Page 42 of The Enforcer's Possession
I couldn’t tell if she was being sincere or mocking me.With Francesca, it was probably both.
Dante pulled out my chair -- the one beside his, positioned so we sat together on one side of the table.His sister directly across.Papa watching from the head like a king evaluating his subjects.Mama trying to pretend this was all perfectly normal.
A servant appeared with the first course -- some kind of carpaccio that looked like art.I picked up my fork and tried to remember how to be the Lombardi daughter.The one who knew which fork to use and how to make small talk that meant nothing.
“The weather’s been lovely,” Mama offered, which was such a painfully obvious attempt at neutral conversation that I almost laughed.
“Very lovely,” Francesca agreed with a slight smile that suggested she found this as absurd as I did.
Papa cleared his throat.“Dante.I trust business has been… satisfactory since the wedding?”
“Very satisfactory.”Dante’s voice remained level, professional.“The northern shipments are ahead of schedule.The port negotiations concluded in our favor.Everything is progressing as planned.”
Ourfavor.Ourterritory.Ourbusiness.The alliance was working exactly as I’d promised it would.Papa should have been pleased.
Instead, he looked like he was eating glass.
More courses arrived.Pasta with some kind of truffle sauce.Veal that melted on the tongue.Wine that probably cost more per bottle than most people’s monthly rent.The conversation remained superficial -- business, weather, some charity event Mama was planning.Nothing real.Nothing that acknowledged the tension simmering underneath every polite word.
I felt Dante’s presence beside me like heat.He’d barely looked at me since we’d sat down, but I was hyperaware of every small movement.The way he cut his veal with precise motions.The way he lifted his wine glass with those scarred knuckles that had held me down and stripped me bare just days ago.The way his thigh almost brushed mine under the table before he shifted slightly away.
We looked like a married couple.Acted like one.But the distance between us felt calculated, controlled.Like he was proving something to Papa.To his sister.To me.
I was taking a sip of wine when the dining room doors opened again.
The servant who entered looked flustered, which was unusual for Lombardi staff.They were trained to maintain composure during everything from business negotiations to bloodshed.
“Forgive the interruption,” the man said, directing his attention to Papa.“But you have a guest.Signor Marco Vitale.”
The wine turned to acid in my mouth.
Silence fell over the table like a physical weight.Papa’s fork paused halfway to his mouth.Mama’s hand tightened around her wine stem hard enough that I worried the crystal would shatter.Luca’s eyes went wide, his gaze darting between me and Papa with obvious concern.
Francesca simply raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow.
And Dante went completely still beside me.Not tense.Not obviously angry.Just still in a way that made every nerve ending I had stand at attention.
“I wasn’t aware Marco had been invited.”Papa set down his fork.
“He wasn’t.”Mama’s voice sounded tight.
“My apologies for the intrusion.”Marco’s voice carried from the doorway before he appeared -- perfectly styled hair, expensive suit in charcoal gray, smile that didn’t reach his eyes.“I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d pay my respects to the newlyweds.Offer my congratulations on their union.”
Liar.Marco lived on the other side of the city.He’d come deliberately, knowing this dinner was happening, probably through one of Papa’s staff who still owed him favors.
Papa’s jaw worked like he was grinding his teeth.But refusing to admit an ally -- even a former one -- would be an insult that had political consequences.“Of course.Please, join us.”
Marco moved into the room with confidence that bordered on arrogance.His gaze swept over me, lingered just long enough to be noticeable, then shifted to Dante with something that looked like a challenge.
He took the empty seat directly across from me.Next to Francesca, diagonal from Dante.Close enough that I could smell his cologne -- something expensive and cloying that made my stomach turn.
“Caterina.”He said my name like a caress.Like he had any right to.“You look beautiful.Marriage agrees with you.”
I felt Dante’s hand slide onto my thigh under the table.
Not gently.His fingers found the still-tender bruises through the silk of my dress and pressed.Not hard enough to make me gasp, but firm enough that I felt it.Felt the reminder of what those marks meant.Felt the possessive claim in every point of contact.
My breath caught.
