I slipped from my heavily secured bedroom, my bare feet silent on the runner as I moved to the edge of the mezzanine and looked down over the wrought-iron balcony. In the living room, the morning sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows that stretched across the floor.

Leo was seated cross-legged on the Persian rug, arranging a set of wooden blocks. Siena knelt beside him, her posture one of practiced grace. Cassio stood a few feet away, watching them with his hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers. His dark gaze held a softness I rarely saw-an unguarded look reserved for his son.

I began my descent. The sharp *click* of my heels against the marble steps was the only announcement of my arrival.

Siena's head lifted with a jerk. The moment her eyes met mine, she seemed to shrink, her shoulders hunching forward.

"Tessa," she breathed, her voice a carefully pitched tremble. She drew her purse to her chest and made a clumsy, uncertain motion to stand, adopting the posture of a startled animal, as if my mere presence was a threat to her safety.

Leo let his blocks clatter to the floor. He scrambled up and wrapped his small, fierce arms around Siena's leg, turning to face me. Pure, unfiltered hatred flashed in his young eyes.

"You're a wicked witch!" he yelled, his voice echoing in the vast room. "If you make Aunt Siena leave, I'm running away from the estate! I'll never come back!"

Cassio stepped forward, placing himself between them and me. The warmth in his eyes vanished, replaced by the flat, calculating stare of the Don I had married.

"Tessa," he warned, his tone deep and heavy with an authority that permitted no argument. "Siena is staying. Her recovery is fragile, and she is under my protection now. Do not test me on this."

"Cassio, please," Siena interrupted. She lowered her gaze to the marble floor and let out a small, broken whimper. "I don't want to cause any friction in your marriage. I can leave. I'll sleep on the streets if it makes her happy..."

I paused on the bottom step, looking at the three of them. Arranged as they were, they looked like a painting of a family. I was the unwelcome shape in the composition, an intruder in my own home.

"I never opposed the idea," I stated, my voice quiet. I shifted my gaze to my husband. "Siena's presence in this territory is irrelevant to me, Cassio. She can live in the guest wing, or she can rot in the basement. I do not care."

The chair legs scraped a harsh, muffled sound across the mahogany floor. I walked past the trio, my gaze fixed on the swaying chandelier above their heads, and headed straight for the dining hall, ordering the kitchen staff to serve dinner early as a means of breaking the tension.

I took my seat at the head of the long mahogany dining table, picked up my silver fork, and began to eat in a deliberate, unbroken silence. I ignored the trio as they eventually filed into the room, taking their seats.

Leo pulled a chair out for Siena, ensuring she sat right beside him like a sentry. Siena meekly looked across the table at me, offering a watery glance.

"Thank you for your mercy, Tessa," she whispered softly.

I continued to cut my food into precise sections, my gaze fixed on the darkening gardens outside the window.

A maid approached, placing a large, steaming platter of dim sum in the center of the table. "Don Falcone specifically ordered this from the city's finest parlor for Miss Siena," the maid announced nervously, stepping back quickly. Leo's eyes lit up. He speared a plump shrimp dumpling with his fork and reached over to place it on Siena's plate.

Cassio's hand shot out, his fingers closing around Leo's wrist.

"Stop," he commanded sharply, and the boy froze.

"Siena has a severe seafood allergy," Cassio explained, his jaw tight. He immediately barked an order at the hovering staff to remove every item containing seafood from the table. He watched them with a hawk's intensity, his muscles coiled until the maids had completely cleared the plates away, ensuring Siena was safe.

I set my fork down, staring at the empty mahogany space where the platter used to be. A dryness akin to swallowing sandpaper bloomed deep in my throat, the thrum of my carotid artery amplifying into a dull drumbeat against my eardrums.

I had the exact same allergy. It was a rare genetic trait passed down from the father Siena and I shared. I had told Cassio this on our very first date, five long years ago.

My own husband did not even know the woman he had married. His mind held room only for the intricate details of the woman he was protecting.

The air in the dining room grew thick, heavy. My throat tightened; a breath caught somewhere in my chest. Reaching for my phone, I pressed the side button to trigger a pre-set fake incoming call.

As the screen lit up, I stood up from my chair, my expression unreadable.

"I have syndicate business to handle," I announced to the room at large.

As I turned to leave, my gaze flicked to Cassio. For a fraction of a second, his eyes lingered on the empty space where the dim sum platter had been. A faint crease appeared between his brows-confusion, or perhaps something else. He looked down at his own plate, then at Siena, then back at the empty spot. But before he could speak, Siena's hand brushed his arm.

"Cassio, the soup is getting cold," she said softly, her voice like honey.

The crease vanished. He turned to her, and the mask of the indifferent Don slid back into place.

I had seen it. A crack in the wall. But a crack meant nothing when the wall was miles thick.

I placed my napkin beside the untouched porcelain plate and walked out of the room, leaving them to enjoy their undisturbed family dinner.

Chapter 2

You might like