Chapter 6: Rules of the Game

The dining room is a monument to intimidation.

Twelve men in expensive suits sit around a mahogany table that could double as a landing strip. Crystal glasses filled with amber liquid catch the morning light streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows. The air smells like cigar smoke and testosterone.

Every conversation stops when I enter.

Luca's hand settles on the small of my back, fingers splayed possessively. To anyone watching, it probably looks affectionate. I feel the threat in each fingertip.

"Gentlemen," Luca's voice carries across the room like he owns every molecule of air. "My wife, Elena."

Wife. The word still sounds foreign. Wrong.

A man with silver hair and dead shark eyes stands first. The others follow like dominoes. Old-world courtesy wrapped around new-world violence.

"Mrs. Valenti." Shark Eyes takes my hand, pressing dry lips to my knuckles. "Congratulations on your marriage."

"Thank you."

My voice comes out steady. Small miracle.

"Dmitri Kozlov," Luca murmurs in my ear. "He controls shipping routes from Moscow to the Mediterranean."

Why is he telling me this? Then I understand—he wants them to know I know. That I'm not just some pretty ornament. I'm evidence that the Romano connections are now Valenti assets.

"Your father had excellent taste in art," Dmitri continues, still holding my hand. "I purchased several pieces from his collection after his... unfortunate passing."

Vulture. They circled before Papa's body was even cold.

"How thoughtful of you," I manage.

Luca guides me around the table, making introductions like I'm a prize heifer at auction. Each handshake feels like signing another piece of my soul away.

"Marco Santangelo. Controls the ports in Naples."

"Viktor Petrov. Launders money through Eastern European banks."

"Giuseppe Torrino. Runs numbers from Calabria to Sicily."

Names and crimes blur together. These men move millions of dollars in blood money, and I'm supposed to smile and play hostess like we're discussing the weather.

The youngest one—maybe thirty, with the kind of pretty-boy looks that hide a rotten core—lets his eyes linger too long on my neckline.

"Careful, Enzo." Luca's voice could freeze nitrogen. "That's my wife you're undressing with your eyes."

Enzo's face goes white. "My apologies. No disrespect intended."

"None taken." Luca's smile would make the devil nervous. "This time."

The threat hangs in the air like smoke. I wonder what happened to the last person who disrespected Luca's property.

"Please, sit." Luca pulls out a chair at his right hand. The position of honor. Or the best spot to keep an eye on me.

Coffee appears—thick, bitter espresso in delicate china cups. I wrap my fingers around the warmth, grateful for something to do with my hands.

"Elena studied international business at university," Luca announces suddenly. "Top of her class."

“How did he know that.” I murmured to myself

Every head turns toward me. I feel like a lab specimen under a microscope.

"Impressive," Dmitri says. "Beauty and brains. You chose well, Luca."

Chose. Like I was a selection from a catalog.

"My wife is full of surprises," Luca agrees. His hand finds my thigh under the table, fingers digging in just hard enough to hurt. "Aren't you, cara mia?"

The endearment sounds like poison wrapped in silk.

"I try to be." I take a sip of coffee to buy time. "Though I'm sure you gentlemen have far more interesting stories than anything I could contribute."

"Modest, too." Viktor chuckles. "A refreshing change from these modern women who think they know better than their husbands."

The casual misogyny hits like a slap. I keep my expression neutral, but something must show because Luca's grip tightens.

"Elena knows her place," he says quietly. "Don't you, amore?"

Another endearment. Another threat.

"Of course."

The words taste like ash, but I force them out. Around the table, the men nod approvingly. Good little wife. Knows when to keep her mouth shut.

If they only knew what I'm thinking right now.

"Business is business," Giuseppe says, leaning back in his chair. "But family is sacred. Your father understood this, Luca. Blood comes first."

"Always," Luca agrees. "Which is why this union is so important. The Romano connections in America, combined with Valenti operations here... we're unstoppable."

They're talking about me like I'm a corporate merger. Which, I suppose, is exactly what I am.

The conversation turns to shipping schedules and territory disputes. I listen, memorizing names and details I'm probably not supposed to hear. These men trust Luca enough to speak freely in front of his wife.

Their mistake.

After an hour of veiled threats and casual mentions of people who've "disappeared," the meeting begins to wind down. Handshakes and promises to stay in touch. More kisses pressed to my knuckles like I'm some medieval princess.

"A pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Valenti," Dmitri says as he prepares to leave. "I hope we'll see more of you in the future."

"I'm sure you will."

Because where else would I go?

When the last guest disappears through the front door, Luca turns to me. The mask of civility drops, revealing something hungrier underneath.

"Well done," he says. "You played your part perfectly."

"What part was that?"

"The obedient wife. The dutiful hostess. The woman who knows better than to ask too many questions."

"Maybe I am that woman."

"No." His eyes glitter with dark amusement. "You're not. But you're learning to pretend, which is almost as valuable."

He starts toward his study, then pauses.

"Oh, and Elena? Your friend Sophia called this morning. Sweet girl. Works at that little café in the old quarter, doesn't she?"

My blood turns to ice water. "What about her?"

"Nothing. Yet." He smiles like a shark scenting blood. "But it would be unfortunate if something happened to her because you forgot your manners."

The message is crystal clear. Behave, or the people I care about pay the price.

"You're a monster," I whisper.

"I'm your husband. Learn the difference."

He disappears into his study, leaving me alone in the dining room with the ghosts of conversation and the weight of my new reality.

I walk to the window, staring out at the Mediterranean sparkling in the distance. Beautiful. Peaceful. A million miles away from the ugliness inside these walls.

A soft knock interrupts my brooding. I turn to find a man in his thirties, built like a boxer but with kind eyes. Dark hair, olive skin, the look of someone who's seen too much but hasn't let it kill his soul yet.

"Mrs. Valenti? I'm Dominic. Dominic Greco."

Luca's right hand. His enforcer. The one who does the dirty work so Luca can keep his manicure clean.

"What do you want?"

"To apologize." He steps into the room, hands loose at his sides. Non-threatening. "For the way things went down yesterday. The wedding, I mean. It wasn't... it wasn't right."

I blink. In this house of monsters, an apology is the last thing I expected.

"Don't." My voice comes out harsher than intended. "Don't pretend to care. It makes everything worse."

"I'm not pretending." He moves closer, and I notice a scar running from his left ear to his jaw. Old wound, badly healed. "I know what it's like to be trapped in a life you never chose."

"Do you?"

"My sister was sold to pay my father's gambling debts when she was sixteen." His voice is quiet, matter-of-fact. "I was too young to stop it then. Too weak."

The words hit like a punch to the gut. "What happened to her?"

"She survived. Barely. But she survived." He reaches into his jacket, and I tense, but he only pulls out a small leather-bound book. "Thought you might want something to read. Gets lonely in that room."

I take the book. It's worn, well-loved. The title is faded, but I can make out the words: *The Count of Monte Cristo*.

"Revenge story," Dominic explains with a slight smile. "Seemed appropriate."

Despite everything, I almost smile back. Almost.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because someone should have done it for my sister." He turns to go, then stops. "And because you're not what he thinks you are."

"What do you mean?"

"Luca sees a Romano princess. Pampered, helpless, ready to break." His eyes meet mine, and there's something like respect in them. "But I see something else."

"What?"

"A survivor. Just like my sister." He nods toward the book. "Read it. You might find it... educational."

Then he's gone, leaving me alone with a story about a man who spent years planning the perfect revenge.

I clutch the book to my chest and wonder if Dominic knows exactly what kind of education he just gave me.