Chapter 20
GAbrIELA
“It’s all about disrupting the status quo.” Riccardo’s voice carries over all the others as we approach the dining area. “I’m telling you, cuz, banking is obsolete. In a few more years, using a debit card will be as primitive as cave drawings. The time for evolution is now.”
As we round the corner, I can see that Rafe is his chosen soundboard for the evening, and even though they’re related, poor Rafe looks like he’d rather cut off his own ears than have this conversation.
Riccardo is well known as a crypto-bro and, in some circles, a scammer. He’s also a big proponent of high-end cocaine and genetic optimization—a future where empathy and weakness have been bred out of the genome.
I’ve heard him described as a megalomaniac, and that seems more accurate by the minute. Truthfully, I can’t think of a single redeeming quality he possesses, and the idea of being married to him and listening to this for the rest of my life makes me feel physically ill.
It’s apparent he’s had a few drinks already in the time it took me to get here from the ballroom. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m already emotionally overloaded, but his voice is more grating than usual.
When he notices that I’ve arrived, a flicker of irritation moves through his gaze as it falls on me. I challenged him earlier, and he didn’t like it.
“Gabriela.” He snaps his fingers like I’m a dog. “Come here. I was just telling Rafe about my latest business venture.”
I join them with all the enthusiasm of a bait fish on a hook, and it must be obvious because Riccardo shoots me a contemptuous look.
“We’ll need to work on how you present yourself to my investors,” he says. “I’ll expect you to network with me and bring something to the table. Aren’t you supposed to have some kind of special talent? I thought that was part of the autism thing.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes at his stupidity. “Sorry to disappoint, but I got the special interests and big emotions kind of autism, not the savant fantasy version. I guess the brochure didn’t cover that.”
Rafe snorts, and Riccardo looks like he’s ready to spit flames. Those are usually the type of thoughts I keep inside my head, but it spilled out before I could really think of the consequences. For once, I don’t regret it. He’s an asshole.
“Fine,” Riccardo grits out. “You can just stand here and look pretty while you pretend you understand what I’m talking about. You’ll have to get used to it, since you’ll be my wife.”
He emphasizes that last part like he’s staking a claim on me. Rafe clenches his jaw, and I’m fairly certain he wants to punch his lights out.
“I’d say Gabi is already well-practiced at the art of pretending. She seems to tolerate you, doesn’t she?”
Rafe says it like it’s a joke, but it’s definitely not. And Riccardo is definitely not laughing.
“Very funny,” Riccardo snaps. “But I think Gabi knows how lucky she is to be engaged to a high-value man.”
I groan inwardly as I imagine him sitting at home, listening to incel podcasts.
Now, he’s putting me in a position where he wants me to agree with him out loud—like that means anything.
If Michael were here, I probably would have managed to force the words out, but right now, I can’t seem to get my mouth to cooperate.
My hesitation only pisses him off even more.
Thankfully, Rafe distracts him by pointing at his ear. “They run out of picture books at the tattoo parlor, or did you lose a bet?”
“What are you talking about?” Riccardo blanches.
“You have a penis behind your ear.”
“Motherfucker,” Riccardo hisses under his breath. “It was a prank. I’m getting it removed.”
“Hmm.” Rafe scrapes a hand over his jaw, trying to hide his amusement.
His phone vibrates, and he checks out of the conversation momentarily while he taps out a text. That’s when Riccardo chooses to grab my arm, squeezing it as he leans in to hiss in my ear.
“Would it kill you to smile when you see me? You might be hot, but your little quirks are getting annoying. Michael said you had a handle on them.”
I want to tell him Romeo never had a problem with my "quirks," because I know that’s what this is really about. He’s feeling emasculated and disrespected, and now he wants me to publicly acknowledge his superiority and his oh so charitable offer of marrying me.
Luckily, Nonna interrupts the moment and tells us all to sit down so dinner can be served. I breathe a sigh of relief as she directs each of us to our seats, intentionally guiding me to the opposite side of the table to sit across from Riccardo. At least he won’t be able to grope me during dinner.
Even Riccardo knows better than to try to argue with a nonna when he’s a guest at her table. However, that doesn’t stop him from directing his ire at me.
“Do you have to bring that mutt with you to dinner?” He sneers at Beppe.
“He’s her support animal.” Mariella glares at him. “If she wants to bring him to dinner with us, she fucking will.”
“Mariella,” Angelo sighs.
“What?”
“You know how Nonna feels about the word fuck at Sunday dinner.”
“You say it all the time.” She points out. “Fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“Madonna Mia.” Nonna throws her hands into the air, reprimanding Mariella about the Lord’s day in a string of rapid-fire Italian.
They all start arguing, and I hear Riccardo mutter something that sounds an awful lot like, not in my house, and I know he’s referring to Beppe.
The thought fills my veins with ice, and I know now without a shadow of a doubt I can’t go through with this marriage.
But I also don’t know how to get out of it.
“I need another drink,” Riccardo grouses.
Nonna, being the gracious host she is, comes around the table to accommodate him.
She picks up his glass and scoops ice from a bucket on the sideboard just as Romeo appears.
He and Rafe exchange a look as Romeo sweeps by and dumps something into the glass Nonna is preparing for Riccardo.
It’s some kind of clear liquid, and it doesn’t seem to faze Nonna in the slightest as she hands the glass to Riccardo, who’s none the wiser.
He reaches for a bottle of whiskey on the table and pours himself half a glass, downing it in a few swallows as if this dinner is testing his last nerve.
His mood doesn’t improve when Nonna directs Romeo to sit in the one empty seat beside me.
He glances between the two of us, drumming his fingers on the table. I’m already at my sensory threshold, and right now that sound may as well be shotgun blasts.
I try to calm myself, but Riccardo notices me flinch when he clinks his glass against his plate, and he smirks. I swear he’s making it his personal mission to send me over the edge. He launches into another tirade about crypto, his voice unnecessarily loud.
“So that’s when I told him volatility scares the weak. You have to dominate and diversify.” He slams his hand on the table, rattling the dishes as he laughs at his own punchline. “You should have seen his face. What an idiot.”
I close my eyes as Beppe nudges me, sensing my distress. He’s not the only one. I feel Romeo’s thigh bump against mine—once, twice, then a few more times in succession. It’s a rhythm, I think. A different song.
I welcome the distraction, following along as he starts to tap his fingers against the table, and I open my eyes to watch. After a few more seconds, the pattern emerges, pulling a familiar rhythm from memory.
"Chalk Outlines" by Ren and Chinchilla.
Without making a conscious decision, my fingers move of their own accord, tapping against the table when we get to Chinchilla’s part of the song. It’s a duet.
Soon, we’re tapping together, and everything around us disappears as my heart begins to slow and my breathing calms.
It isn’t until we finish, and I’m staring at him, that I realize it was the song I’d added to my journal. The one I’d coded for Orion—being Romeo.
Of course, it shouldn’t surprise me that he figured it out. That’s how his brain works. But I’m less certain of whether he’s figured out that he is Orion.
“What are you two doing over there?” Riccardo snaps.
Slowly, I drag my gaze away from Romeo and turn to look at Riccardo. He’s sweating profusely, and he looks more pale than he was a few minutes ago.
“What kind of secret—” Before he can finish that sentence, he clutches his stomach, a horrified expression washing over his face as a loud gurgle fills the silence.
“Fuck!” He shoves his chair backward, scurrying from the table as quickly as he can.
“Everything okay, Riccardo?” Rafe calls after him, feigning concern.
“Fine,” he croaks.
Just as soon as he says it, he whimpers, and a wet, explosive sound ripples through the air. Liquid soaks into the back of his pants, and he curses.
“Oh, that doesn’t look too good, cuz,” Rafe says. “I think you just shit yourself.”
“Yeah, thanks, Captain Obvious.”
He waddles off, and everyone waits until he’s out of sight before laughter erupts at the table. I glance up at Romeo, and he wipes the amusement from his face.
“Why did you do that?” I ask.
“Because he’s a dick.” Romeo shrugs. “You gonna snitch on me, Gabi?”
I search his face, wondering why that question feels like a test, or if I’m just reading too much into things. His eyes are slightly glazed, and he looks relaxed, so he must have done as Angelo suggested and smoked a blunt. Enough to take the edge off, but not enough to disarm his sharpness.
“Why are you being nice to me?”
“You said you didn’t want to fight anymore,” he murmurs. “This is me not fighting with you.”
My traitorous gaze drifts to his lips, and I blurt something stupid before I can stop myself.
“I’m with someone, so whatever this is—don’t think I’m flirting with you.”
A hint of humor flashes through his eyes. “Lucky him.”
“It’s not Riccardo,” I clarify, only realizing my mistake a moment after I say it.