Page 43 of Dangerous King
Once, during a particularly tense dinner, Camilla snapped at me for chewing too loudly. I hadn't even been eating; I was just sitting there, existing in the wrong place.
But here... the Sartori house feels like it breathes.
There's banter. Laughter, even. Rizio tells a dry joke about a politician and a goat that makes even Eliza smirk. Izzy rolls hereyes but doesn't hesitate to rib her brother. Mattheo, seated two chairs down, teases her right back, and someone actually passes the salad without turning it into a power play.
No one's trying to cut anyone down. No one's waiting to pounce.
And Eliza sees everything,not just what's happening on the surface. She notices when Tommaso winces and casually slides the bread basket his way. When Izzy pauses too long in her teasing, she gently changes the subject. She doesn't just host the dinner. She holds the room together.
Already, I sense that the Sartoris operate on something entirely foreign to me, mutual respect. Protection. Love, even. And though it's only my first day here, something dangerous and disorienting blooms in my chest: Hope.
The feeling that maybe… just maybe… I won't always feel this tense. That maybe I could sit at this table someday and feel like I belong.
"Wow, Mamma, look at this!" Izzy passes her phone to Eliza.
"Oh, wow is right." Eliza studies the screen, then lifts her gaze to me. "I would have never thought to mix slate green with ivory silk, especially with the pop of blood-orange. That scarf changes the whole mood."
"It's one of my favorites," I say quietly.
The outfit is simple. Elegant. An ivory silk blouse cut diagonally, soft and fluid, tucked into wide-legged slate trousers that skim the ankle. The kind of look that whispers confidence, not wealth. Paired with suede loafers and gold hoops, it's nothing more than well-styled daywear. But switch the flats for heels, twist a brightsilk scarf at the neck, and suddenly it's ready for candlelight and wine.
"That's genius," Eliza murmurs, handing the phone back. "You've got an eye, cara mia."
My cheeks warm at the compliment and the term of endearment. Already, I'm beginning to hope that I will get to spend more than one evening with them.
"I have a dinner party I have to go to tomorrow, and I have no idea what to wear." Eliza's brown eyes are warmly on me. "Would you mind helping me?"
"I would love to." I feel excitement rush through me at the idea.
"Sorry I'm late, Mamma," Enrico's deep voice heats the excitement welling up in me even more. I can't stop myself from turning. Manollo and Dante assured me that he was alright, but it's only now that I see him that I truly allow myself to believe it.
"I would come in, but as you can see…" he looks down on himself dramatically. His suit is wrinkled and torn, with dark spots hinting at blood. His hair is a tousled mess, and scratches on his face hint at what happened at the mall earlier.
"Dio mio, Enrico!" Eliza jumps off her chair. "What happened?"
Izzy kicks me under the table and looks at me, slightly shaking her head. I get it. Eliza has no idea what happened today, at least not yet. I don't think the mall incident is something that can be kept quiet. They can probably keep our names out of it, but from what I've seen of Eliza so far, she's going to connect the dots soon. At the latest, if and when she watches the news.
"How dare you show yourself like this to your mother?" Rizio shoots out of his chair so fast that it makes a screechingsound against the wooden floor. He rushes to Enrico's side, not resembling the jovial man from a few minutes ago at all. He looks stern, more like the mafia capo he is. "A word, son. I've been trying to get a hold of you all day."
He ushers Enrico from the room, and all I hear is him grunting, "I've been busy." Before they're out of earshot.
It's almost ten.
I've tried to sleep, I really have, but my brain is buzzing like a swarm of bees that drank espresso straight from the pot instead of collecting nectar. I'm lying here in this too-soft bed with my stomach full—for the first time in, I don't know, weeks? months? years? Dinner was so good, likeembarrassinglygood. I had second helpings. Thirds. I probably looked like I hadn't eaten in a year, because, guess what? I kind of haven't. Not like that.
And then it hits me.
I was almostkilledtoday.
Like—shot. In a mall. In broad daylight. While trying to drag Izzy away from men with guns. It felt like an action movie, except itwasn't one. The screaming was too loud and not loud enough, and I can still feel the cold press of tile under my knees.
So yeah. No sleep.
My scattered mind turns on a dime the way it has been doing all night, going from what happened at the mall back to dinner, to how nice the Sartoris are. So different from the Giordanos. It's confusing. They're kind, and warm, and terrifying.
And then there's Enrico.
God. Enrico.
