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The moment I manage to get away from Andre, I make a beeline to Alessio. “Did you know he was coming?” I whisper in a sharp, hushed voice, staring daggers at him. “Did you know anything about this?”
“Of course not.” Alessio’s jaw is tight, his eyes steely. “This is Fontana’s doing, I’m sure. A means of pacifying the Leone family, I hope—keeping them happy while still allowing you to make another choice. They would have been furious that the engagement Fontana planned fell through, once the Family agreed to my compromise.”
“They’re not going to make me marry him?” I hadn’t thought to be afraid of it before, but the fear springs up in my chest, squeezing tight.
“No, of course not,” Alessio says firmly. “I won’t allow it.” But even as he says it, I see a hint of that twitch at the corner of his mouth and eye, that tell, that means he’s not as confident as he would like for me to think he is.
It’s the first time I’ve had a reason to think that perhaps there’s more to the power my father had than simply holding the title of don. That taking on that title might not have automatically given Alessio the power I might have thought.
“Dinner will be served soon.” Alessio steps away from me, raising his voice. “If everyone will join me and Miss Mancini in the formal dining room?”
There’s a spread of appetizers already on the table—charcuterie on stone trays, shrimp cocktail in chilled glass bowls with sauce, small phyllo cups filled with melted brie and topped with dollops of jam, decanters of wine interspersed between them. Usually, my father’s household staff—Alessio’s and mine now, I suppose—is kept spread out, only a necessary few at the house at any given time to keep it from feeling overwhelming. Neither my father nor I ever liked to feel as if we were being doted on, or incapable of doing anything ourselves. But they’re all here tonight, spread out through the dining room as we file in, Alessio taking the seat at the head of the table and me to his right. There are small seating cards in front of each place—the Lombardi brothers are at Alessio’s left, which indicates to me that he might have a preference for me choosing one of them—and Andre looks displeased as he surveys the table while the others take their seats.
“There’s no place for me,Moretti,” he says petulantly, emphasizing Alessio’s given name, and I see Alessio’s jaw tighten.
“You are an unexpected guest,” he replies with terse politeness. “Please, take a seat at one side. And you may refer to me as Don Mancini, Mr. Leone, as that is the title I now hold.”
Andre’s mouth purses like he’s tasted something sour, but the authority in Alessio’s voice is unmistakable. It sends a tingle of excitement down my spine, making me squeeze my thighs together and shift in my chair, the butterflies in my stomach fluttering for an entirely different reason as I look at Alessio’s implacable expression.
That authoritarian note in his voice shouldn’t turn me on so much, but it does.
The staff spreads out around the table, pouring wine as the guests fill their plates with appetizers. I’m too nervous to eat much, but I add a few shrimp and pieces of cheese to my plate, picking at it as I look at the men gathered around the table.
One of them will be my husband.My stomach knots at the idea. Either of the Lombardi brothers is attractive enough, but I don’t know anything about them yet. Marco Fazini seems pleasant—all of themseempleasant, really, except for Andre, but that doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t tell me if they’ll be respectful, make me laugh, or care about pleasing me in bed. So far, not a single one of them has made my heart race the way it does when I’m near Alessio.
“We were very sorry to hear about your father,” Antonio says from where he’s sitting across from me, next to my brother. “Our entire family was. I know our father worked closely with yours on occasion. There was great respect between them.”
I can hear what he’s not saying, of course.My father knew yours. He was trusted. You can trust me, or my brother. We’re the ones you should choose.
It feels like manipulation, and I hate it.
“It’s a shame I can’t marry both of you, then.” The words come out before I can stop them, and I can’t shake off the tinge of sarcasm clinging to them. “Or marry one and keep the other on the side. But that’s strictly the province of mafia husbands, isn’t it?” I reach for my wine, just in time to catch the stinging glance that Alessio sends my way.
“Gianna.” Just the one word, but I can hear the reproval in it, the warning. It sends a tingle down my spine. It makes me want to rebel more, to be worse. To push him into punishing me. I haven’t been able to get the thought out of my head since our “lesson.”Would he be able to control himself then? Or would he take what he wants—and thenhaveto marry me?
“Gianna,” Alessio murmurs my name, more forcefully this time, and I realize that I’d drifted away into my thoughts. My thighs are clenched together, that throbbing pressure building again, and I know I have to stop thinking about ways to corner Alessio into marrying me. Unless I’m very lucky—in my opinion, anyway—one of these other men will be the one I marry. And if I want to have a say in the matter, I need to pay attention.
“I’m sorry.” I force a smile back onto my face. “I got lost in thought for a moment.”
“It’s fine.” Carlo Bernardi, the one sitting next to me, speaks up. “I was just asking what your interests are. What do you do in your spare time?”
I turn a little to look at him. He’s handsome too—one of the oldest of the group—with dark hair that he keeps a bit long and blue eyes. They’re all handsome, but Carlo has the kindest eyes.
Across the table, before I can answer, Andre snorts.
“What do you mean, ‘spare time’? What else does a mafia daughter have? It’s not like she serves a purpose, beyond marrying and giving her husband an heir.” He smirks, picking up his wine as his gaze lands on me with an expression that tells me clearly what he’s thinking—that he’s imagining just what he would do to me to get that heir.
My skin crawls, any desire from my lewd thoughts about Alessio fleeing instantly. “I like to read,” I manage, looking at Carlo and doing my best to ignore Andre entirely, even though I know it will only make his attitude worse. “I’m hoping to take literature classes at Northwestern in the fall.”
Andre snickers from the end of the table, which was to be expected, but he’s not the only one who looks surprised. Even Carlo looks a little taken aback.
“College?” Matteo Barone is the first one to speak up, from where he’s sitting next to the Lombardi brothers. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” he adds hastily. “Just—are you thinking of getting a degree?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” I can feel Alessio’s gaze on me, waiting for me to say something out of turn again, but I can’t just keep silent. “My father thought I should. But he also thought I should wait to marry until I was twenty-one, so—” I shrug. “Perhaps you have some argument about what my father wanted for me?”
Matteo looks slightly taken aback. Carlo is the one who speaks up, in a soothing tone that I think is meant to make me feel better, but really makes me feel patronized. “It’s just that a mafia wife has duties that have nothing to do with an education. You won’t work, so why waste the time? It’s not as if you need to earn a living. No one here would let you want for anything.” He smiles at me as if trying to placate my emotions. “You shouldn’t feel that you have to—”
“Iwantto.” I know it’s rude to interrupt him, that I shouldn’t—but I’m starting to not care. I can feel a slow trepidation building in my stomach, a fear that my future is going to change in so many more ways than just the one facing me right now. “I like to learn. I want to study something that interests me. It doesn’t matter if it turns into a job.”
