Super Threat

Annnalissa Hale

I smooth my hand over my dress, forcing a steady breath. The bagel sits on my plate and I calmly force my fingers to lift the pastry.

When I glance up, Dante is already watching me from the far end of the table. One of his elbows is propped on the chair, with his shirt stretching over his shoulders.

His gaze is dark and unblinking.

The silence coils, daring me to fold.

I tilt my chin, summon a faint smile, and slide the bagel back across the polished wood toward him. “You should have it. A husband deserves the first bite.”

For a beat, his expression doesn’t change. Then his mouth curves like an unsheathing blade.

He leans back, spreading his arm over the chair as if he owns not just the table, but the air I’m breathing. “Careful, Issa. Offering me your food sounds a lot like an invitation.”

Heat spikes up the back of my neck. My hand tightens on my lap, my nails biting into my skin.

“It’s not,” I manage, holding his gaze. “It’s manners.”

His laugh is soft but terrifying. I adjust in my seat.

“Manners.” He repeats it like the word amuses him. His eyes dart to the bagel, then back to me. “You’re learning quickly.”

I hold his gaze, though my throat is burning and my chest is tight. He drags the bagel back toward himself, but doesn’t eat. Instead, he breaks off a piece, rolling it lazily between his fingers.

My blood chills, but I don’t let my face falter. I simply reach for my coffee, praying my trembling hands don’t betray me.

Dante narrows his eyes. “One day, Mrs. Romano, I’ll decide which parts of you I taste first.”

The coffee snags in my throat, and I try not to clamp a fist to my mouth. A sharp cough tears out anyway and I don’t miss the light twitch of his lips.

Perfect. Just perfect.

The rest of breakfast is in silence. I barely touch my food because despite the near save, my heart doesn’t stop racing. Dante soon steps out to receive a call and a few moments later, an orange-haired man walks in. The Tweety-wannabe that welcomed Dante and I at the door last night.

He’s in a teal shirt and jeans, hair slicked back. He introduces himself as Dante’s consigliere, Connor Warren, but he doesn’t seem bright enough to be anyone’s advisor.

“It’s nice to properly meet you, Mrs. Romano.” he says with a cartoonish smile before tapping away on his tablet. The way he types too fast, like he’s cataloging everything I do, makes my finger itch. “You leave for the Romano estate in fifteen minutes.”

I arch a brow. “The Romano estate?”

“You’re meeting with The Don’s family since they weren’t present at the wedding.”

His family?

My skin prickles with goosebumps crawling up my arms. It’s all moving too fast. I’m meeting his family already? I’ve just escaped one hell and I’m being thrown into another.

Tweety leads me out of the dining hall. We make our way out to the sprawling lawn where Dante is still on a call. He signals me to get in the car. I get in the front seat of his sleek black Tesla and fasten my seatbelt.

Dante soon joins me in the car. He doesn’t speak, but the silence is louder than any words. His jaw is carved in stone. His fingers are flexing hard against the steering wheel as if it’s the only thing keeping his rage caged.

He drives too fast and every sharp turn makes me curl further into my seat. It feels less like a ride and more like a coffin in motion.

I clamp the hem of my dress until my knuckles ache, trying to steady myself. Just once, his hand brushes my thigh when he shifts gears. Heat shoots through me, setting every nerve on fire.

But Dante doesn’t even glance at me. His eyes stay on the road.

By the time we reach the Romano estate—a sprawling, old-world—my hands are numb.

We get out of the car and Dante’s hand finds the small of my back as he leads me into the penthouse. We walk past four suits of armor and four alabaster horse heads, two on each side and lined up like mortal enemies ready to charge across the chessboard floor. Just like that family I’m about to face.

My heels click too loudly against the floor and Dante’s hand on the small of my back brands me hotter than the August sun outside.

My senses are on full alert.

Finally, we walk through the French doors that leads to a huge dining hall.

God, not again.

An old man with grey hair is sitting at the head of the table with a young lady dining on turkey, potato casserole, filet and fruit cups.

I immediately recognize the old man as Don Romano, Dante’s grandfather. The infamous king of the underground until old age made him step down. Still, he’s got that bite.

“Clarissa, you’re finally here.” Don Romano says, tilting his head up to look at me.

I blow out a breath as the name lands on me. Clarissa. Not Annalissa. Never me. I smile the way I’ve practiced and grab a seat next to him.

Dante sits next to the young lady. They look a lot alike except she has curly hair with blonde highlights, and perfect skin. She’s his younger sister, Ornella Romano. I’ve only ever seen her on a magazine cover when she appeared on Forbes top ten special athletes spotlight.

Don Romano warms up to me in minutes.

“For the record, I think you and Dante are a perfect match.” he says.

It’s a little far fetched but still, I feel a little safer knowing at least one person has my back.

Ornella, on the other hand, hasn’t said a word since she muttered the word “brownnoser” under her breath and Don Romano shot her a glare. I’m not sure what that word is exactly, but I could tell it’s an insult by the way she said it.

Dante’s lips are pressed into a thin line as he continues to glance at his phone every now and then. He seems to be in a bad mood since that phone call earlier.

The door to the dining swings open again and an elderly woman strides into the room, toward me. Her stilettos clack against the floor as she struts like she’s on a runway, showing off her red dress. Her glossy golden hair is brushed out and tumbles over her shoulders like a waterfall.

So that’s where Ornella got the blonde highlights from.

I nervously twist the emerald wedding ring on my finger as she stops right in front of me. I’m attentive enough to notice her barely concealed sneer.

Yeah, she doesn’t like me.

“You’re… striking,” she says, drawing out the pause like she’s searching for a polite word that doesn’t exist. “But the Romano women have always had a certain… refinement. Perhaps it will come with time.”

My lips curve, politely. “Perhaps.”

Inside, my nails bite crescents into my palms. Refinement? I could gut her with refinement.

Dante doesn’t say a word. He just leans back, enjoying the show. Maybe they’re both in on it? Did he set this stage to see how I’ll handle his family?

Lunch feels like a gauntlet. I sip wine when I should, nod when spoken to. Don Romano rises at the head of the table with his glass in hand. His deep voice carries easily through the hall.

“To my new grand daughter-in-law,” he says, gesturing toward me. I purse my lips. “May she bring honor to our family and loyalty to our Don.”

I lift my glass nervously and…

The door slams open.

A ripple of whisper shivers down the table.

The woman doesn’t just walk in, she arrives. Kayleigh Miller. All legs, silks and scarlet lips. She’s an actress and supermodel I’ve seen on tv a couple of times. Her eyes sweep the table, then land on Dante. The smirk that blooms makes my chest ache.

“Really, Dante?” she purrs, striding forward. “A toast without me?”

The Don frowns. Dante doesn’t. His lips twitch, almost amused, as she leans down and presses a kiss to his cheek. He doesn’t pull away. If anything, he tilts toward her.

My hand shakes around my glass.

She slides into the empty seat beside him, crossing her legs in one liquid motion. “Do you still take your whiskey neat?” she asks, and it’s not a question.

Her smile dares me to notice.

The table laughs softly.

Kayleigh doesn’t wait until we’re alone to strike. Halfway through the meal, she glances down the table.

“She’s lovely,” she says brightly, glancing at me. “Though… it’s strange seeing you married. Dante always said marriage wasn’t for him. That he preferred his women… temporary.”

The laughter is sharper this time. My fork slips against porcelain. My lips curl into what I pray looks like a smile.

After a few more clicks, I slip out from the dining hall, for air. But I don’t get any.

“Running off already?” The voice slinks down the hall before I even see her.

Kayleigh steps out of the shadows. No audience now. Just her, and me.

I straighten, forcing my hands to unclench. “I just needed some air.”

She laughs. “Air. Right. That’s usually what the new ones say before they choke.”

I stiffen. “Excuse me?”

Kayleigh closes the space between us. Her sharp perfume wraps tight around my throat. She’s taller in her heels, and she uses it, tilting her chin so I’m the one looking up. Her manicured fingers trail along the diamond at my neck.

“You wear it like costume jewelry,” she murmurs, straightening it carefully. “But on me? It would mean something.”

I can’t breathe past the sudden stone in my chest.

Her smile sharpens.

“Don’t look so shocked, Mrs. Romano. You think a ring makes you safe? Dante doesn’t love. He devours. And I’d know—” she leans closer, whispering into my ear, “—because I’ve been where you’re standing. More than once.”

Heat floods my cheeks. My nails dig crescents into my palms. She pats my cheek softly.

“Enjoy your little fairytale while it lasts.”

And then she glides back into the dining hall, leaving me in the corridor.