Dario.
He is staring at me with a sickening mixture of pity and desperate longing. He keeps shifting his weight, trying to catch my eye. I ignore him completely, focusing on the rhythmic, steady breathing of the man seated beside me.
After twenty minutes, Salvatore calls for a brief recess to review a set of shipping manifests Matteo brings into the room. Cassio turns his head to speak quietly with his underboss. My father and Salvatore step out onto the terrace to smoke.
I step away from Cassio’s chair, walking over to the heavy crystal decanters on the side table to pour myself a glass of sparkling water. My throat is dry from the tension.
Before I can even pick up the glass, a shadow falls over me.
"Noemi."
The hushed, frantic whisper makes my skin crawl. I turn around slowly. Dario is standing inches away from me, his sandy blonde hair is perfectly styled, the cut on his forehead from the glass table is barely visible under a neat bandage.
"Get away from me, Dario," I hiss.
"Please, just listen to me," he begs, glancing nervously over his shoulder at Cassio, who is currently engrossed in the manifests with Matteo across the massive room. "You look exhausted. I know what he's doing to you. He’s got the whole estate on lockdown. He’s keeping you a prisoner."
"I am not a prisoner," I snap, my fingers tightening around the crystal glass. "I am his wife."
"He forced you into this!" Dario insists, stepping closer, his cologne is making my stomach turn. "He is a feral, violent monster, Noemi! I saw what he did on the terrace. I saw the way he treats you. You don't have to live like this. My father... my father has a plan. We can get you out. We can dissolve the treaty, and you can come with me. I can protect you."
A dark, bitter laugh rips its way up my throat.
I look at him. I really look at the boy I spent two years harboring a pathetic, secret crush on. I see his weak chin. I see the cowardice dancing in his eyes. And then, the puzzle pieces Cassio laid out in the study violently snap together in my mind.
He knew."Protect me?" I repeat, my voice dropping to a dead calm. I step into his space, completely ignoring his attempt to intimidate me. "Like you protected me when you fed Cassio's convoy route to the Russians?"
Dario’s face instantly drains of all color. He physically recoils, his eyes widening in absolute, undeniable panic. "I—what? Noemi, no, I didn't—"
"You set the ambush," I whisper. "You tried to pull me off the terrace because you knew the bullets were coming. You coward. You pathetic, spineless piece of shit. You teamed up with the Bratva to kill my husband, and you thought you could just sweep me up from the wreckage and play the hero?"
"He’s going to get you killed!" Dario hisses defensively, his facade cracking completely. "He doesn't care about you! He uses you as a shield!"
"He took a bullet to the chest for me!" I snarl, the fury finally unleashing itself. I don't care who hears. I don't care about the optics. "He threw his body over mine while you were hiding behind your father's money! Cassio Vellutini has more honor in his bleeding shoulder than your entire goddamn bloodline has in its history!"
Dario stumbles back, his face is a mask of humiliated terror.
I turn around.
Every man in the room is staring at us. My father is standing in the terrace doorway, his jaw slack. Don Salvatore’s black eyes are narrowed into dangerous slits.
But I am only looking at one person.
Cassio is staring at me. The manifests have fallen from his hand. The cold, indifferent mask he has worn for two days is completely shattered. He is looking at me with an expression of such profound, devastating awe that it actually steals the breath from my lungs.
He thought I was the enemy. He thought I was waiting for a chance to run back to my family, to run to Dario.
I am going to show him exactly who I am.
I don't look back at Dario. I leave the boy trembling by the decanters and walk across the Persian rug.
I walk straight to Cassio.
I don't stand behind his chair this time. I step directly in front of him, sliding between his parted knees. I reach out, resting my hands gently on his chest, right over the thick white bandages hidden beneath his shirt. I feel the heavy, erratic thud of his heart against my palms.
I turn my head, looking over my shoulder at Dario Lombardi, my father, and the Capo dei Capi.
"I am exactly where I belong," I state. "I am a Vellutini. And if anyone in this room thinks they can break this alliance, or put a hand on my husband, they will have to go through me first."