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Which meant anyone could hurt her and he wouldn’t do shit about it. Morana knew what Maroni was doing. She was caught in that battle between him and the man beside her but she had willingly placed herself there. She knew what she was getting into.
And it was that which prompted her to retaliate. “And what if I want someone to touch me?”
Maroni’s eyes flew to her, surprised. He had not expected that. And then he gave her that slick smile that made her want to bash his head.
“Then you will get more than you bargained for, little girl.”
Fucking. Bastard.
Her blood boiled. She moved to get up when the hand on her thigh tightened, keeping her in place, telling her to be calm. For the first time through dinner, she looked at him, her anger at everything bubbling over. But the storm she saw in his eyes made her pause. His eyes, those magnificent blue eyes, were trained on Lorenzo Maroni and screamed so much death it sent chills down her spine. She realized she could never hate Maroni as much as this man hated him. And that soothed her.
“I think the only ones you’re scaring are the children, father,” Dante commented dryly from his place. “Let them eat in peace.”
The children, on that note, stuffed their mouths quickly. The adults followed. The rest of the dinner flew by, remnants of tension lingering in the air. And throughout dinner, his hand remained on her thigh, not stroking, not moving, not doing anything except just being. Morana had never experienced it - the way a touch could anchor her. The only time she had come close had been with him when she’d had her panic attack. But this was different. This time she was conscious and aware of everything, her emotions still all over the place, and his touch, not sexual, not sensual, simply a touch, was grounding. It made her realize how hungry she had been for this sensation all her life, how much her skin had craved contact with another and never had it, how much she had desired his normal touch. Just the weight of his hand on her flesh made her feel light, lighter than before.
Done with dinner, the children excused themselves and left the room. Some adults took the cue and skipped dessert to leave as well. Morana wanted to do the same and escape the suffocating area. She didn’t because he didn’t.
“Did you know you were here quite a few years ago, Morana?” Maroni began conversationally, sipping his drink. “In fact, you sat on this very table and played.”
Morana felt the man beside her tensing and for the first time, instinctively, she put her hand on his thigh, hoping for her touch to anchor him like his was doing to her. She felt the tight muscles in his legs and held it firmly.
“Father,” Dante warned from the side.
“Terrible day that was though,” Maroni continued speaking. “Such a terrible day. Do you remember, Morana?”
She gave him a relaxed smile. “Of course I don’t. Unlike you, I’m not ancient, Mr. Maroni.”
Dante coughed to hide his chuckle as Maroni’s smile evaporated at her dig. “I have been here a long time, indeed. And I have stayed here for a good reason.”
Morana retained her smile. “Terror.”
“Power.”
Morana nodded, pretending to agree. “Senility. One of the signs of old age.”
The silence on the table would have been terrifying had she not felt the hand on her thigh give her a small squeeze.
"You forget your place, girl," Maroni spoke, his voice so quiet she could feel his anger.
She was so done with this shit. "Let me make something very clear to you. I think you mistake me for someone you can push around, Mr. Maroni," Morana spoke, her voice reflecting the steel in her spine. "I'm not. I'm your Pandora's box. So, if I were you, I'd keep me very, very happy and very, very alive. Because once this box opens, your power, your empire, you will crumble and you wouldn't be able to do a thing to stop it."
Chiara Mancini sneezed and Morana's eyes went to her. The squeeze of his hand on her thigh turned sour. Done, completely done with the miserable evening, Morana pushed her chair back, dislodging his hand.
“Now if you'll excuse me,” she addressed Maroni.
Without waiting for any of them to respond, she stood up and turned on her heels, leaving the room. She headed outside through the side door for some fresh air. Stepping out on the porch, she looked around to find a quiet place, seeing the bonfire a few feet away to the left and the men patrolling on the right. Turning, she walked around the house, breathing in the fresh air, looking inside the dark windows. The ones that were lit had the curtains drawn over them.
“Be careful of being alone outside.”
Morana stopped to see Dante come up beside her, his eyes on the men near the bonfire. "I'm sick of people telling me to be careful."
His huge form relaxing, he took out a cigarette and lit it, taking a deep drag. Morana blinked, surprised. “You smoke?”
“Used to,” he said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “Now, it’s occasional.”
“What’s the occasion?”
Dante’s lips turned up in a smirk. “Seeing that beautiful show inside. Thanks, by the way. Keep it up and the old man is going to have a heart
