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“Matteo,” Ingrid scolded. “What the hell?”
Matteo shrugged, but he did not take his eyes off me. “It’s a valid question, and one that bares asking, considering the circumstances.”
“And what circumstances were that?” I dropped my fork, giving Matteo my attention.
Before Matteo could say anything, Eli jumped in “That’s enough,” he scolded. His voice was low and even with just a hint of anger. Eli wasn’t someone who got angry outwardly. At least, with others.
I shivered as I thought about the feeling of his fingers against my neck. My own hand went up against my throat, and as I touched my neck, I felt as though I were being transported back in time.
“Carla?” Ingrid’s concerned voice jolted me back to reality. “Are you alright?” Her blue eyes were narrowed in on me, and I inhaled sharply. Everyone at the table was looking at me with concern, even Matteo. Though his gaze felt slightly threatening. “You went pale as a ghost.”
I grabbed my water, taking a large gulp of the cool liquid, allowing it to coat my throat. Sometimes the memories were so vivid that my throat closed up.
“I’m fine,” I said, giving Ingrid what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “Sometimes I get a little lightheaded after I paint.” I lifted my fork, thankful that my fingers didn’t shake. “I forget to eat.”
I held my breath as I waited to see if everyone would buy my story. After what felt like a century, Ingrid smiled at me once more. “I get that,” she said. “When I’m studying, I get completely wrapped up in what I’m doing. If my mother wasn’t constantly leaving me snacks, I probably would never eat.”
Looking around the table, I tried to suss out my next move. I might not have been my father’s heir, but I’d sat on his knee my entire life, and I’d watched him play people, my mother included.
One of the things I’d learned about lying from him was that it was necessary to give people just enough truth to make your lies feel plausible.
“To answer your question, Matteo, my father sent me here for my safety. He’s made a few enemies in his time—”
“As an arm’s dealer.”
The words didn’t affect me. I suspected that Eli had run a search on me. I knew he wouldn’t find anything. My father wanted our family tragedy kept out of the news. He told me that it was because he wanted to protect me, but I knew the truth. He wanted to ensure that he got first crack at whoever killed Angel and my mother.
I didn’t blame him.
“Yes,” I nodded. “I imagine that my father has sold yours some guns over the years.” I turned to Luca. “I met your father when I was nine. I thought he was handsome. His order paid for the compound I grew up in.”
That was probably not true, but I wanted Luca to know he too couldn’t intimidate me. These Blanchi boys needed to be put in their place by someone. And from the way that Ingrid was snickering slightly into her pasta, I suspected that she was enjoying my cutting responses.
“Touché,” Luca said, a snicker in his voice.
Matteo grumbled something under his breath, but he started back in on his pasta. I glanced over at Eli, wondering what he was thinking. Sure, we had sex, but that did not necessarily mean anything. It wasn’t like he was going to suddenly trust me.
“Let’s change the subject.” Bless Ingrid for her social awareness. “Did you find a dress for the summer gala?”
“I did, actually.” Sophia had convinced me to purchase the gold dress, even though I thought it made me look like an Oscar statue, and not in a good way.
Ingrid groaned. “See,” Luca said. He chuckled at her. It was an odd sound to my ears. Out of all three Blanchi boys, Luca always appeared the angriest, so it felt odd to hear him laugh so openly. “Everyone has a dress but you.”
“Isn’t the gala a fundraiser for your father?”
The question caused another groan out of Ingrid, and she shrunk further down in her chair. “Don’t remind me,” she grumbled. “Ever since my father won his senate race, there have been no end of parties to go to.”
“And you don’t like parties?” Ingrid was just as beautiful as Fiona Blanchi. Her blonde curls created a halo-like effect around her face, and her high cheekbones were ones that models would kill for. Ingrid was beautiful in that Russian supermodel girl-next-door kind of way. It was different from Fiona’s more refined beauty, but it was still stunning.
Ingrid shook her head. “I’m not much on socialization.”
This made Matteo snort. “That’s an understatement.” He turned to me, apparently my answer had placated him slightly, and he was over whatever irritation had climbed up his ass. “The last time Ingrid went to a party, she ended up in the crosshairs of Luca.”
“That sounds like a story.”
“A boring one,” Luca cut off. He turned to Ingrid. “You know you don’t have to worry about getting a dress. Between your grandmother and your mother, there will be no shortage of designer clothes at your beck and call.”
This made Ingrid flinch slightly, and I could see that that was also something she was looking forward to. I wanted to offer to go shopping with her, but I didn’t know if Ingrid would accept it. She didn’t seem like a girl who cared too much about fashion, which made sense with what I’d already learned about her.
