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“David!” A tall, elegantly dressed woman with perfectly coiffed grey hair—and clearly, an excellent plastic surgeon—sweeps towards him in a gold gown that puts me in mind of an awards ceremony statuette. Her face is perfectly made up, her age seemingly having barely touched her, and she takes both of David’s hands in hers, going up on her toes to kiss him on each cheek. “It’s so good to see you. I didn’t think you’d be here tonight. I imagined you’d be on honeymoon with your lovely new bride. But here she is! Or at least, Ihopethat’s her.”
The woman titters at her own joke, and David nudges me forward, a polite smile on his face. “Margary, this is Amalie—my wife, I’m fortunate enough to say. I missed you at the wedding.”
I know him well enough by now to know, from the carefulness of his tone, that he isnotdisappointed that this woman didn’t make it to our wedding. But she’s clearly someone whose approval matters, so I smile at her, taking her hand as she reaches for mine. “I’m so pleased to meet you, Margary,” I tell her sweetly. “And I’m sorry to hear that you weren’t able to make the wedding, too.”
“Well, didn’t David mention why we couldn’t attend?” She sniffs lightly. “My husband had business in France, and I couldn’t miss an opportunity to go. It’s so rare, after all, to have a spouse whose company you can still find pleasure in after all these years.”
I press my lips together, maintaining the polite smile on my face that matches David’s. I’ve never had my own money to gamble with, but if I did, I’d bet that this woman doesn’t like her husband any more than any other mafia wife does. What she likes is his wealth, and the ability to be pampered and spoiled in Paris while he does business there. Which—I can’t exactly fault her for. After all, I spent an extra week in Ibiza with David exactly that way myself. I just didn’t know who he really was then.
“We should all be so lucky,” David says smoothly. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, I think I see my parents at our table.”
It’s all I can do not to wince. The last thing I want to do is spend the evening sitting at dinner with my in-laws, but it’s a price I’m willing to pay to be out of that mansion. I might notlikethese people, exactly, but I know how to handle myself here, what to say and do. I don’t feel as out of my depth, and here, at least, David will behave the same way.
His parents are sitting at the table with two other couples—one a man his father’s age who has a woman next to him who looks to be about mine, and another man who appears closer to David’s age. He’s sitting next to a pretty blonde with a blank expression, another wife, I see from the sparkling solitaire diamond and matching band on her finger. David’s mother gives me an appraising look, and from what I can see in her expression, she approves.
It’s never easy to tell what any of these people are thinking. I’ve known that my whole life. It’s part of the reason why I enjoyed Claire’s company so much, why I felt so much happier during that first part of my trip to Ibiza. She and her trust-fund friends might be new money, they might be more crass and spoiled than anyone here would let on, but there’s less deception, less artifice. There was an honesty to their licentiousness that was almost refreshing, after growing up among the machinations of the mafia.
Now I’m married to one of them. My future can be ruined just as easily as David ruined me for any other man, if I displease him. If I displease his family. I sit there, a charming smile on my face and small talk dripping from my lips, and I hope that it’s good enough.
The older man across from the table is watching me. I see his eyes drift over the sapphire resting just above my breasts, his gaze darkening as it slides downwards. He leans over, murmuring something to the man sitting next to him, and I catch the younger man’s gaze drifting over me, too. David’s hand brushes against my thigh, parting the silk so that his fingers touch bare flesh, and I know he’s seen them looking.
Let him.The idea of his jealousy sparks something in me. I meet the older man’s gaze, turning that charming smile on him, and his mouth quirks upwards.
“Amalie Carravella?” He smiles wider, and I hesitate. My new name still sounds strange—I’m not used to being referred to by my married name, instead of Leone. I should be happy to be rid of my maiden name, and all of the shame associated with it now, but it feels more as if I’ve lost another tether that held me to who I used to be.
“In the flesh.” I tilt my head coyly. “And who do I have the pleasure of meeting?”
“Vicenzo Ferretti.” His smile doesn’t falter. “A distant cousin of the family from New York, of course, if you’re familiar?”
It doesn’t ring a bell, but I never did manage to pay attention as much as my father would have liked, when he was trying to instill the hierarchy of the mafia into my lessons. I pretend that it does, nodding. It’s doubtful that this man will actually want me to speak enough for it to matter if I really do remember them or not. “Of course,” I say softly, and I feel David glance at me. I doubt it matters to him, either, if I really do know who any of these people are. What matters is that I pretend well enough to be believed.
“It’s a pleasure, Mr. Ferretti.” I reach for my wine—a sip, to keep up the pretense in front of his family that I’m not pregnant. David hasn’t explicitly told me to do so, but I know very well that he would want it a secret, for now. I don’t miss the way Vicenzo’s eyes go to my lips as they touch the rim of my glass, and David doesn’t either, from the way his fingers press against my thigh. It sends a flush of heat through me, and I let the stole slip away from my arms a little, the fur suddenly too warm.
“Your husband is a lucky man. I might have snatched you up myself, if I’d known you were on offer. A widower could only hope to be so fortunate as to marry a beautiful virgin bride for the second time in his life.”
It’s an insult, and I know it. If he knows who I am, who my familywas—and he must—then to imply my father would have even considered him as a potential husband is rude. This man isn’t even a consigliere, only an associate of men like David’s father. He’s letting me know, couched in pretty words, that he knows exactly how desperate my mother was to makeanypossible match for me in the wake of our disgrace.
“I couldn’t imagine having been wed to anyone else.” I tilt my head towards David, letting a sweet smile tilt my lips, and his gaze drifts to my mouth. His gaze is emotionless, a perfect poker face, but he leans close to my ear, his lips grazing the shell of it as his hand tightens on my thigh.
“Imagine if he knew,” David murmurs, his voice so low that I’m certain no one else can hear, “that just this afternoon, you had my cock between those pretty lips, my cum all over your face.”
My pulse leaps at that, my heart beating a quick rhythm in my chest. “Imagine,” he continues, his breath still warm against my ear, “if I put you on your knees right now, just to show him that you’re mine. If I covered that pretty face with my cum, just because I can, and then showed him what I do to men who covet what belongs to me.”
A jolt of unexpected lust shoots through me, my thighs squeezing together beneath the table as my heart trips in my chest.This shouldn’t turn me on,I think desperately—but it does. His fingers sliding beneath the silk of my dress, his voice whispering filthy things in my ear, the threat of my debasement and the violence, the promise that Ibelongto him and no one else—it all makes me feel dizzy, breathless, my cheeks flushing.
“I don’t know ifallof our present company would enjoy that,” I whisper softly, turning my face towards his, and for a moment, his lips are so close to mine that they nearly touch. I know he can feel the whisper of my breath against his mouth, and I feel him stiffen, his hand pressing against the soft flesh of my leg. I know, if I slipped my hand beneath the table right now, I’d find his cock hard and ready for me—that with the slightest provocation, I might find myself on my knees anyway, somewhere in this huge place.
David reaches up, brushing a curl of hair away from my cheek, the gentleness of the touch sucking all the air from my lungs. “Don’t you know,cara mia?” he whispers, his hand pressed to my cheek as he leans close to my ear again. “The only enjoyment that matters to me is my own.”
But it’s not true. Iknowit’s not true, from the way he pleasured me in Ibiza, from the things that I know he can do to me if he chooses to. My fingers are trembling where they’re wrapped around my wine glass, and I nearly jump out of my skin when I hear David’s father clear his throat, jolting us both out of the moment.
“Well, then,” he says, shooting his son a dark look. “Newlyweds, hm? What could we possibly have expected, bringing them both here tonight?”
Vicenzo chuckles, raising his glass to that, but I see the jealousy on his face. It’s exactly what David wanted, the entire purpose of the little show that he just put on. I belong tohim, and David wanted to make certain that any man who dared to look at me knows that. He wanted Vicenzo to see the power he has over me, how David can make me melt with just a touch.
He wants Vicenzo imagining, tonight when he leaves, what David will be doing to me later.
I can’t stop imagining it, either. Just this afternoon on the flight here, I was terrified, dreading David touching me. Now my blood feels molten, my skin shivering and sensitive with every touch of David’s hand against it, like I have a fever. I hardly taste dinner—I couldn’t even say what it is that we’re being served—taking tiny bites to keep from upsetting my stomach between smaller sips of wine. No one takes notice—anyone who sees me eating like a bird will just assume I’m worried about my figure. I feel a small flash of resentment at the thought, but it dissolves the moment I feel David’s fingers wrap around mine, tugging me up from my seat as he nudges his dessert plate away.
