Chapter Five
Isobel
“So, what do you do for your father?” I asked as I leaned against the car door, waiting for Damien to round the car and join me.
I shifted nervously on my heels, swallowing softly when he got to my front.
His gaze was intense, caressing the swells of my breasts that were visible in my plain, dark, strapless minidress.
It snatched my upper body like a corset with no sleeves and rested a few inches past my mid-thigh with chunky, stylish drapes.
“I’m my father’s right hand. Think about it as a division of labor. He already has so much to handle, so I oversee things as his assistant and also take care of things and people who prove to be stubborn.” He wasn’t remorseful. He was simply explaining the mechanics behind his work.
My throat tightened. This was such a gray area. I thought I might be falling for this dark, dangerous man, and I shouldn’t be. If only there were a way I could protect my heart from all this.
“God, I want to rip this dress off your body, stuff you in the back seat of this car, and fuck you until you’re sore,” he groaned as his hands found my waist.
“Damien!” My cheeks reddened.
“What? I can’t fuck my wife anymore?” He grinned. It was such a rare sight to see him so relaxed. I didn’t even think he noticed it.
I fought back a smile. “I didn’t say that. That reminds me, you never use a condom when we—you know...”
“Fuck,” he deadpanned. “When we fuck. Don’t be subtle. Say it. You are never subtle when I’m inside you.” He grabbed a handful of my ass and squeezed it.
Red exploded all over my face and neck, heating up so hard that I felt it. “Yeah, when we fuck. You should start using one, or I swear to God, I won’t allow you to come near me anymore.”
His fingers softly encircled my throat. I had come to notice that Damien loved to choke me. It gave him a semblance of control. “I won’t have anything between us when I’m fucking my wife. Get used to it.”
“Are you trying to get me pregnant?” I frowned, my spine stiffening as he glided his fingers across it.
He was unfazed by my question. “Yes.”
It was useless trying to argue with Damien. I rolled my eyes. “We should get inside. We don’t want to keep your dad waiting.”
He pressed a kiss to my lips, leading me toward the entrance of the mansion. A few men hung around in stifling black suits, giving me the irks whenever our eyes met.
“Is there anyone I should beware of?” I asked, glancing at him.
Something in his eyes shifted. “That’d be my brother, Luciano. Stay away from him. He doesn’t give a crap about anyone who isn’t Andrea, his wife. He’s obsessed with her. He’d try to get on your nerves. Just ... ignore him.”
He pulled the door open, leading me into the house. The foyer was spotless, reeking of old Italian money vibes.
The maids around were judicious with how they bowed constantly for Damien as he led us to where I presumed would be the dining room.
A long, luxurious table sprawled out before us with silky table linens, wine, and glasses. It was currently void of meal dishes.
“Hello, brother.”
Damien’s frame stiffened against me. We turned at the same time to see a tall man who shared an uncanny resemblance to Damien’s father.
I never really met Damien’s family. We saw each other briefly on the wedding day.
As soon as the ceremony was over, Damien’s obsessive ass whisked me out of here before we could exchange proper pleasantries.
“Luciano,” Damien acknowledged grimly.
“How nice of you to join us. You are late.” Luciano smiled, a cold, empty smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
His eyes locked in a stare with Damien’s. Something was menacing about Luciano’s appearance. It kept me on edge.
His sinister blue eyes drifted to me. “Ah. You brought the lovely lady.”
“Get the fuck away from my wife,” Damien growled.
Luciano raised his hands in mock surrender.
“That’s enough, boys.” A cold, enigmatic voice floated into the room.
I turned to the stairs to see an older version of Luciano strolling down the stairs in his black button-up and slacks. He glided into the room with such ease that he commanded the air in the room.
If you didn’t look harder, you’d think Luciano and his father were the same person. But the difference was in their blue eyes. Domenico Romano’s eyes looked lifeless and harsh at the same time. The kind that told you that you couldn’t mess with him. They were his most intimidating feature.
Luciano, on the other hand, looked alive in such a twisted way through his eyes. They passed off a deceptively charming notion but gave away a psychotic edge. It made him unpredictable.
“Good evening, Isobel,” he greeted me curtly. “I hope my sons are not giving you much trouble?” He was polite, but it was clipped.
I smiled. “Not at all, Mr. Romano.”
“Please, call me Dad.” He dismissed the title. “We are family now. Aren’t we, boys?” His eyes never left mine, but the subtle threat in his voice didn’t go unnoticed.
“Of course,” both men acquiesced at the same time.
“Baby, I didn’t—” a feminine voice came from a different direction in the room, earning our attention.
Silvana Romano.
The matriarch of the Romano family.
She had struck me as a beautiful woman the first time I saw her, but right now, I felt so intimidated being in the same room with her.
Her exaggerated satin kimono with puffy sleeves floated behind her, hanging around her mid-arm as she sashayed toward us with a bottle of wine. It complemented her beaded ivory dress with a criss-cross plunging neckline. The dress molded against her body with a sultry intent.
Her honey-blonde hair was wrapped in a messy bun atop her head. Her soft makeup made her olive-green eyes pop with so much life. She was elegance and seduction personified.
“Oh, hi!” she chirped. She turned to Domenico. “Dom, I told you to let me know when they got here.” It was supposed to be a whisper, but we could all hear her.
My lips twitched. She was a dramatic breath of fresh air. It was no wonder she had her husband wrapped around her fingers.
Domenico—I meant Dad—couldn’t see anyone else in the room anymore. For the first time tonight, his blue eyes softened and oozed with so much softness as his wife walked toward him.
His hand found her waist like he couldn’t wait to have her in his proximity. He kissed her forehead.
“The boys didn’t let me get there, Mia Cara.” His voice was so soft.
It was as though she gave him life when she walked in. She made him feel real, not like some cold, icy monster that haunted people’s dreams.
Jealousy stabbed my heart as much as I swooned. I knew I’d never have that with Damien.
“Hi, Isobel.” She grinned, walking toward me. “I never really welcomed you into the family.” Her floral scent cocooned me as she embraced me.
I let her hold me, smiling softly.
“Good evening, Mrs. Romano.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not that old, Isobel. Please, call me Silvana.”
I cleared my throat. “Good evening, Silvana.”
“Come with me.” She led me to a seat, and Damien trailed me immediately, helping me pull out a seat.
He sat beside me.
“Are the guys fighting again?” I looked over my shoulder to see Andrea Romano, Luciano’s wife.
“Aren’t they always?” Silvana smirked.
Her six-inch heels clicked against the marble floor as she strolled toward us like she had all the time in the world. She circled the table, allowing me to catch Luciano’s grinning face in my peripheral vision.
“Babe, you promised.” She took her seat opposite me, beside Luciano, who looked like he couldn’t wait to kiss her.
“It’s not my fault that the guy gets on my nerves.” Luciano pouted.
“I’m right here, dickhead,” Damien seethed. Their eyes clashed in a heated stare.
My palm landed on Damien’s thigh before I could stop it. I squeezed softly to keep him calm.
“Please, pardon their manners.” I turned to Andrea.
Andrea was so beautiful. She turned heads elegantly in her crimson lace dress with long sleeves and a sweetheart neckline that showed a generous amount of cleavage. Her dark brown hair was swept in a ponytail, complementing her olive skin.
Her bloodred lips stretched in a smile. “I’m Andrea. It’s so nice to have you in the family.” She couldn’t hug me, so she reached over the table and placed her palm over mine, squeezing softly.
“You are really pretty.” I grinned.
Her face warmed up. “Thank you.”
“Now, let’s eat,” Silvana chirped excitedly, waving the chef and maids over.
It was meant to be an intimate family dinner. The chefs strolled into the dining room and dished out our meal for the night. Braciole. A classic Italian dish.
The stuffed meat roll looked juicy, dipped in sizzling sauce and paired with vegetables, alongside a glass of one of Damien’s father’s oldest wines. According to Silvana.
“It’s my late mother’s old recipe. I hope you all enjoy it.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. I knew firsthand what that kind of loss did to you.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I whispered.
“Oh, it’s fine.” She brushed it off. “It was a long time ago.”
“Is it?” I toyed with my wineglass, locking eyes with her. For a fleeting moment, it was like we could read each other’s sadness. “I lost my mother a few years ago. It’s been tough without her.”
Sadness dimmed her green eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
I shook it off. “No, I am sorry. I’m totally ruining dinner.”
“No, you are not.” Silvana frowned. “You are not just Damien’s wife. You are a part of this family now. That means you get to talk about what’s hurting you for as long as you need to.”
“Do you understand?” Her gaze turned stern.
I slowly nodded. “Yes, thank you.”
She smiled. “Come on, let’s eat.”
The table was silent for a while as everyone dug into their food. But the tension that loomed thickly in the air made me know that it was only a matter of time before it exploded.
“We haven’t seen you around much, Damien.” Luciano laid a venomous emphasis on Damien’s name, keeping his collected mask intact.