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We stepped onto the VIP level, and Matteo greeted Lino with a pat on the back and a massive smile. Ivory was noticeably absent, home with newborn Luna where I was certain it would have been impossible to pry her away from even if Matteo had wanted to. There wasn't much Ivory wouldn't forgive Matteo for or tolerate in her less than ethical husband but depriving her of time with their daughter was undoubtedly one of them.
"Mrs. Bellandi," Matteo greeted, his voice too loud. Heads snapped our way, and even though the man semi-terrified me I narrowed my eyes at him in a glare. "You look lovely. Marriage to Lino suits you."
"You're a douche," I returned, making him roar with a deep laugh that echoed through the cavernous space. Even with the music pulsing on the lower level, there was no mistaking the genuine humor on his face for those who couldn't hear him.
"Always a pleasure, Samara. I hope my cousin is proving entertaining to you during your recovery," he added in a quieter voice.
Feeling thoroughly outed, I pouted at him. "He's a little tedious. Always working. If I didn't know better, I'd think his boss was a slave driver."
Lino chuckled next to me, drawing me tighter into his side and nuzzling my cheek with his nose. "Champagne?" a waitress asked as she circulated the space. Lino took two glasses and handed me one hesitantly.
"Maybe I shouldn't let you drink," he said with a smile. "You're already feeling sassy tonight. If I add alcohol, I'm a little scared wh
at version of my Little Dove I might get." The waitress sighed at him with the way he said my nickname, and I wanted to bury my head in the sand and play ostrich.
"Are you two trying to embarrass me?" Matteo chuckled and then turned and stalked off to chat up some undoubtedly sketchy businessman without so much as a goodbye.
"Wouldn't dream of it," Lino laughed. "Just making it clear that you're off-limits to the men who are staring at your ass."
I giggled, turning to face him and reaching behind me to slide his hand down to the ass in question. His fingers only brushed the curve at the top, barely a touch at all, but the smile faded from his face. The hand that didn't hold my champagne rested on his chest, playing with the collar of his shirt cautiously. "Does that mean I get to mark you as off-limits too?" I teased, and he surprised me by leaning down to press a slow, sensual kiss to my lips while everyone watched.
"Consider me marked," he murmured as he pulled away. The way he looked down at me melted my heart, but it faded too quickly to be replaced by the harsher demeanor I hated to see on his face. "My father's here," he grunted, sipping his champagne like aggravation didn't pulse through his body. His free hand took mine, stroking his thumb over the birthmark. My skin tingled at the touch, the reminder of his tease before we left the house at the front of my mind, but I knew it wasn’t sexual in nature. He did it to reassure himself, his comforting gesture that he’d adopted since childhood.
"Is he not supposed to be?" I asked, feigning casualness. We both knew I detested his father, and the feeling was mutual, but Lino had long ago taught me not to show my intimidation in front of the man who often commented that I needed a man to 'take me in hand.'
I wondered if he ever thought that duty, as he saw it, would fall to his son.
I highly doubted it.
"Angelino," his father's deep, smarmy voice said as he stepped up. "Miss Mahoney."
"Father," Lino returned. "It's Mrs. Bellandi now. I'm sure you've heard." Lino's voice was nothing but disinterested, and his father returned the bullshit show by eyeing the scantily clad women at the club as they strutted past, swaying to the music and enjoying themselves, unaware of the predator in their midst. I knew, without a doubt, that somewhere in the room, Lino's stepmother probably made her rounds. Pretending she was younger than she was, and that she wouldn't be replaced with a new model as soon as one caught her husband's fancy. Or maybe she knew it and that was why she seemed like she was on the prowl whenever I saw her.
I wouldn't put anything past the woman. She had no love for Gabriele Bellandi and the feelings were mutual. Why they'd married, I'd never know.
"I heard rumors, but I thought they were lies. Surely my oldest son wouldn't get married and not invite me?" Gabriele liked to play the role of a doting father, when it was convenient for him. I had to wonder who lingered nearby that he might want to deceive with such behavior.
"It was a last-minute decision, and since you've always been a staunch opponent of my inevitable relationship with Samara, I didn't think it prudent to invite you. The last thing I wanted on our special day was for you to cause a scene." Lino's explanation rolled off his tongue so easily, and his father turned a surprised glare to him. It wasn't often that Lino so casually opposed his father in public. I couldn't say I was present for their interactions often, so I had to wonder if it was something that had become more common in the years since my marriage to Connor—when Gabriele had declared it inappropriate for Lino to drag me along to family dinners and gatherings when I left a husband of my own at home.
Lino hadn't fought him, but I suspected it was largely because he felt it gave him a good excuse to separate me from his family. He'd known all along how much I hated those gatherings, but I'd gone to support him, anyway.
Because I knew he hated them even more than I did.
“Hm,” Gabriele hummed. “Is your new wife aware that she won’t be permitted to walk away from this marriage when it inevitably fails like the last? Some women just aren’t suited to being wives.”
I snorted on Lino’s side, but held my tongue. Lino’s face twisted with fury. “She’s aware there is no divorce in our future. Her divorce from Connor will be irrelevant soon enough,” he snarled at his father, a warning flashing in his eyes.
“And why is that?” Gabriele asked, his tone as bored as ever. He never bothered to spare me a glance, didn’t consider me worth looking at. He never had, not from the days he’d called me a Jewish brat and deemed me unworthy of his pureblooded Italian son.
“Because he’ll be dead,” Lino stated, raising his glass of champagne to his lips and taking a sip as if he didn’t vibrate with the need to strike his father.
"Well, I'll expect you both to join us for dinner on the fifteenth then?" his father asked pointedly. The one day every month where they had dinner together, where they pretended to be a family for long enough to sit down to a meal. I knew they likely saw each other during business hours, but I also knew Lino was all about the business when that happened.
"Of course," I murmured in agreement, making Lino tighten his hand at my hip. I knew what it would mean to him to have me attend those dreaded dinners with him, and that was my job as his wife. To try to make him a little more comfortable in uncomfortable situations, even if those were situations where his family scared the shit out of me.
Such was life.
"Good. I'll let you get back to business, Angelino." With another nod, the eldest Bellandi made his way for one woman dancing toward the corner of the VIP section. Smooth blond hair hung down to her waist, and she smiled openly at the older man despite the very clear age gap.
