Page 137 of Peasants and Kings
I turned away from him and gripped the stone balcony, swallowing the rage that threatened to overtake me.
The Moretti expected me to marry a man who was not the one I loved, or die by my own hand.
They were cruel and calculating, and Hadrian had underestimated their reaction to finding out who I was. He thought he could use power and wealth to save me.
He was wrong.
“I’ll send someone to help you bathe and dress,” Luca said, interrupting my thoughts.
I frowned. “Why?”
He righted his shirt cuff. “Family meal.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he stated. “Papàhas requested your presence.”
When he stepped away from the balcony and headed into the bedroom, I called out to him, “You’re the most dangerous of all, Luca.”
He didn’t stop his long stride to the exit, but I knew he heard what I said.
Lucawasthe most dangerous. His power wasn’t derived from violence alone. He had the ability to seduce with charm and humor. He didn’t need to use his fists; Luca was a master manipulator. A natural orator. A true Roman Caesar.
Forty minutes later, I looked at my reflection in the mirror. I had concealed my eyes since I was a child, and now I was baring them for the world to see. They might’ve been a part of my legacy, but they were foreign, even to me.
Luca came to escort me to the formal dining room. As we walked down the lavish staircase, I took in the beauty of The White Company ancestral home. Irreplaceable Renaissance art hung on the walls, ornate rugs covered gold inlaid marble floors, and gleaming wooden furniture spanned fashions over the course of hundreds of years. The worth of each piece would be incalculable to all but the world’s finest antique dealers.
The wealth was so encompassing that I briefly wondered if I’d entered a different time. It felt like a different world. A world not even Hadrian had been a part of.
The thought of him sent a stab of yearning through my belly.
The wooden doors of the dining room were already open, the occupants seated at their places. At the head of a long wooden table was Angelo. Two spots on his right were vacant, while the two seats to his left were occupied. Tor sat at his father’s left elbow and a young woman, who couldn’t be any older than sixteen perched next to him.
My eyes skimmed over Tor’s cold expression and then settled on the young woman, who wore a dusty pink dress. She shot me a tentative smile, but I refused to smile back.
Luca helped me with my seat.
“Sterling,” Angelo greeted. “You look lovely.”
I didn’t give a damn what he thought about how I looked. “I thought you said this was a family meal? Where’s Nico? Or should I say,UncleNico?”
“Nico doesn’t live here,” Angelo explained, not at all perturbed by my attitude. “He lives with his wife, Beatrice, and their four children on their own estate. This home is for the first-born son and his family. You’ll meet Beatrice and your cousins in a few days.”
I reached for my napkin just to have something to do.
“This is my daughter, Gisella,” Angelo said with a smile at his youngest child.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sterling,” Gisella said. “Your Italian is flawless. How did you learn to speak it?”
“My dead mother taught me,” I stated coldly.
She didn’t react, but still, I instantly felt remorse for lashing out at the young girl. It wasn’t her fault she’d grown up a Moretti.
Angelo ignored my remark as though I had said nothing of importance and rang a small brass bell that rested by his plate. A few moments later lunch was served. Cured meats and cheeses, warm bread and olive oil, sautéed escarole and broccoli rape, grilled calamari and octopus, platters of meat and fish.
I couldn’t help the maniacal laugh that escaped.
Luca glanced at me and frowned. “What’s so funny?”
