Page 73 of The Enforcer's Possession
“She does.”I kept my own voice neutral, aware that half the room was probably trying to read this conversation.
“A year ago, I wasn’t certain this arrangement would work.”He studied me over the rim of his scotch glass.“I’m pleased to have been proven wrong.”
What he meant was: I wasn’t sure you wouldn’t destroy my daughter.I’m relieved she’s not just survived but thrived.
“The arrangement works because we’ve both adapted to it,” I said.
His eyes sharpened slightly.He understood what I wasn’t saying.That Caterina and I had negotiated our own terms, and our marriage had evolved past the political convenience it had started as.That we’d become something he probably didn’t have words for and wouldn’t fully understand if he did.
Movement across the room drew my attention.Caterina was speaking with Elena Conti, the matriarch of one of the smaller families.I watched Elena defer to my wife’s opinion about something -- saw the older woman actually nod in agreement instead of offering the patronizing smile most Mafia wives received.The shift was subtle but absolute.
A year ago, Elena would have dismissed anything Caterina said as the opinions of a child playing at adult politics.Now she was listening.Taking notes.Treating my wife as an equal whose perspective carried weight.
Across the room, Caterina’s hand brushed the shoulder of one of the younger Conti sons -- a gesture that could have been friendly or dismissive depending on context.I saw him flush, saw him straighten his posture, saw him look at her with something between respect and fear.She’d put him in his place without saying a word.Just the weight of her attention had been enough.
She was magnificent.
I made my way through the crowd, stopping to exchange brief words with various family heads and their representatives.Everyone wanted to congratulate me on the anniversary.Everyone wanted to assess whether the alliance was as strong as it appeared.I gave them nothing useful.Just polite acknowledgments and the kind of neutral responses that revealed no weakness.
But my attention kept tracking back to Caterina.
I reached her side just as she was finishing a conversation with one of Giuseppe’s lieutenants.My hand found the small of her bare back automatically, palm against warm skin, fingers spreading possessively across her spine.The touch was deliberate.Public.A statement about ownership that everyone in the room would understand.
She leaned into it slightly.Not submissive, just acknowledging my presence.Her hand came to rest on my chest, right over my heart, her fingers curling slightly into the fabric of my suit jacket.
“Having fun?”she asked, and there was amusement in her voice.Private joke between us about these political performances we had to maintain.
“Immensely.”I let my thumb stroke the base of her spine, felt her suppress a shiver.“You’ve terrified at least three men tonight.I’m impressed.”
“Only three?I’ll have to work harder.”
We separated as more guests approached, but the connection remained.I felt it like a physical tether.Every time she moved through the room, I tracked her.Every time she laughed at someone’s comment or redirected an inappropriate question or asserted her position with that quiet confidence she’d developed, I felt it register in my chest.
The evening progressed.Dinner was served -- multiple courses prepared by the chef I’d hired specifically for the occasion.Wine flowed freely.Conversation remained polite, which meant everyone was being careful.Good.They should be careful around us.
I watched Caterina handle the attention with practiced grace.Accepting compliments without false modesty.Deflecting questions about when we’d have children with humor that had an edge.Making it clear through subtle cues that certain topics were off-limits and certain behaviors wouldn’t be tolerated.
She’d learned my language.The language of controlled violence and strategic positioning and reading power dynamics in real time.She’d learned it so well she could speak it fluently without conscious thought.
When Giuseppe stood to give his toast, the room fell silent immediately.
“A year ago,” Giuseppe began, his voice carrying across the ballroom, “my daughter and Dante De Luca entered into a marriage that many questioned.The circumstances were… complicated.”Polite laughter rippled through the room.Everyone knew he meant the alliance had been a political necessity.“But what has emerged from that beginning is something stronger than any of us anticipated.”
I watched Caterina.Her expression was composed, perfectly appropriate for the occasion.But I saw the slight tension in her shoulders.The way her fingers curled around her champagne glass just a fraction tighter than necessary.
She was remembering.The forced choice.The way our marriage had started with coercion and control.
“My daughter has proven herself to be more than worthy of the De Luca name,” Giuseppe continued.“And Dante has proven himself to be more than worthy of her.Together, they have strengthened both our families.Together, they have shown that even arrangements born of necessity can become genuine partnerships.”
He raised his glass.The room followed suit, crystal chiming against crystal as hundreds of glasses lifted in unison.
“To Dante and Caterina,” Giuseppe said.“May their alliance continue to prosper.”
“To Dante and Caterina,” the room echoed.
I raised my own glass, my eyes finding Caterina’s.She was already looking at me.Something passed between us in that moment -- acknowledgment of how far we’d come, recognition of what we’d built from the ruins of forced circumstances, promise of what we’d continue to become.
Her smile was small.Private.Meant only for me despite the hundred people watching.
