Chapter 13 Giuliana #2
But what strikes me most is the women. Beautiful, sophisticated women who move around him with a familiarity that speaks of long acquaintance and possibly more.
They touch his arm with casual intimacy, laugh at his comments with genuine warmth, and look at me with barely concealed assessment.
They’re measuring whether I’m worthy of the position they probably once hoped to claim.
A stunning brunette in a slinky gold dress approaches with champagne glasses, pressing one into Luca’s hand with a megawatt smile to show off her blindingly white teeth. “Luca, darling,” she nearly purrs, “it’s been too long. You never call anymore.”
“Isabella.” Luca accepts the champagne but doesn’t return her smile. “How’s your husband?”
“Boring as ever.” She laughs falsely. Her dark eyes slide to me, assessment turning to dismissal. “And this must be your little fiancée. How…quaint.”
The condescension in her tone makes my hackles rise, but I force myself to smile politely. “Giuliana Conti. Nice to meet you.”
“I’m sure.” Isabella’s attention returns to Luca like I’m already forgotten. “We should catch up properly sometime,” she says, her voice dropping to a seductive whisper. “Without the crowds.”
It takes everything in me to keep my jaw wired shut even though it’s begging to be dropped to the floor. Is she seriously propositioning Luca right in front of me?
“I’m afraid my schedule is quite full these days,” Luca replies, his voice cooling noticeably. “Between business and wedding preparations.”
“Of course.” Isabella’s smile turns brittle. “Well, congratulations on your…arrangement. I hope it works out for you both.”
She glides away, and I’m left feeling inadequate in ways I hate. These women—beautiful, confident, comfortable in this world of violence and power—they belong here in ways I never could. They speak the language, understand the rules, navigate the dangerous social dynamics with practiced ease.
I’m just a veterinarian playing dress-up in clothes I didn’t choose, pretending to be something I’m not.
“Ignore Isabella,” Luca murmurs, his hand tightening possessively on my waist. “She’s bitter because I refused her advances years ago.”
“It’s fine,” I lie, because what else can I say? That watching these women circle him makes me realize how temporary my position is? That I don’t belong in this world and everyone here knows it?
We’re rescued from further awkward encounters by a dinner bell—an actual crystal bell, because apparently that’s how crime lords signal meals. The crowd begins moving toward what I assume is a dining room, and Luca guides me along with the flow.
The dining room is fucking obscenely opulent.
A table that seats forty stretches down the center, set with China and crystal and enough silverware to confuse an etiquette expert.
Place cards indicate assigned seating. Luca and I are positioned near the middle, close enough to Salvatore’s head of the table position to indicate respect but not so close as to suggest equality.
I find myself seated between Luca and an older man who introduces himself as Antonio Benedetto—another crime family head. Across from me is Natasha, her perfect features arranged in an expression of polite interest that doesn’t quite hide the assessment in her eyes.
“So,” Natasha says as waiters begin serving the first course—some seafood thing that looks too fancy to eat, “how are you adjusting to your new life, Dr. Conti?”
The question seems innocent enough, but there’s something sharp underneath. “It’s been an adjustment,” I admit carefully. “But Luca’s been very…patient.”
Her perfectly shaped eyebrow arches. “Patient. What an interesting choice of words.” She takes a delicate sip of wine. “Most women in your position would use terms like ‘attentive’ or ‘generous’ or ‘devoted.’”
Heat creeps up my neck. I need to play my part. “I’m not most women,” I respond.
“Clearly.” Natasha’s smile is victorious. “Which makes you either very brave or very foolish. I haven’t decided which yet.”
Before I can formulate a response that won’t get me in trouble, Salvatore stands at the head of the table, tapping his crystal wine glass with a fork. The conversations gradually die down as attention turns toward our host.
“Friends, colleagues, family,” he begins, his voice carrying easily through the large room. “Thank you all for joining us tonight. It’s not often we have such a wonderful excuse to gather—a celebration of new beginnings, of alliances forged and bonds strengthened.”
His eyes sweep the table, landing briefly on Luca and me. My stomach clenches.
“Luca Marchetti’s engagement to the lovely Dr. Conti represents exactly the kind of stability and commitment our community needs. A reminder that even in our world, there’s room for love, for family, for creating bonds that lasts beyond temporary power plays.”
The hypocrisy makes me want to scream. This man—this murderer who orchestrated Marco’s death, who used my father as a disposable pawn—is standing here giving speeches about stability and commitment like he values anything beyond his own advancement.
“So please, join me in raising a glass to Luca and Giuliana. May your marriage be long, prosperous, and filled with the kind of happiness we all deserve.” He lifts his glass.
Glasses rise around the table. “To Luca and Giuliana,” the crowd echoes.
I lift my wine glass with trembling fingers, forcing myself to smile, to nod graciously, to play the role expected of me. Across the table, Natasha watches with knowing eyes, and I wonder what she sees—a woman in love with her fiancé or someone barely holding herself together?
Maybe both.
The dinner continues with course after endless course.
Soup, salad, fish, palate cleanser, main course, dessert, each one more elaborate than the last. Conversations flow around me about business and territory.
Luca participates with easy confidence, his hand occasionally finding my thigh under the table in a possessive gesture that makes my breath catch.
I’m hyperaware of Salvatore’s presence. Every time he laughs, every time his voice carries over other conversations, my hands clench around my fork.
Your father sold the information that got him killed.
Luca’s words from weeks ago echo in my head. Except it wasn’t that simple. My father didn’t simply sell the information. He was coerced, manipulated, and used as a pawn by the man who gave a toast about loyalty and family bonds.
The hypocrisy makes me want to scream.
By the time dessert is served, some elaborate chocolate creation that I’m sure I would have loved in any other situation, I’m exhausted from the effort of maintaining composure.
My face hurts from smiling, my body aches from sitting rigidly upright, and the wine I’ve been sipping to calm my nerves is making everything feel slightly unreal.
“I need to speak with Salvatore and a few others about business,” Luca murmurs against my ear, his breath warm on my skin. “Will you be alright on your own for a bit?”
Terror spikes through me at the thought of being alone in this house. “How long?” I ask, hating how weak my voice sounds.
“Maybe an hour. There’s a sitting room off the main hall where some of the wives gather. You could join them, or—”
“I’ll be fine,” I interrupt, not wanting to spend an hour with women who already see me as an outsider. “I’ll just…find somewhere quiet.”
His dark eyes search mine, probably seeing more than I want him to.
“Don’t wander off alone,” he orders. “Stay visible. These people aren’t all friends, and without me there to make it clear you’re off-limits…
” He stops, nostrils flaring as he takes a deep breath. “Just stay where people can see you.”
The warning should feel protective. Instead, it just reminds me how vulnerable I am without his presence. “I understand.”
He presses another kiss to my temple—it means nothing, I tell myself—and stands, following Salvatore and several other men toward what’s probably a study for their private discussions.
I’m left at the table with the remaining guests, feeling suddenly exposed without Luca’s presence. Natasha has moved to join a conversation at the other end, and the older man beside me is deep in discussion with his neighbor.
I should probably join the wives in the sitting room and make an effort to fit in. But the thought of more small talk, more pretending, more navigating social dynamics I don’t understand, makes me want to crawl out of my skin.
Instead, I excuse myself quietly and slip away from the dining room, seeking refuge in the relative anonymity of Romano’s excessive mansion.
The hallways are quieter than the public rooms, with only occasional staff members passing by. I wander aimlessly, not really looking for anything specific, just needing space to breathe without performing for an audience.
That’s when I hear footsteps behind me. They’re heavier than a staff member’s and purposeful in their approach.
“Lost, beautiful?”
I turn to find a man probably in his mid-twenties approaching with confident swagger that immediately puts me on edge.
He’s handsome with a strong jawline, styled dark hair, and expensive suit tailored to show off a gym-sculpted body.
But there’s something in his dark eyes—cruel amusement, entitlement—that makes warning bells ring in my head.
Everything about him screams danger, but in a different way than Luca. Where Luca’s danger is cold and calculated, this man’s is hot and reckless. Unpredictable.
“Just looking for the restroom,” I lie, already backing up a step.
“Allow me to escort you.” He closes the distance I just created, moving into my personal space with casual disregard for boundaries. “I’m Rico Romano. Salvatore’s son.” His smile is too wide, and horror rises in me. Salvatore’s son. “And you’re Luca’s new acquisition. The veterinarian, right?”
Acquisition. The word makes my skin crawl.