Page 20 of His Bride

I force a smile, acutely aware of the lingering scent of Dante on my skin. “Thank you for having me.”

As we step inside, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve just walked into the lion’s den.

The dining room is dimly lit, shadows dancing across the walls like restless spirits. I take my seat beside Dante, the heavy silverware cold in my trembling hands. Carmine sits at the head of the table, his presence commanding even in silence.

“So, Adriana,” Carmine’s voice cuts through the quiet clinking of utensils. “How are you finding married life with my brother?”

I swallow hard, the bite of pasta in my mouth suddenly tasteless. “It’s… been an adjustment,” I manage to say.

Carmine’s eyes narrow, his lips curling into what might be a smile on anyone else. “An adjustment? How so?”

My heart races. I feel like a mouse being toyed with by a particularly cruel cat. “I just meant-”

“My wife is happily satisfied,” Dante interrupts, his hand finding mine under the table. His thumb traces circles on my palm, a reminder of his earlier attentions that makes heat rise to my cheeks.

Carmine’s gaze flicks between us, and I know he sees more than I want him to. “Is that so?” he muses, his tone making the innocent question feel like an accusation.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. The weight of unspoken secrets hangs heavy in the air.

As the meal winds down, Carmine pushes back from the table. “Dante, a word in my office.”

It’s not a request. Dante squeezes my hand once before rising. “Of course, brother.”

I watch them go, fear clawing at my insides.

“Don’t look so worried, dear,” Lucia’s voice startles me. She gestures to the living room. “Come, sit with me. Let the men talk business.”

I follow her, my thoughts racing. As we settle onto the plush sofa, she leans in conspiratorially.

“Carmine can be… intense,” she says. “But he’s just protective of Dante. They only have each other now, you know.”

The rumors I’ve heard suddenly flood back. A fire. Screams in the night. Whispers of revenge.

“What happened to their parents?” I ask before I can stop myself.

Lucia’s smile tightens. “A tragic accident,” she says, but her eyes tell a different story.

I shudder, imagining flames licking at flesh, the acrid scent of burning. How does one survive such horror? How does it change a person?

As I sit there, surrounded by luxury built on blood and ashes, I wonder what flames are being stoked even now, and who will burn in their wake.

Lucia’s hand on my arm startles me from my dark thoughts. “Tell me, Adriana,” she says, her voice honey-sweet, “how are you finding married life?”

I swallow hard, choosing my words carefully. “It’s… an adjustment.”

She laughs, a tinkling sound that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Oh, I’m sure. Dante can be… demanding.”

Before I can respond, heavy footsteps echo down the hall. Dante and Carmine reenter, their faces unreadable masks.

“We should be going,” Dante announces, his hand finding the small of my back.

As we say our goodbyes, Carmine’s grip on my hand is just a fraction too tight. “Welcome to the family, Adriana,” he says, his smile sharp as a blade.

The night air is a relief as we step outside. I inhale deeply, trying to shake off the tension of the evening.

In the car, Dante’s fingers drum against the steering wheel. “So,” he says, breaking the silence, “what did you think?”

I hesitate, then decide on honesty. “Lucia was kind. But Carmine… he’s intimidating.”

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