Chapter Seven
Caterina
Papa had spared no expense on the reception -- champagne flowing from fountains, tables laden with food that most of the guests were too busy networking to actually eat.
A string quartet played something classical and appropriately elegant in one corner.
Everything gleamed and looked perfect. But it felt like a very expensive cage door slamming shut.
Dante hadn’t released me since we’d walked out of the ceremony. His hand remained at my waist as we moved through the crowd, his fingers occasionally tightening when certain men looked at me too long or too openly. A reminder that I was taken now. Claimed. Off-limits.
We’d been at the reception for maybe forty minutes, and I’d learned something disturbing: Dante was excellent at playing the political game when he chose to.
He navigated conversations with Papa’s associates with the same calculated precision he probably used when eliminating problems. Polite but not obsequious.
Firm but not aggressive. Making it clear that marrying me had elevated the De Luca family’s status while simultaneously reminding everyone that he wasn’t someone to be trifled with.
“Congratulations on the union.” One of Papa’s oldest allies -- a don whose name I’d forgotten -- raised his champagne glass. “A strong match for both families.”
“Thank you.” Dante’s thumb traced a small circle against my hip, the gesture looking affectionate to casual observers. Only I could feel the possession in it, the subtle claiming. “Caterina is an exceptional woman. I’m fortunate to have her.”
Fortunate. Not lucky. Not blessed. Fortunate, like I was a business acquisition that had worked out well.
“Your father must be pleased,” the don continued, addressing me directly. “The De Luca alliance strengthens your family’s position considerably.”
I felt Dante’s hand tighten in warning before I could respond with something sharp. He wanted me playing the role of dutiful wife, not my usual defiant self.
“My father is a strategic man.” I kept my tone neutral. “He recognizes value when he sees it.”
The don’s eyes flicked between us, reading subtext I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted him to see. Then he nodded, raised his glass one more time, and moved away into the crowd.
Dante leaned down, his lips brushing my ear. “Good girl. Keep playing nice and this will go much smoother.”
Good girl. Like I was a pet being praised for proper behavior. The words should have made me furious. Instead, they sent an unwelcome shiver down my spine that I absolutely refused to analyze.
We moved to the next cluster of guests -- De Luca associates this time, men with hard faces and harder eyes who studied me like I was a curiosity. Dante’s little Lombardi bride, probably wondering how long it would take him to break me into something manageable.
His hand never left my body. When we stood talking to a group, he kept me at his side, his arm wrapped around my waist. When we moved through the crowd, his fingers laced with mine, his grip firm enough that pulling away would have caused a scene.
When someone approached from my other side, he shifted position to place himself between us, a physical barrier that made his message clear: all access to his wife went through him.
I tried shifting away once, testing the boundaries. His hand immediately tightened, pulling me back against him hard enough that I felt every inch of his solid frame.
“Don’t,” he murmured, his voice pitched for my ears only. “You stay at my side. Where I can touch you. Where everyone can see exactly who you belong to now.”
“I’m not property --”
“Yes, you are.” His fingers slid lower, settling just above the curve of my ass in a way that would have looked innocent if not for the possessive grip. “You signed the contract that made you mine. You took the vows that sealed it. Don’t pretend you didn’t understand what that meant.”
I opened my mouth to argue, then saw Antonio Rossi approaching and thought better of it. The last thing I needed was Papa’s consigliere witnessing a marital spat three hours into the marriage.
Antonio moved through the crowd with practiced ease, a champagne glass in one hand and that neutral expression firmly in place. He nodded to several guests as he passed but didn’t stop until he reached us.
“Mrs. De Luca.” He said my new name with careful precision, like he was testing how it sounded. “You look radiant.”
“Thank you, Antonio.” I kept my voice pleasant despite wanting to tell him exactly where he could shove his compliments. “You look dapper as always.”
His lips curved slightly -- the closest thing to a genuine smile I’d ever seen from him. “May I have a moment with the newlyweds?”
Dante nodded once. Antonio stepped closer, dropping his voice to a level that wouldn’t carry beyond our small circle.
“I wanted to congratulate you both personally.” His gaze flicked to me, then back to Dante. “Giuseppe is pleased with the arrangement, despite his… reservations about the process.”
“Good to know.” The words came out sharper than I intended.
Antonio’s expression didn’t change. “I’m sure you understand that marriages in our world serve purposes beyond personal happiness. The strategic benefits of this union --”
“Are substantial,” Dante finished. “I’m aware.” His hand moved up from my waist to the back of my neck, his fingers warm against my skin. “Everyone gets something they want.”
Antonio studied us for a long moment, his sharp eyes taking in every detail of how Dante held me, how I stood stiffly at his side, the tension visible despite our attempts to hide it.
“Indeed,” he said finally. “Well. I won’t take up more of your time. Enjoy the reception.” He started to turn away, then paused. “Oh, and, Caterina? Your father would like a word before you leave. Briefly.”
Great. Exactly what I needed -- Papa reminding me that I’d made my bed and now had to lie in it.
Antonio disappeared back into the crowd. Dante’s hand remained at my neck, his thumb tracing the line of my spine in a way that made me shiver despite myself.
“Later,” he said. “We’ll speak to Giuseppe later. After I’m finished showing you off.”
Showing me off. Like I was a trophy he’d won. A prize he’d claimed. The thought made my stomach turn even as my body responded traitorously to his touch.
We continued circulating. More conversations with associates and family members, false smiles and strategic pleasantries. More of Dante’s hand on my body, claiming me in ways both subtle and obvious.
I’d just finished a conversation with Francesca -- who’d studied me with unsettling intensity while making comments about how I’d need to adjust to the De Luca way of doing things -- when I saw him.
The man was unremarkable at first glance. Mid-forties, expensive suit, the kind of face that blended into a crowd. But there was something in the way he moved, the deliberate path he cut through the guests, that made my spine stiffen.
Dante felt my tension. His hand tightened at my waist. “What is it?”
“I don’t know him.” I kept my voice low. “But he’s heading straight for us.”
Dante followed my gaze. His entire body went rigid, his posture shifting from relaxed to predatory in an instant. The change was so complete, so sudden, that several nearby guests noticed and stepped away unconsciously.
The man reached us. Smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes.
“Congratulations on your marriage.” His voice was pleasant, cultured. Nothing about it suggested danger. But Dante’s hand had moved from my waist to my shoulder, his grip tight enough now to be uncomfortable. “I’ve been asked to deliver a gift on behalf of an interested party.”
He held out a small box. Black velvet, expensive. The kind of thing that should contain jewelry.
Dante didn’t reach for it. “Who sent it?”
“Someone who wanted to express his… regrets that he couldn’t attend the ceremony.” The man’s smile widened slightly. “Marco Vitale sends his congratulations and hopes you’ll enjoy your wedding gift.”
The box suddenly looked sinister. Dante’s hand left my shoulder to intercept it before I could react. He took it carefully.
“Tell Marco,” Dante said, his voice dropping to a register I hadn’t heard before -- cold and absolutely lethal, “that any further gifts will be returned. Personally. In pieces.”
The man’s smile faltered. Just for a second. Just long enough to show he’d gotten the message.
“Of course.” He inclined his head slightly. “Enjoy your evening.”
He disappeared into the crowd. Dante stared at the box in his hand for a long moment, his jaw tight with barely controlled rage. Then, with deliberate precision, he set it on a nearby table without opening it.
“Dante --” I started.
“Not here. We’re not giving him the satisfaction of a public reaction.”
“What do you think --”
“Nothing good.” He turned to face me, his expression hard. “But it doesn’t matter. Marco can send whatever petty threats he wants. You’re mine now. Legally. Permanently. He had his chance and lost it.”
The possessiveness in his voice should have alarmed me. Instead, some traitorous part of me felt… protected. Safe. For all my concerns about Dante’s control, at least he was standing between me and Marco’s vindictiveness.
God. I was already rationalizing. Already making excuses, letting myself believe that Dante’s cage was preferable because at least the bars were prettier.
Dante leaned down, his lips brushing my ear. “Look at me.”
I did. Found his eyes dark with something that made my pulse kick up for entirely different reasons than fear.
“Marco can threaten all he wants. Can send gifts and make veiled comments and dream about what might have been.” His hand came up to cup my face, his thumb tracing my lower lip in a gesture that looked tender but felt claiming.
“But you’re wearing my ring. You took my name.
And tonight, you’re going to take everything else I give you. ”
My breath caught. “Dante --”