I grin. “You knew about my meeting? Oh a sister that knows me well. Touching, really.”
Her gaze flicks to Matteo.
“Join me for lunch,” she says, already turning. “Let’s pretend we’re family.”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
She leads us down a hall lined with mirrors and cherrywood accents. Light pours in from glass slits at the ceiling. Everything smells faintly of citrus and steel polish. The scent of wealth that’s scrubbed every trace of history off the walls.
The dining area opens up like a showroom: one long dark wood table with just two chairs set. No other guests. Just a battlefield with linen napkins.
I take my seat. Matteo remains standing behind me like the statue he is.
A maid enters. Blonde. Young. Eyes a little wide for someone working here. She carries two covered plates and a silver tureen.
She places the first dish in front of me—a delicate portion of veal over saffron rice, a sprig of something green leaning artfully on top.
I smile at her and hold out a spoon.
“Would you, bella? Just a taste.”
Her hands shake. Just a flicker. But I see it. Mina had something put in my food.
Mina leans forward, one elbow on the table, watching like she’s watching a play she already knows the ending to.
The maid blinks at me, frozen.
Mina’s voice is velveted command. “Take it away. Incinerate the tray.”
The maid nods fast and disappears with the plate like it’s ticking.
I sigh dramatically, setting my spoon down with exaggerated sorrow.
“Now, sister, we were getting along so well. Poison? Really? What are you mad about?”
Mina smiles. Not with her mouth—with her eyes. The kind of smile that tells you you’ve been marked long before you walked in the door.
“You’re breathing confidently lately,” she says, folding her hands. “It was just a reminder.”
She leans forward slightly, and her voice slices through the calm like piano wire.
“I will kill you, Severo,” she says. “One way or another.”
I laugh softly under my breath, brushing invisible lint from my sleeve. “Sore loser’s talk, Sorella. And here I thought you’d learned to play fair.”
Her eyes flash. “Stay away from my ports.”
“Ports? What ports?” I widen my eyes, faux-innocent. “I’m just a humble man trying to enjoy a meal.”
She stands, slowly. “You think you’ve won something with that meeting today? You think that sweet-talking the Don buys you the throne?”
I sip from the water glass the maid didn’t dare touch. Lukewarm. Tasteless. Like most of these power games.
Mina steps around the table until she’s level with my chair. She bends slightly, close enough that I smell bergamot and cold steel.
“Maksim and I will find the other heir before you do,” she whispers.
Before I can answer, the double doors open behind me.