Page 16 of Daddies of the Underworld

The way he said my name made all the teasing fall away.

“You don’t owe him anything. You don’t owe any of us anything.” He spoke each word precisely, with conviction.

“I know.” I tried not to fidget, but the heat in my chest and face wouldn’t go away, and it made me uncomfortable to realize how much of a hold they had on me.

Luca stood and came over, stopping to brush his thumb over the corner of my mouth. “But.” He held up a finger. “If you want something, you should stop looking so guilty about it.”

My pulse kicked into a frenzy. “What if what I want is wrong?”

His eyes warmed, the smile helping soothe my torn emotions. “Then perhaps you have been living by rules written by people who never expected you to be happy.”

He left me with that unexpected tidbit.

It was enough. I spent the next few hours preparing for dinner, my nerves turning into a fizzy buzzing under my skin.

I bathed, dried my hair, and put on the dress.

The linen slipped over my body like water, skimming my curves without clinging too tight.

“Miss Nina? Mr. Moretti is ready for you.” The words came with a light tap on the door.

I slipped on the ballet flats in the bottom of the bag and opened the door. “Thank you, I’m ready.”

The guard led me through hallways I had not seen before, deeper into the private wing, past arched windows where evening light turned the sea crimson.

Villa Belladonna changed after sunset, but I’d never had the chance to fully appreciate it until now.

It felt like walking through a fairytale after being warned the wolves owned the forest.

It was a fairytale I would never be able to keep, so why not enjoy it while it lasted?

We stepped through a set of glass doors and onto a terrace tucked away from the rest of the villa.

A table had been set beneath a pergola with jasmine clinging to every surface.

Matteo stood when I approached.

He wore all black. Black shirt open at the throat, black trousers, the silver at his temples catching the light.

I stopped on the other side of the table, doing my best not to look as uncertain as I felt.

He rounded the table and pulled out a chair for me, scooting me in as I sat before he settled in the chair across from me instead of beside me.

Our dinner was already on the table, still warm, the fresh bread emitting a yeasty garlic aroma.

I was starved, and with Matteo staring at me with his quiet calm, I almost dove face first into my pasta.

He picked up his fork and stabbed a piece of pasta, indicating it was time to begin.

I took a breadstick and broke it in half, nibbling on the end in the hopes of settling my stomach.

The first bite went down well, so I ate a bite of pasta.

Matteo watched me for several minutes before he motioned at me with his fork. “Tell me about your family.”

I froze with my fork halfway to my mouth. Well, there went my appetite. What a shame. “That’s not light dinner conversation.”

“I am not good at light.”