Chapter 7: Society Debut

The black Armani dress clings to my skin like a second layer of armor. I smooth my hands down the silk, checking my reflection one last time in the mirror. The woman staring back looks composed, elegant—everything a mafia wife should be.

She's also a complete lie.

"You look... acceptable." Luca's voice cuts through the silence behind me. I don't turn around. Can't. The mirror shows him adjusting his cufflinks, his expression carved from stone.

"Acceptable." The word tastes bitter. "High praise."

His laugh is sharp. "Don't mistake this for a real marriage, Elena. Tonight, you're an accessory. Beautiful, expensive, and completely under my control."

My fingers tighten around the pearl necklace at my throat. The same one his mother insisted I wear. "Of course. How could I forget?"

"Good." He steps closer, his reflection joining mine in the mirror. His hands settle on my shoulders, deceptively gentle. "The Caruso charity gala isn't just about donations. Every family will be watching us. Judging. One wrong move and—"

"And what? You'll lock me in the basement?" I meet his eyes in the mirror. "I'm a quick learner."

Something flickers across his face. Surprise? Approval? It's gone before I can identify it.

The ride to the Palazzo Caruso passes in suffocating silence. Palermo's ancient streets blur past the tinted windows—narrow alleys where secrets are buried, grand piazzas where power is displayed. Tonight, I'll be part of that display.

The palazzo blazes with golden light, its baroque facade crawling with ivy and shadows. Cars line the circular drive—Maseratis, Ferraris, vehicles worth more than most people's homes. Men in tailored suits help jeweled women from leather seats.

"Remember," Luca murmurs as our driver opens the door. "You adore me."

The Mediterranean air hits my face, carrying the scent of jasmine and expensive perfume. Luca offers his arm, and I take it, letting him guide me up the marble steps. My heels click against stone worn smooth by centuries of powerful feet.

Inside, the palazzo thrums with controlled energy. Crystal chandeliers cast dancing shadows across frescoed walls. Waiters weave between clusters of Sicily's elite, carrying champagne and canapés that cost more than my family's servants made in a month.

"Luca!" A portly man with kind eyes approaches us, arms spread wide. "And this must be your beautiful bride."

"Elena," Luca says, his hand sliding to the small of my back. The touch burns through the silk. "This is Giovanni Caruso, our host."

I extend my hand with a smile that feels painted on. "Mr. Caruso. Thank you for including us."

He kisses my knuckles, his mustache tickling my skin. "The pleasure is mine, cara mia. I knew your father well. A good man, may he rest in peace."

The words hit like a slap. My father—whose sins I'm paying for every day. Whose death brought me here.

"Thank you." My voice doesn't waver. Small victory.

"Come," Giovanni gestures toward the main hall. "There are many people eager to meet the new Mrs. Valenti."

The next hour blurs into a parade of faces and false smiles. Shipping magnates who launder money through charity events. Politicians who take bribes with their morning espresso. Judges who've never seen a crime they couldn't overlook for the right price.

Luca never leaves my side, his presence both protective shield and prison guard. His hand stays glued to my waist, a brand of ownership that makes my skin crawl and burn simultaneously.

"She's lovely, Luca," says the wife of a city councilman. "So young and fresh."

"Indeed." Luca's thumb traces small circles against my hip. "I'm very... protective of my investments."

The casual cruelty in his voice makes me want to dig my nails into his wrist. Instead, I lean into him slightly, playing the besotted bride.

"My husband spoils me terribly," I murmur, looking up at him through my lashes.

His dark eyes flash with something dangerous. "Not nearly enough, cara mia."

The endearment sounds like a threat.

"Elena, darling!"

I turn to see Marcella Valenti approaching, resplendent in emerald silk and enough diamonds to blind someone. Luca's mother moves like a queen granting audience, her smile sharp as broken glass.

"Mamma." Luca's voice warms exactly one degree.

"You look radiant, dear." Marcella air-kisses both my cheeks, her perfume cloying. "Though perhaps a bit... overwhelmed?"

"Just taking it all in," I reply carefully.

"Of course." Her laugh tinkles like wind chimes in a hurricane. "It must be so different from what you're used to. The Romano family always preferred... simpler pleasures."

Heat climbs my neck. The insult is delicate, wrapped in silk, but it hits its target.

"My wife adapts quickly," Luca says, his voice carrying a warning.

"Oh, I'm sure she does." Marcella's eyes glitter with malice. "Though some bloodlines are stronger than others, don't you think? The Valenti name has such... gravitas. I do hope Elena won't dilute it."

The ballroom seems to hold its breath. Conversations pause. Eyes turn toward us like flowers following the sun.

"I think," I say, my voice carrying further than intended, "that strong blood recognizes strong blood. The Romano name has survived four centuries in Sicily. We don't dilute easily."

Marcella's smile turns predatory. "Survived, yes. But thrived? Well..." She shrugs elegantly. "That remains to be seen."

My cheeks burn, but I keep my expression serene. Around us, whispers start like rustling leaves.

"Enough," Luca murmurs, but I can't tell if he's addressing his mother or me.

"Of course, darling." Marcella pats his cheek with maternal affection that somehow looks like a slap. "I was just welcoming Elena to the family. Making sure she understands her... position."

The word hangs in the air like smoke.

"If you'll excuse me," Marcella continues, "I see the Archbishop has arrived. We must maintain proper relationships with the Church, mustn't we? So important for... appearances."

She glides away, leaving devastation in her wake like a beautiful storm.

"Drink?" Luca asks, his voice neutral.

I nod, not trusting my voice. He signals a waiter, who appears instantly with champagne flutes. The bubbles tickle my nose as I take a sip, but the wine tastes like ash.

"You handled that well," he says quietly.

"Did I have a choice?"

"There's always a choice, Elena. The question is whether you can live with the consequences."

A man approaches—tall, silver-haired, with dead eyes in a politician's face. "Valenti. Congratulations on your marriage."

"Rossi." Luca's grip on me tightens. "Thank you. Elena, this is Councilman Rossi. He ensures our shipping permits stay... expedited."

Rossi's smile is all teeth. "Mrs. Valenti. I hope marriage suits you."

"It has its... challenges," I say carefully.

His laugh is oily. "All the best ones do. Your husband certainly knows how to handle difficult situations."

"Oh yes," Luca agrees, his thumb now pressing hard enough against my hip to leave a bruise. "I'm very hands-on with my possessions."

The deliberate emphasis makes my stomach clench. Around us, men nod approvingly. Their wives flutter like decorative birds, beautiful and caged.

"If you'll excuse us," Luca says smoothly, "I'd like to show my wife the gardens."

He doesn't wait for permission. His hand slides down to cup my elbow, steering me toward the French doors that open onto moonlit terraces.

The night air is cooler here, carrying the scent of lemon trees and jasmine. Other couples stroll the pathways, their voices soft murmurs against the fountain's splash.

"You're angry," Luca observes.

"Should I be grateful instead?"

He stops walking, turning to face me. In the moonlight, his features look carved from marble—beautiful and cold.

"My mother was establishing your place in the hierarchy. It's how things work."

"By humiliating me in front of half of Palermo?"

"By showing you that your old life is dead." His voice drops to a whisper. "The Romano princess doesn't exist anymore. There's only my wife, and my wife knows her place."

"Which is?"

"Wherever I put you."

The words hit like a physical blow. I step back, but he follows, backing me against the stone balustrade.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" His hands bracket my hips, trapping me. "To be part of this world? To matter again?"

"I wanted to survive."

"Same thing." His face is inches from mine now. "In this world, you're either predator or prey. My mother just reminded everyone which one you are."

"And which are you?"

His smile is sharp enough to cut. "I'm the one who decides who lives and who dies. Including you."

The threat should terrify me. Instead, something hot and dangerous unfurls in my chest—not fear, but fury.

"Then decide," I whisper.

For a moment, something shifts in his expression. Surprise? Arousal? Then it's gone, replaced by that familiar cold mask.

"Careful, wife. You're playing a game you don't understand."

"Maybe. Or maybe I understand it better than you think."

He stares at me for a long moment, and I see the exact second he makes his choice. His hand slides up to cup my jaw, thumb tracing my lower lip with devastating gentleness.

"We should go back inside," he says finally. "Before people start to wonder what we're doing out here."

"Let them wonder."

His grip tightens. "Elena—"

"Mrs. Valenti?" A voice interrupts from the pathway. We spring apart as a waiter approaches. "Your mother-in-law is looking for you. Something about introducing you to the Cardinal."

Luca's jaw clenches. "Of course she is."

We walk back toward the lights and laughter, but something has changed between us. The careful distance is gone, replaced by something more dangerous.

As we step back into the ballroom, Marcella materializes beside us like a beautiful vulture.

"There you are, darlings. His Eminence is so eager to meet you, Elena. He knew your grandfather, I believe. Before the... unpleasantness."

Another calculated blow. My grandfather died in prison, his businesses seized by the state.

"How thoughtful of you to arrange it," I reply smoothly.

"Oh, I live to serve." Her smile could freeze blood. "After all, family is everything, isn't it? And you're family now. Such as you are."

The words follow me as she leads us toward a cluster of black-robed clergy. Such as you are. Less than. Not enough. Never enough.

But as Luca's hand finds the small of my back again, I realize something that should terrify me:

I'm starting to enjoy this game.