Chapter 4

The vehicle was an armored SUV, a beast of a machine.

The windows were tinted pitch black-I couldn't see out, and certainly, no one could see in.

We were heading to the Compound.

Sunday dinner.

I wore the dress Dante had sent to my apartment.

It was a modest, elegant sheath of silk, and undeniably expensive.

On my finger, my hand felt heavy with the ring, like a shackle disguised as jewelry.

Dante sat next to me, thumbs moving rapidly across his phone.

He hadn't spoken a word since we left the city limits.

"We are arriving," he announced suddenly.

He slid the phone away and turned his dark gaze to me.

"My grandmother, Nonna Rosa, is the head of the house. She wants great-grandchildren. Do not promise her anything, but do not shut her down."

"Okay," I said, my voice sounding small in the quiet cabin.

"My cousin Rocco will be there," he continued. His voice hardened, the temperature in the car dropping. "He is a snake. He wants my seat. He will test you."

"What do I say?" I asked.

Dante reached out and took my hand.

His grip was firm, grounding.

"You say nothing," he said. "You look at me. You trust me. You let me handle Rocco."

The car rolled to a stop.

The door opened.

We stepped out into a driveway crowded with luxury cars.

The house was a mansion, sprawling and beautiful, bathed in the golden hour light.

But I saw the silhouettes of men with submachine guns standing in the shadows of the manicured hedges.

This wasn't a home.

It was a fortress disguised as a villa.

Dante placed his hand on the small of my back.

The heat of his palm burned through the silk of my dress, branding me.

"Smile," he whispered against my ear.

We walked inside.

Immediately, the rich smell of garlic and simmering tomatoes hit me.

A tiny old woman draped in black rushed forward.

"Dante!" she cried.

She grabbed his face and kissed his cheeks soundly.

Then she turned to me.

Her eyes were sharp, intelligent, and deceptively kind.

"And this is her?" she asked.

"Elena," Dante said. "My fiancée."

Nonna Rosa gasped, clasping her hands together.

She pulled me into a hug that smelled of lavender and old paper.

"Bella," she said. "So beautiful. Not like those trashy girls you usually see."

I forced a smile.

"Thank you, Nonna," I said.

We moved to the dining room.

A long table was set for twenty people, laden with crystal and silver.

Men in suits sat around it, drinking wine and talking in low rumbles.

The conversation died the moment we entered.

All eyes were on me.

Assessing. Judging. Calculating my worth.

A man at the end of the table stood up.

He looked like a younger, sharper version of Dante, but with none of the discipline.

His eyes were restless, hungry.

Rocco.

"So," he said, his voice booming. "The rumors are true. The Don has settled down."

He walked over, swirling a glass of wine in his hand.

He looked me up and down, stripping me bare with his eyes.

"Where did you find her, Dante? The library?"

Dante didn't smile.

"Elena is a journalist," he said flatly.

Rocco laughed, a harsh, barking sound.

"A reporter? In this house? That's dangerous, cousin."

He leaned in close to me, the smell of expensive scotch on his breath.

"Do you know what we do to rats, sweetie?"

My blood ran cold.

Dante's hand tightened on my waist, bruisingly hard.

"Enough, Rocco," he said. His voice was quiet, but it carried across the room like the crack of a whip.

"Sit down."

Rocco stared at Dante for a second.

The tension was thick enough to choke on.

Then Rocco smirked, conceding the battle but not the war, and raised his glass.

"To the happy couple," he said mockingly.

He sat down.

Dinner was a blur of courses and suffocating tension.

Nonna Rosa kept piling food on my plate, asking about my family.

I lied.

I told her my parents were retired teachers.

I told her I loved cooking.

I built a fake life layer by layer, brick by brick, hiding my trembling hands beneath the table.

Dante sat beside me, silent and watchful.

He cut my steak for me.

He refilled my water.

He played the part of the attentive fiancé perfectly.

But I could feel the violence radiating off him in waves every time Rocco looked my way.

When we finally left, my jaw ached from the forced smiling.

Dante walked me to the car.

"You did well," he said.

He sounded almost surprised.

I looked back at the house.

Rocco was watching us from the window, a dark shape against the light.

"He knows," I said. "Rocco knows it's fake."

Dante opened the car door for me.

"Rocco suspects," he corrected. "But as long as you are with me, he can do nothing."

He looked at me, his eyes intense and unyielding.

"You survived the wolves, Elena. But the real test is coming."