Chapter 14
D amiano sits at the head of the table in the dining room, commanding as always. To his right, Riccardo Sartori leans back in his chair, swirling red wine in his glass. His wife Ava sits beside him, her diamond necklace throwing prisms across the white tablecloth.
And then there's Bruno. My fiancé.
The word feels foreign even in my thoughts. He sits across from me, his dark eyes occasionally meeting mine before sliding away. He hasn't said much beyond formal greetings, which I appreciate. I'm not ready for small talk with the man I'm supposed to marry.
I push my risotto around my plate, appetite gone despite Ettore's perfect preparation. The conversation flows around me while I remain silent.
My gaze drifts to Daniel, who stands against the wall behind Damiano. His face is a mask of professionalism, but I notice the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes constantly scan the room. The bandage on his arm is hidden beneath his suit jacket, but I know it's there.
"Hayes," Damiano says suddenly, interrupting Riccardo's monologue about liquor suppliers. "Sit down and eat something. You've been on your feet all day."
Daniel's expression flickers with reluctance. "I'm fine, sir."
"It wasn't a suggestion," Damiano replies, gesturing to the empty chair at the far end of the table.
I watch Daniel's internal struggle play across his face. Finally, he gives a curt nod and moves to the chair.
Ginerva appears immediately with a plate, setting it before Daniel with a warm smile. Daniel murmurs his thanks, his discomfort obvious in the rigid set of his shoulders.
"So," Riccardo says, breaking the awkward silence, "we should discuss the engagement announcement. I'm thinking we hold a formal event at the Venetian Rose once it reopens."
"The casino won't reopen for at least three weeks," Damiano counters. "The Gaming Commission is dragging their feet."
"Then we'll host it at one of our venues," Ava suggests, her voice smooth as silk. "The Grand Ballroom at the Sartori Hotel would be perfect."
I feel Bruno's eyes on me, studying my reaction. When I look up, his gaze is calculating rather than warm. This is business for him too.
"What do you think, Lucrezia?" Ava asks, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. "Would you prefer something intimate or grand?"
All eyes turn to me. I set down my fork, the soft clink against china unnaturally loud in the sudden silence.
"I don't have a preference," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "Whatever works best for both families."
I take a sip of water, trying to ease the dryness in my throat. "Actually, there's something we should consider. The press has been relentless since the casino incident."
Damiano's expression darkens. "Bastards."
"It's not just about the shooting," I continue. "They're also following up on my announcement about funding the women's shelter. The reporters won't leave us alone until they have something else to focus on."
I take a deep breath, feeling everyone's eyes on me. The women's shelter has been my passion project for months now, though few understand why it matters so much to me.
After what happened to me I thought I was alone in my darkness. Then I met Sienna. Sweet, broken Sienna who endured years of abuse before Enzo found her.
And then Hazel came into our lives with bruises she tried to hide beneath makeup and long sleeves. Her husband—the man who vowed to love her—had used his fists to control her.
We were three women from different worlds, connected by trauma that no one should ever experience.
I think about the statistics I've memorized during my research. One in three women. One in three. The number haunts me at night.
I hate that I understand the shame that keeps women silent, the fear that keeps them trapped.
The shelter isn't just about building walls and rooms. It's about creating a space where broken women can remember they're still whole inside. Where they can find their strength again, just as I'm trying to find mine.
Bruno cuts off my thoughts. "And you think our engagement will distract them?"
"Not just the engagement," Ava says, leaning forward with sudden interest. "A grand celebration would give them exactly what they want—photos, gossip, something to fill their columns besides speculation about violence and family rivalries."
Riccardo nods slowly. "She's right. The sooner we give them a spectacle, the sooner they'll back off our business dealings."
"We could hold the party the day after tomorrow," Ava suggests, already pulling out her phone. "I know it's rushed, but I have connections who can make it happen."
I feel a flicker of panic at how quickly this is moving. "That soon?"
"The faster we move, the better," Damiano says, his tone leaving no room for argument. "We need the press focused on wedding bells, not gunshots."
From his position at the end of the table, Daniel shifts slightly. I catch his eye for just a moment before looking away.
"What about the shelter fund?" Bruno asks unexpectedly. "If that's drawing attention, perhaps we should address it."
I straighten my shoulders. "My friend Scarlett has agreed to run the foundation until things settle down. She has experience in non-profit management, and she's not directly connected to either family, which will help with legitimacy."
"Smart," Riccardo says with approval. "Keeps your charitable work at arm's length while maintaining control."
"It's not about control," I say, more sharply than intended. "It's about helping women who need it."
An uncomfortable silence falls over the table. I feel Bruno studying me with renewed interest.
"Of course," Ava says smoothly, breaking the tension. "And a high-profile engagement party will actually bring more attention to your cause. We could even incorporate a fundraising element."
I hadn't considered that angle. "That... could work."
"Then it's settled," Damiano declares. "A grand engagement party at the Sartori Hotel in New York the day after tomorrow. We'll invite the press, give them their photo opportunity, and hopefully buy ourselves some peace."
I watch as Riccardo sets down his wine glass, his expression shifting to something more serious.
"Damiano, perhaps we should continue our discussion about the Russians in your office since we settled the marriage thing," Riccardo suggests, his tone making it clear it's not really a suggestion.
Damiano nods once, pushing back from the table. "Of course. Enzo, join us."
Bruno stands without being asked, straightening his tie. "I'll come as well."
Just like that, the men rise in unison. The business that actually matters will happen behind closed doors, while we're expected to discuss flower arrangements and guest lists.
As they file out, I glance around at the remaining faces. Something's off. The silence feels heavy, unnatural.
Zoe stares down at her plate, pushing food around with her fork. She hasn't looked at me once since we sat down. Not a single glance.
If our eyes met, I know what would happen. We'd both break. The tears we're holding back would come flooding out.
I shift my gaze to Sienna, expecting her usual calm presence. Instead, I find her watching me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. Her eyes are wide, almost panicked, and when she catches me looking, something flashes across her face. A warning.
Run.
That's what her expression screams at me. Run while you still can.
Even Ava seems subdued, her social polish dimmed. She sips her wine mechanically, her eyes distant.
"Excuse me," I manage to say, pushing back my chair. "I need to use the restroom."
No one protests. No one even acknowledges that I've spoken.
I walk out of the dining room with measured steps, refusing to rush despite the pressure building in my chest. Only when I'm safely in the hallway do I quicken my pace, nearly running to the powder room at the end of the corridor.
I lock the door behind me and grip the marble countertop.
The tears come without warning, hot and fast. I press my hand against my mouth to muffle any sound that might escape. Crying is weakness. Crying is surrender.
But I can't stop. Everything about this evening feels wrong. The way my family avoids my gaze.
I grab a hand towel and press it against my face, absorbing the tears. I never cry.
But here, alone in this bathroom, watching my engagement party being planned like a military operation while my family acts like strangers…it's too much.
I take deep breaths, trying to regain control. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Just like Daniel taught me during my panic attacks.
I remain seated as Lucrezia excuses herself from the table. Every instinct screams at me to follow her. But I've learned when she needs space. This is one of those times.
My eyes track her movement until she disappears down the hallway. Only then do I shift my attention back to the table, where an unnatural silence has fallen over the remaining people.
Matteo catches my eye from across the table. His expression is strange. He tilts his head slightly toward Hazel, who sits beside Sienna.
Hazel meets my gaze and gives me a subtle gesture with her hand, palm down, pressing toward the table. Calm down.
How the fuck does she know I'm not calm? My face is a mask of professional indifference. Years of military training have taught me to hide every emotion.
But somehow she sees through it.
I force my shoulders to relax.
This is my punishment. For all the men I've killed. For all the blood on my hands. For daring to feel something for a woman so far above my station that I might as well be reaching for the stars.
I'm her bodyguard. My job is to stand in the shadows and keep her safe while she lives her life—gets engaged, gets married, has children with another man. All while I watch in silence, my feelings locked away where they can't hurt anyone but me.
Zoe rises suddenly, murmuring something about checking on the children. Sienna follows a moment later, leaving only Hazel and Ava at the table.