Chapter 3

When we pulled up at his mother's estate, Maria Rinaldi was already on the steps, watching eagerly for us. As Dante's mother and the former Donna, she commanded more respect than anyone else in the Rinaldi family.

Elena had her door open before the car even stopped.

She gathered up her skirt, hurried over, and linked arms with Maria.

"Maria, it's so damp out tonight. You didn't have to come out to meet us. Let's get you inside."

Maria beamed at her, all warmth.

"I'm worrying about you, sweetheart. Having to stay in Dante's West Wing like that. You deserve better.

"Hardly anyone can put up with that temper of his."

Elena glanced at Dante, who was smiling a little, and her cheeks turned pink.

"Dante takes good care of me. I don't mind at all."

The two of them went up the steps together, laughing and chatting.

Maria was halfway up before she stopped, as if she'd only just noticed me.

She looked back at me, not bothering to hide her contempt.

"Oh, you're here too. Come inside. You're an eyesore standing out there."

That was all the welcome I got.

Dante didn't seem to notice my humiliation. He reached out to pull me against him as if nothing were wrong.

I stiffened and stepped out of his reach before I could think.

His hand hung there in the empty air.

Dante caught my wrist and gave me a dark look.

"What are you sulking about now?"

"I'm not sulking."

I just couldn't be bothered to keep groveling anymore.

His jaw tightened.

"If someone's giving you trouble out there, let someone else deal with it. There's no need to bring your problems home and brood over them.

"And wipe that miserable look off your face. I won't have my wife looking bitter in front of everyone."

My hands curled into fists at my sides. As my nails bit into my palms, the absurdity of it all hit me.

For a second, I'd fooled myself.

I'd actually thought he'd noticed my heart had gone cold.

I stopped walking.

I looked straight into those bottomless eyes. Whatever I'd once felt for him was gone. All that was left was calm. Dead calm.

"My mood and my expression are none of your business. If you don't like what you see, gouge your own eyes out.

"I'm your wife. Not a pet who has to cater to your moods."

Dante's face darkened.

The Don's authority was unmistakable in his voice.

"You're a grown woman. You know the rules. We signed a contract, and I expect my wife, even if it's only on paper, to have some self-control."

I scoffed.

"Then who do you think can live up to your high standards?"

His eyes narrowed as if he were seriously considering it. But I knew he'd made up his mind long ago.

"It doesn't matter who. Until the contract ends, you're my wife on paper.

"You'd do well to learn a thing or two from Elena. She knows when to hold her tongue and how to survive in this family. Am I clear?"

I held his gaze for two long seconds.

Then I let out a dismissive laugh.

"Fine."

Inside the castle's grand dining room, Maria led Dante and Elena to the seats of honour at opposite ends of the long table.

I knew where I belonged. I went to the farthest, least noticeable seat.

It wasn't until I sat down that I saw it.

The table was covered with beautiful dishes, but there wasn't a single thing I could eat.

Maria held both their hands and beamed. She kept telling the staff to fill Elena's plate.

"Look at you. You're so thin, it breaks my heart.

"You have to take care of yourself, even in the West Wing. Dante told me what to make, and I had all of this prepared just for you."

Elena ducked her head shyly.

"Thank you, Maria."

Then Maria paused.

She looked me over with open disdain and gave me a thin smile.

"I couldn't be bothered to ask what you like. Just make do with what's here."

Dante picked up a shrimp with the serving fork and dropped it onto my plate.

"If you have any special requests next time, let the kitchen know in advance.

"You're not picky about food anyway.

"Not like Elena. She's so fussy. She only likes rich sweet-and-sour dishes like these. She's like a little girl who never grew up."

I looked down.

I stared at the shrimp on my plate, my eyes going unfocused. One bite could trigger an allergic reaction bad enough to kill me.

Three years.

For three years, I'd taken every bullet and every knife in the back that was meant for him.

And he had no idea what I couldn't eat or what I was allergic to. Nothing.

Yet he could recite Elena's every preference without a second thought.

Every word landed like a slap, reducing everything I'd done for him to a joke.

Just then, the comm unit in my pocket buzzed with a route confirmation code from the Santoni family.

Departure was set for eight o'clock tomorrow morning.

The knot in my chest finally loosened.

I didn't touch my food all evening, and Dante never noticed.

I sat there like an outsider, watching the three of them play happy family.

There was no place for me in their circle.

And I didn't want one.