adrian muttered under his breath, but loud enough for the whole table to hear. “I’ve always found that the most treacherous things are the ones that appear beautiful on the surface.”
“Like family dinners?” I shot back before I could possibly stop myself. What was it about him that seemed to make me lose my composure?
The way he stared at me so crudely, his conceited words, and his arrogant actions… everything about him was so damn infuriating.
A flash of surprise crossed his face at my words, quickly replaced by genuine amusement. “Exactly, like family dinners,” he agreed, raising his wine glass slightly in my direction. “To treacherous beauty and dangerous loyalty.”
“Adrian, how typical of you to take over the conversation. Will you give the rest of us a chance to get to know Serafina?”
The sweet, melodic voice interrupting us belonged to the young woman, one that was similar to my age, sitting across the table.
Giulia Salvatore. Twenty years old. Soon to be married into the Bianchi’s family.
I recognized her because she was the only Salvatore with a social media account. I had tried researching the family beforehand but Giulia was the only one with an online presence.
While everyone lived in the shadows, she seemed to enjoy the freedom of being a beauty influencer. Giulia was the perfect embodiment of old money and Italian elegance, admired by millions, but I knew it was a carefully crafted illusion of normalcy.
Beside her sat Beatrice.
Her mother.
Enzo never remarried after the death of his second wife, and Beatrice was his longest surviving mistress. It was rare for a woman of her standing to attend such formal dinners.
But she was no longer just a mistress. She was recognized as a consort even though they were never legally married.
Enzo needed a woman by his side to soften him, to make him appear more humane. Beatrice was the perfect decoy for his facade. To the rest of the world, she represented balance and strength, Enzo’s ever so supportive partner.
But in reality, Beatrice was a queen without a crown. Insignificant.
And so she remained unspoken.
Silenced.
“So, Serafina,” Giulia began, her tone deliberately conversational, “I understand you were studying in California. Private school and then University, am I right? What subject interested you?”
“Yes, I went to a private all-girls Catholic school—”
“So innocent,” Adrian huffed under his breath. “So typical.”
Asshole.
In this moment, I chose to be the better person and ignored Adrian’s callous taunting. “—Before going to UCLA, I was majoring in Art History, with a minor in business administration.”
Adrian snorted softly, and I saw Matteo shoot him a warning glance.
“An interesting combination,” Matteo said gently. His statement caught me off guard. I hadn’t expected him to show any interest in my education. Especially since my brother and father seemed to continuously dismiss my studies.
“We have some private galleries in New York City. Perhaps you could be of assistance and offer some insight,” he continued.
I blinked in surprise. What was he trying to say? Was my knowledge something valuable to him? That I might have some role beyond just being his wife and warming his bed?
“I think I would enjoy that,” I responded, cautiously and not to sound too eager.
“Of course you would,” Adrian cut in. Why won’t he just shut up? It was almost as if he wanted to be annoying on purpose.
“Let me take a guess,” he drawled, his voice dripping with mockery. “You also find yourself interested in charities, expensive galas and other senseless pursuits? How frivolous and superficial. Another mafia princess playing a philanthropist.”
I didn’t let his words affect my composure, though an invisible, unbearable fist tightened around my chest. Like a cutting vise. How dared he?
He knew nothing about me.
About my life.
My sacrifices.
My loss.
My pain.
He knew nothing.
And yet he judged me so harshly.