Chapter 9: Necklace Meaning

“Has he?” The old man laughs. “That’s good to hear. It’s important for families to unite properly. Too much blood has been spilled over old grudges.”

“Yes,” I agree, because what else can I say? “Too much blood.”

More people come. More congratulations, more careful questions, more assessment disguised as courtesy. Everyone wants to see the Romano girl who married Valenti. Everyone wants to know if I’m broken yet.

I smile until my face hurts.

Then I see her.

Marcella Valenti, holding court near the bar, surrounded by society women who hang on her every word. She’s wearing black, despite this being a celebration, her pearls gleaming at her throat. When she sees us, her expression doesn’t change. Just a slight tightening around her eyes.

“Your mother is here,” I murmur to Luca.

“Of course she is. She never misses an opportunity to be seen.” He guides me toward her, and I can feel my stomach knotting. “Remember what I taught you. Respect, deference, proper address.”

“I remember.”

We reach the circle, and the other women scatter like birds. Marcella’s power is absolute in this world, and everyone knows it.

“Mother.” Luca kisses her cheek. “You look well.”

“Luca.” She accepts the kiss without warmth. Then her eyes slid to me. “Elena. What a lovely dress. Red suits you. So bold.”

There’s something in the way she says bold that sounds like criticism.

“Thank you, Signora Valenti.” I keep my voice respectful, measured. “You look beautiful as always.”

“Flattery.” She sips her champagne. “Your father used it constantly. I hope you’re more sincere than he was.”

The cut is deliberate, surgical. Reminding me of my place, of my blood, of everything I can never escape.

“I try to be,” I say carefully.

“Do you?” She studies me like I’m an insect under glass. “Tell me, how are you finding your new home? Is the staff treating you well?”

“Very well, thank you.”

“And your lessons? Signora Russo tells me you’re progressing adequately.”

Adequately. That word again, dripping with judgment.

“I’m doing my best.”

“Hmm.” Marcella’s eyes narrow. “Your best. How Romano of you. In our family, we don’t do our best. We excel. We dominate. We leave no room for adequacy.” She leans closer, voice dropping. “You’re wearing my mother’s necklace. The Valenti rubies. Do you know their history?”

“No, signora.”

“Each stone represents a family who thought they could challenge us. Each one was bought with blood.” Her smile is ice. “Wear them well, child. Remember what they cost.”

“Mother.” Luca’s voice holds warning. “This isn’t the place.”

“Isn’t it?” She straightens. “I’m simply educating your wife about her new family’s legacy. Surely you want her properly informed?”

“She’s informed enough.”

“Is she?” Marcella’s gaze moves between us, calculating. “Well. I suppose time will tell if the Romano blood is too weak to carry the Valenti name properly. Excuse me. I see the Mayor’s wife. We have business to discuss.”

She glides away, leaving poison in her wake.

“Don’t let her get to you,” Luca says quietly. “She does this to everyone.”

“Does she succeed?”

“Usually.” Something flickers in his expression. Almost like regret. “Come. Let’s find our table.”

Dinner is an ordeal. Seven courses of food I can barely taste while making conversation with people who clearly see me as either a curiosity or a threat. The woman to my left asks intrusive questions about our honeymoon, which we didn’t have. The man to my right discusses business with Luca over my head like I’m furniture.

Between courses, there are speeches. The hospital director thanks the donors. A child survivor tells her story, and I can see real tears in the audience. Even these people, these criminals and power brokers, have hearts somewhere under the expensive suits.

Then the dancing starts.

“Come.” Luca stands, offers his hand. “We’re expected to dance.”

“Can’t we just…”

“No.” His expression makes it clear this isn’t negotiable. “Everyone is watching. We dance.”

The ballroom floor is crowded with couples swaying to something slow and romantic. Luca pulls me close, one hand at my waist, the other capturing mine. This close, I can smell his cologne, feel the heat of him.

We move together, and I hate how natural it feels. How easily my body follows his lead.

“You’re doing well,” he says quietly. “Better than I expected.”

“Should I be flattered?”

“You should be smart. Keep this up, and the month will pass quickly. Then you can see your brother.”

Alessandro. The only reason I’m surviving this. The reminder of what’s at stake.

“I want to know he’s okay,” I say. “Not just see him. Talk to him. Alone.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because alone means opportunity for planning. For schemes. For hope.” His hand tightens on my waist. “I’m not stupid, Elena. I know what you’d do if given the chance.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“Don’t I?” He spins me, pulls me back harder. “I know you’re smarter than your father. I know you’re looking for weaknesses, studying patterns, calculating odds. I know because I’d do the same thing.”

“Then you understand why I need to see him.”

“What I understand is that love makes people desperate. And desperate people make mistakes.” His lips brush my ear. “I can’t let you make mistakes. Not yet.”

“Not yet?” I pull back slightly, meet his eyes. “What does that mean?”

But he doesn’t answer. Just keeps dancing, his expression unreadable.

The song ends and we separate. Polite applause ripples through the room. Other couples return to tables, to conversations, to the business of being seen.

“I need some air,” I say.

“No.”

“Luca…”

“The balcony.” He nods toward a set of doors leading outside. “Five minutes. Dominic will watch you.”

It’s not freedom, but it’s something.

The balcony overlooks the city, lights spreading out like fallen stars. The air is cool, a relief after the stuffy ballroom. I can hear the party continuing behind me, muffled through the glass.

Dominic stands near the door, close enough to intervene but far enough to give the illusion of privacy.

“Beautiful night,” he says after a moment.

“Is it?”

“Could be worse.”

“Could it?” I turn to look at him. “Tell me honestly, Dominic. Does it get easier? Living like this?”

He’s quiet for a long moment. “I don’t know. I’ve never been a prisoner.”

“But you’ve seen them. You’ve watched Luca do this before.”

“Not like this. You’re different.”

“Different how?”

“You fight.” He meets my eyes. “Most people break by now. Give up. Accept their fate. But you’re still looking for exits, still calculating angles. Still hoping.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“I don’t know yet.” He glances back at the party. “But Elena? Be careful. Hope is dangerous in places like this. It makes you reckless. And reckless gets people killed.”

Before I can respond, the door opens. Luca steps out, his expression dark.

“We’re leaving,” he says.

“Already? The gala isn’t…”

“Now.” There’s something in his voice I haven’t heard before. Anger, maybe. Or fear. “Car’s out front. Move.”

He doesn’t wait for agreement, just grabs my arm and pulls me through the palazzo. Behind us, I hear raised voices, commotion. Something’s happened.

Something bad.

In the car, Luca’s silence is heavy. His jaw works, hands clenched in his lap. Dominic sits in front with the driver, tension radiating from his shoulders.

“What happened?” I ask.

“Not now.”

“Luca…”

“I said not now.” He doesn’t look at me. “When we get home, you go straight to your room. You don’t come out, you don’t ask questions, you don’t do anything but lock your door and stay quiet. Understood?”

Fear crawls up my spine. “Why? What’s going on?”

He finally looks at me, and there’s something in his eyes that makes my breath catch. Not anger. Something worse.

Worry.

“Someone just tried to kill us,” he says quietly. “Both of us. And until I know who, you’re not safe anywhere.”