Page 81 of His Savage Ruin
The formality of it surprises me, but the sincerity in his eyes is unmistakable.
Rafael is next, grinning around his cigarette—when did he light that? "Try not to let him get too boring. We need someone to keep him interesting."
"I'll do my best." I manage a small smile.
Dante's smile is smoother, more calculated. "If you need anything—anything at all—you ask. You're family now."
Family. The word keeps echoing, and each time it does, my throat tightens. I haven't had people who meant that word—truly meant it—since my parents died. The Morettis never felt like family—just people I was trapped with, bound to by marriage and lies and fear.
But these men, with their guns and their scars and their unwavering loyalty to Matteo—they're offering me something I didn't expect. Belonging.
Luca is last. He approaches slowly, and when he stops in front of us, his eyes find mine first instead of Matteo's.
"I was wrong," he says quietly. "About you."
"Were you?" I keep my voice level.
"You're stronger than I gave you credit for." His jaw tightens. "Matteo needs that. Needs someone who won't break under the weight of what being with him means."
I give a small nod at that.
He turns to Matteo then, and they grip forearms in that way men do when handshakes aren't enough. No words pass between them, but something does—understanding. Acceptance, maybe.
Isabella appears at my elbow, pressing a glass of champagne into my hand. "You survived," she murmurs. "The hard part's over."
I look at Matteo across the room, surrounded by his men, and I know she's wrong. The hard part is just beginning. Being his prisoner was one thing. Being his wife—that's uncharted territory.
But when he catches my eye and smiles—a real smile, not the cold one he shows the world—I find myself smiling back.
Maybe I can survive this after all.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Alessia
The formal dining room has been transformed. Crystal glitters in candlelight, silver gleams against white linen, and white roses spill from low arrangements. Someone has gone to considerable trouble.
As I approach the table, Isabella catches my arm gently and leans in close enough so that only I can hear. "You sit at his right, of course," she says, "in the seat of honor."
I take the seat she indicated. The last time I sat beside my husband at a formal meal, Lorenzo backhanded me for speaking out of turn, but that was a different life and a different table, and I'm not going to let that memory ruin tonight.
The first course arrives—some kind of delicate fish in a cream sauce. I push it around my plate, aware of everyone watching.
"You should try it," Matteo murmurs beside me. "The chef's outdone himself tonight."
I take a bite, and it's good—buttery and perfectly cooked.
By the second course, the wine has loosened everyone's tongues. Rafael leans back in his chair, glass dangling from his fingers, grin already forming.
"Dante," he says, loud enough to carry. "Tell them about Prague."
Dante's fork pauses mid-air. "We don't need to?—"
"Oh, we absolutely need to." Rafael's grin widens. "Alessia should know what she's married into."
"What happened in Prague?" I ask, grateful for the distraction.
The way Dante sets down his fork with precise care tells me he's buying time to decide how much to reveal. "A simple negotiation. Nothing worth repeating."
