Chapter 12 #4
My sister has always seemed eager to do whatever Mom and Dad ask of her, but apparently not this time. I wonder why. Is she afraid of marriage, or does she love someone else?
Damiano comes downstairs and joins us, but as soon as he tries to approach me, Mom and Dad emerge from the living room and step between us.
“Do try to smile, girls,” Mom says, giving me and Ariana a pained look. “This is a happy day. When I was introduced to your father, I was so giddy I think I embarrassed myself.”
Dad says with a chuckle, “Nonsense. You were absolutely perfect.”
Mom beams at him. Neither Ariana nor I smile. Damiano has his eyes fixed on the front door, his jaw tight.
The doorbell rings, and Mom steps forward to open it and welcome our guests. A chill wind seems to sweep through the house as Cristiano Montoni enters, tall and proud and wearing a dark suit.
Cristiano’s eyes sweep the room, cold and assessing, before settling on Ariana. There’s something predatory in his gaze, but also weary. Like a man who doesn’t want to play this game.
Behind him is another blond man, almost as handsome as Cristiano, and he’s introduced to me as Andreas.
His body language is tense and uncertain, and I wonder if it’s because he’s in the company of Don Carlucci, Don Cristiano, and Damiano Barone, all of whom are confident, dangerous men.
Adora told me that Andreas’s parents aren’t in the mafia, but Andreas wants to be.
He wants to prove himself and become one of Cristiano’s made men.
I suppose marrying a Barone daughter will make him seem more like one of us. How flattering.
I watch as Andreas seizes my father’s hand with an eagerness that betrays how desperate he is to be accepted.
Meanwhile, Cristiano approaches Ariana with a reserved expression.
He’s a good-looking man, with sun-kissed skin and strong features.
Plus he’s rich. He’s powerful. He’s already a mafia don.
I thought Ariana would be thrilled to meet him.
She’s always been so eager to please Mom and Dad, and so desperate to be the perfect daughter.
When she greets him, her smile is forced. She’s performing happiness but barely managing it. I study her face, and beneath the practiced politeness, I see something raw. Heartbreak. Desperation. Fear.
Damiano’s jaw tightens as he watches Cristiano and Ariana. There’s tension between him and Cristiano that’s even more pronounced after the restaurant ambush that nearly killed us all. I think he’s as uncomfortable as I am, watching our sibling being paired off against her will.
I’m so busy observing all of this that I don’t realize Andreas is standing in front of me and saying my name. When I turn to look at him, he gives a little smirk and a roll of his eyes, as though he can’t believe my attention has been on anyone but him. “Finally.”
It’s exactly like at the Corinthian gala. That entitled assumption that I should be focused solely on him.
Andreas stares at my hair, my face, my breasts, and my hips, his gaze lingering in a way that makes me want to step back. “Are you older or younger than your sister?” he asks.
Well, hello to you too. What kind of question is that? “Younger by a year.”
He looks disappointed. Maybe the older sister is the more sought-after one, like the eldest son in a family being the most important one?
Over his shoulder, Mom is smiling as she watches Cristiano and Andreas speak with their proposed brides-to-be.
“You two don’t look much alike,” he remarks, glancing between me and Ariana.
I stiffen. Of course we don’t. Ariana is Mom and Dad’s biological daughter. I’m the street rat they picked up to keep Damiano happy. But I can’t say that.
“No, we don’t,” I say coolly.
I say nothing more because it wasn’t really a question. His opinion matters to me less than that of far distant stars.
Dad addresses the room with a smile and holds out an inviting hand. “Let’s go in and eat.”
As everyone else walks into the dining room, Andreas stays where he is. “But you’re beautiful in your own way, aren’t you? Your parents sounded pretty desperate to marry you off. Have you been a bad girl, Lucy?”
Andreas is smiling, but there’s something strange about this man. Something calculating. The same calculating look I saw at the gala. I catch Mom’s eye, and it holds a warning. If I make a scene, this will all be over, and I’ll be dead. I bristle and keep my mouth shut.
“Or is it my name you so desperately want?” Andreas smiles. “I get it. The Montoni name is the most prestigious one in Malus, after all.”
His arrogance is astounding. I’ve never felt particularly strongly about being a Barone or the influence my name carries, but right now I feel the urge to snap back at him that a Barone daughter is ten times as prestigious as a second-rate Montoni cousin.
But Mom will be livid if she hears me talking to my future husband that way.
I school my face into blankness and walk into dinner, steeling myself to play the obedient Barone daughter that Mom and Dad want me to be, so that I can keep my head attached to my neck.
Dinner is torture.
The seating arrangement is strategic and cruel. I’m placed between Andreas and Dad, with Damiano directly across from me. Ariana is on Damiano’s right, with Cristiano beside her. Mom sits at the other end of the table, beaming like this is the happiest day of her life.
Every time I glance up, I catch Damiano watching me with such anguish in his eyes that I have to look away. His knuckles are white around his wineglass, and I know he’s barely holding himself together.
I also notice the tension radiating from him whenever Cristiano speaks. The alliance Damiano tried to build crumbled before it even began, and Cristiano knows Damiano went behind his father’s back to arrange that meeting.
I glance down the table at my sister. She’s barely touched her food, pushing it around her plate with trembling hands. Cristiano sits beside her with perfect posture, his expression unreadable as he cuts his meat with precise movements.
“You’ve barely eaten,” Cristiano observes quietly to Ariana. “Is the food not to your liking?”
“It’s fine,” Ariana says, her voice small. “I’m just not very hungry.”
“Nerves?”
Ariana’s eyes flash to his face, then away. “I’m not nervous.”
“No?” Cristiano takes a sip of his wine. “Then perhaps you’re simply unhappy about the prospect of marrying me.”
The table goes quiet. Mom’s smile falters. Damiano’s fork pauses halfway to his mouth.
“Cristiano,” Dad says with forced joviality. “I assure you, Ariana is delighted—”
“Are you?” Cristiano asks Ariana directly, ignoring Dad completely. It’s a power move. A don doesn’t need permission to speak to his future wife. “Delighted?”
My sister’s knuckles are white around her fork. For a moment, something raw flashes across her face. Fear, or grief, or rage, but she buries it quickly. When she speaks, her voice is carefully modulated and perfectly controlled.
“I’m honored,” she says. It’s not an answer to his question, and they both know it. “The Montoni name is very prestigious.”
There’s a long pause. Ariana’s fork trembles slightly in her hand, and she sets it down. She pastes on another smile for Mom’s benefit, tight and strained around the edges.
Damiano is watching this exchange with a frown. I wonder what he’s thinking. Does he disapprove of Cristiano? Or is he just uncomfortable watching his sisters being claimed by men he doesn’t trust?
Andreas, meanwhile, won’t stop talking to me.
“So, Lucy,” he says, leaning closer than I’d like. “I heard about the incident at the restaurant. Terrible business with the Sokolis. You must have been terrified.”
I freeze, my fork halfway to my mouth. I can’t believe he’s bringing that up. The tension around the dinner table skyrockets. “I was never afraid. I had Damiano with me.”
“Of course.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Antonio Conti is still in the hospital, isn’t he? Cristiano mentioned the Sokolis are getting bolder.”
Across the table, Damiano watches Andreas with sharp, glittering eyes.
Andreas cuts into his steak. “I imagine your father is taking extra security precautions. The Barones must be making sure the Sokolis can’t predict your movements again.”
The question is phrased casually, but there’s nothing casual about it. He glances around the table, his eyes finally resting on Dad, as though expecting Don Carlucci to confirm his assumptions.
Dad is deep in conversation with Cristiano and doesn’t answer. Andreas turns back to me expectantly.
“I wouldn’t know,” I say. “Dad doesn’t discuss those things with me.”
“No?” Andreas raises his eyebrows. “But Cristiano mentioned you were at the jewelry auction at the Corinthian. You were working for Don Carlucci, weren’t you? Helping with the gems?”
My stomach drops. I’ve been asking Adora about him, and he’s obviously been asking Cristiano about me.
“Andreas.” Damiano’s voice cuts across the table like a blade. His eyes are black and lethal. “My sister isn’t interested in discussing business. Perhaps you should focus on your dinner instead.”
The temperature around us drops ten degrees.
“I helped out that night,” I say carefully. “But that’s not the same as being involved in security decisions.”
“Of course not.” He smiles again. “Still, you must overhear things. Living in the same house as Don Carlucci and Damiano.”
“Andreas.” Dad has finally noticed our conversation, and his voice cuts across the table, sharp and warning. “This isn’t appropriate dinner conversation. The ladies don’t need to hear about business matters.”
“My apologies, Don Carlucci.” Andreas sits back, but I catch something in his eyes. Frustration. Hunger for information.
The rest of dinner passes in a blur. Andreas tries again, more subtly this time, asking about Dad’s associates and which families we’re closest to. Always phrased innocently, always with that charming smile.
But I’m watching him now. Really watching. And I don’t like what I see.
Down the table, Cristiano and Ariana have settled into uncomfortable silence. When Ariana tries to make conversation, Cristiano responds with the bare minimum required by politeness.
“Ariana is quite accomplished on horseback,” Mom interjects desperately, trying to fill the awkward silence. “She’s been riding since she was six. She’s won several competitions.”
“How impressive,” Cristiano replies.
Ariana takes a careful sip of wine, her movements precise and controlled, like she’s trying very hard not to break.
Mom beams as if this stilted exchange is a rousing success.
When dinner finally ends, I feel like I’ve run a marathon. Andreas walks me to the door, standing too close, his hand hovering near my lower back but not quite touching. He knows Damiano is watching, and he’s testing how far he can push.
“I look forward to getting to know you better, Lucy,” Andreas says. “We have so much to discuss. About your family. About the future.”
I force a smile. “Good night, Andreas.”
Tonight didn’t feel like a polite dinner with my prospective husband. It felt like an interrogation.
There’s something very wrong with Andreas Montoni.