Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The Lamborghini Urus purrs beneath us as we glide through Chicago's downtown streets. Behind us, two black SUVs follow at a discreet distance—Noah and Alessio in one, four of my best men in the other. I catch Zoe eyeing the rearview mirror.
"They'll keep their distance at Riccardo's," I say, shifting gears smoothly. "The Sartoris respect their privacy as much as we do."
Zoe's fingers trace the leather dashboard. "This isn't exactly subtle."
I smirk. "This is Chicago. Nothing's subtle here." I glance at her—her green dress hugs her curves perfectly, making her eyes seem even more vibrant. "Beautiful women deserve beautiful things."
She turns to me, one eyebrow raised. "So I'm one of your things now?"
"You know what I mean." I focus back on the road. "Riccardo has a wife, Ava. Smart woman. Helps him run their legitimate ventures."
"Tell me more about the Sartoris," she says.
"Riccardo has a sister, Vittoria. Headstrong, brilliant with tech. Four brothers too, but Alessio mentioned it'll just be the three of them tonight—Riccardo, Ava, and Vittoria."
"Sounds intimate."
"It is. Riccardo always does this—informal dinner first, business later. Every brother follows the same pattern." I slow as we approach a red light. "My father always said breaking bread comes before breaking deals."
I feel her studying my profile. "You trust them that much?"
"They're Italian, like us. Old country values." The light changes, and I accelerate smoothly. "My father trusted Santo Sartori. That's enough for me."
"Family loyalty above all," she murmurs.
"Exactly." I reach over, my hand resting briefly on her thigh. "Tonight, we're just two couples getting acquainted."
"And what's my role in all this?"
I turn onto Lake Shore Drive, the water glittering to our right under the setting sun. "Be yourself. Ava's sharp—she'll see through any act. Vittoria too."
"Myself?" She laughs softly. "Careful what you wish for."
I squeeze her thigh gently. "The version of yourself would be preferable."
Her eyes widen slightly, but she recovers quickly, a small smile playing on her lips. "I'll see what I can do."
We pull up to the Sartori estate, a sprawling limestone mansion nestled behind wrought iron gates that swing open as we approach. Security cameras track our movement, nearly invisible among the carefully manicured hedges. Riccardo's security rivals mine—as it should.
I kill the engine and turn to Zoe, who's checking her reflection in the visor mirror.
"You look perfect," I tell her.
"I wasn't asking for your approval." But there's less bite in her words than usual.
I reach out, tucking a strand of golden hair behind her ear. Her skin warms under my touch. "Remember, these people matter to me. To us."
Her eyes meet mine, challenging but not hostile. Progress.
"Smile like you mean it," I say, leaning closer until my lips brush her ear. "Everything's going to be okay. You've faced worse than dinner with the Sartoris."
"Like marrying you?" The corner of her mouth twitches.
I laugh despite myself. "Exactly like that."
We exit the car into the cool Chicago evening. I place my hand at the small of her back as we walk up the stone steps. The doors open before we reach them.
Riccardo Sartori stands in the entrance, commanding even in his own home. His salt-and-pepper hair is perfectly styled, his tailored suit impeccable. Beside him stands Ava, elegant in a deep burgundy dress that complements her olive skin.
"Damiano." Riccardo's voice fills the foyer as he extends his hand. "Welcome to Chicago."
I take his hand, feeling the firm grip of respect between equals. "Riccardo. Good to see you."
"And this must be your bride." His dark eyes turn to Zoe, assessing.
"My wife," I correct, my hand tightening slightly on her waist. "Zoe, this is Riccardo Sartori."
Zoe offers her hand with practiced poise. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Sartori."
Riccardo takes her hand, bowing slightly. "The pleasure is mine. And please, call me Riccardo."
Ava steps forward, her warm smile directed at Zoe. "We've been looking forward to meeting you. I'm Ava."
The two women exchange greetings as Riccardo guides us inside. The mansion opens into a grand foyer with marble floors and a crystal chandelier that catches light like scattered diamonds.
I follow Riccardo's stride through his home, acutely aware of Zoe beside me.
The living room opens before us—a space of calculated luxury with leather furniture and original artwork adorning the walls.
A Caravaggio hangs above the fireplace, its dramatic shadows fitting for a man of Riccardo's standing.
"Please, make yourselves comfortable," Riccardo gestures toward a leather sectional. "What can I offer you? I've acquired an excellent Barolo from Piedmont that would be worth your attention."
"You know me well," I say, settling next to Zoe. My hand finds her hand as we sit, a gesture both possessive and reassuring.
Ava takes a seat across from us, her movements graceful and deliberate. "Damiano, Zoe must have been quite the woman to finally capture the elusive Feretti bachelor."
Zoe shifts slightly beside me. I feel her body tense, then relax.
"Sometimes the right person arrives when you least expect it," I reply, my eyes never leaving Zoe's profile.
Riccardo returns with crystal glasses and pours the deep ruby liquid with practiced precision. "To new alliances," he says, raising his glass.
We touch glasses, the crystal singing softly. The wine coats my tongue—rich, complex, with underlying notes of tobacco and leather.
"I hear the expansion in Queens is proceeding well," Riccardo comments, his tone casual though his eyes remain sharp.
"Steady progress," I reply. "The arrangement has benefits for all involved."
The conversation drifts to safer topics—a new restaurant in Manhattan, the disappointing performance of the Yankees, the merits of various Italian vineyards.
Zoe plays her part beautifully, offering intelligent comments and asking appropriate questions.
She's a natural, and I find myself watching her more than necessary.
Footsteps sound in the hallway, quick and determined. The door swings open, and Vittoria Sartori enters like a burst of energy. Her short pixie cut frames striking green eyes, and despite her petite frame, she commands attention immediately.
"Sorry I'm late," she says, not sounding particularly apologetic. "Traffic was murder—literally. Someone decided to crash on Michigan Avenue." Her eyes find me, and a smile breaks across her face. "Damiano Feretti. It's been too long."
I stand, and she embraces me with genuine warmth—something rare in our world. "Vittoria. Still causing trouble?"
"Always," she laughs, then turns to Zoe. "And you must be the woman who finally tamed this one." She extends her hand. "Vittoria Sartori."
Zoe takes her hand with a genuine smile. "Zoe Feretti."
Something in my chest tightens when she says my name so naturally.
The conversation flows around me, but I find myself watching Zoe more than listening to Riccardo's discussion about the new casino legislation.
Riccardo glances at his watch and rises from his seat. "Shall we move to the dining room?"
Ava links her arm through Zoe's. "Come, I want to show you the Monet on our way to dinner."
The dining room is impressive—crystal chandelier, dark mahogany table set with fine china and silver that reflects the candlelight. Riccardo takes his place at the head, with Ava to his right. Zoe sits across from Vittoria, leaving me beside my wife.
Servers appear with the first course—buffalo mozzarella with heirloom tomatoes—and pour a crisp white wine into fresh glasses.
I lean close to Zoe as the others discuss Chicago politics, my lips brushing her ear. "You look really sexy in that dress tonight." My voice is low enough that only she can hear. "Green suits you."
Her reaction surprises me—a flush of pink spreads across her cheeks, and she momentarily loses her composure.
It's fascinating to see this side of her—vulnerable, almost shy—when I'm used to her sharp tongue and defiant glares.
The woman who challenges me at every turn, who fights me with the ferocity of a cornered animal, is blushing like a schoolgirl.
"The biggest brat I've ever met," I murmur, "and yet here you are, blushing at a simple compliment."
Her eyes flash to mine, that familiar fire returning. "I think the wine is getting to me," she whispers back, but the curve of her lips betrays her.
"Of course," I say, reaching under the table to rest my hand on her thigh, feeling her muscles tense beneath the fabric. "The wine."
Riccardo raises his glass. "To family," he says. "Old and new."
I squeeze Zoe's thigh gently as we join the toast. For tonight, at least, we're convincing everyone that we belong together. Including, perhaps, ourselves.
I raise my glass alongside everyone else, feeling the weight of Riccardo's toast.
Servers appear with the main course – osso buco with saffron risotto, the veal tender and falling off the bone. The rich aroma fills the room as we begin eating.
"So," Ava says, her eyes bright with curiosity as she looks between Zoe and me, "you must tell us how you two met."
Zoe's fork freezes halfway to her mouth. For a split second, panic flashes across her face before she recovers, setting her fork down carefully.
I place my hand over hers on the table, my thumb brushing her knuckles. "It wasn't anything dramatic," I say smoothly. "I saw her at a pool. She was reading." I allow myself a genuine smile at the memory.
Zoe's fingers relax beneath mine. "He was insufferably arrogant," she adds, playing along perfectly. "But persistent."
"The best things are worth pursuing," I say, meeting her eyes.
Vittoria snorts into her wine glass. "God, you're still such a romantic under all that scary mafia boss exterior."