DINNER WITH DEMONS

Luca's Pov 

"I can't go to a family dinner with criminals."

Dante stood in my doorway. "You don't have a choice, Luca. Teresa specifically requested your presence. If I show up without you, it raises questions I can't afford."

"What kind of questions?"

"Questions about whether you actually exist. Whether I'm hiding something." He paused. "Questions that lead to people investigating. And if they investigate you, they'll find Sofia."

My sister used as leverage.

"That's not fair."

"No, it's not. But it's reality."

"What am I supposed to tell them?"

"Tell them you're helping with a financial investigation. That you're working off a debt."

"A debt? What debt?"

"The debt of me saving your life."

I laughed, sharp and bitter. "Saving my life. Is that what we're calling it?"

"What would you call it?"

"Buying a person. Keeping them captive. Forcing them to work under threat of harm to their family. That's not saving, Dante. That's just a different kind of prison."

"We leave in an hour. Wear something nice."

After he left, I stood in front of the closet. Someone had hung the clothes from my apartment. They looked pathetic next to the expensive suit Dante had delivered.

I put it on because what choice did I have?

My hands shook as I tried to button the collar.

"You okay?"

I spun around. Dante stood in the doorway.

"Do I look okay?"

He stepped in and I instinctively backed up. He froze.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Luca."

"Everyone keeps saying that."

"Your collar's twisted. That's why the buttons won't work. Do you want help?"

"Fine."

He moved slowly. His hands were gentle as he straightened the collar and worked the buttons.

"You've done this before."

"I had to dress Marco when we were kids. After our mother died."

"There." He stepped back. "You look good."

The drive to Brooklyn was tense and silent.

We pulled up to a brownstone in Park Slope. Warm light spilled from the windows.

"Ready?" Dante asked.

"No."

"Good answer. Neither am I."

Marco opened the door. "Dante. You're late." Then he looked at me. "And you must be Luca. Welcome."

He offered his hand. I shook it.

We followed him to the dining room. I recognized Nico. A few other men. And then a woman who must be Teresa.

She was beautiful in a sharp, calculating way.

"So this is your intelligence asset. Two million dollars must buy quite the asset these days."

"Teresa." Marco's voice carried a warning.

"What? I'm just curious." She smiled at me. "Luca, is it? Tell me, what's so special about you that you cost more than some of our businesses?"

Every eye turned to me.

"I'm good with numbers. Pattern recognition and financial analysis."

"And you're working off a debt to my brother-in-law."

"That's one way to put it."

"What's another way?"

"Teresa." Dante's voice cut across the room. "Leave it."

A younger man appeared. Mid-thirties, with empty eyes and a smile that made my skin crawl.

"Did I miss the interrogation?"

"Alessio." Dante's voice went flat. "This is Luca."

Alessio moved closer, too close. "Two million dollars. You must be very talented."

"I do my job."

"I'm sure you do." His eyes traveled down my body. "Very thoroughly, I imagine."

"Alessio." Dante stepped between us. "Back off."

"Touchy." Alessio raised his hands but winked at me. "Can't blame me for being curious about Dante's new pet."

"Let's eat," Marco announced.

Dinner was the longest hour of my life. I was seated between Dante and a man named Carlo.

Teresa watched me, asking pointed questions. Where did I grow up? Did I have family? What were my plans?

Each question felt like a trap.

Dante barely ate. His hand rested on the table near mine.

After dinner, Marco's daughter appeared, a sixteen-year-old named Isabella who wanted to show her college acceptance letters.

"She's going to Columbia," Marco said proudly. "Pre-med."

"That's wonderful. My sister's in medicine too. Residency at Mount Sinai."

Marco's expression warmed. "Maybe they'll meet someday."

Teresa appeared at my elbow. "You seem tense, Luca."

"I'm fine."

"Are you?" She leaned closer. "Tell me, does my brother-in-law treat you well?"

"He treats me fine."

"Good. Because Dante has a tendency to become... attached to broken things. It's a weakness."

"I'm not broken."

"Aren't you? You were sold at an auction, dear. That breaks something in everyone."

Dante let out a scoff.

"Teresa, I need to borrow Luca."

He guided me to Marco's study.

"Are you okay?"

"Your sister-in-law is terrifying."

"What did she say to you?"

"That you have a weakness for broken things."

"You're not broken."

"She thinks I am."

"She's wrong."

"Is she though? I was sold at an auction four days ago. That sounds pretty broken to me."

"Surviving impossible circumstances isn't the same as being broken, Luca. It's called resilience."

"Is that what we're calling Stockholm syndrome now?"

"You don't have Stockholm syndrome."

"How would you know? Maybe I can't tell the difference between captivity and safety anymore."

"You know the difference. You fight me at every turn. You call me out when I'm manipulating you. That's self-preservation."

"Then why do I feel safe when you're near? Why do I sleep better knowing you're down the hall?"

"Because I'm not going to hurt you. And some part of you knows that."

"But you already have hurt me. You bought me. You're keeping me captive. You're using my sister's safety to make me complicit."

"I know. I know, and I'm sorry, and I don't know how to fix it except to keep you alive long enough to find a better solution."

A knock at the door. Marco stuck his head in.

"Everything okay?"

"Fine. Just needed a moment away from Teresa's interrogation."

After Marco left, we stood in heavy silence.

"What am I to you, Dante? Really?"

He was quiet. Then, "I don't know yet. But you're not property. You're..."

"I'm what?"

"Someone I'm trying very hard not to care about. Because caring about people in this life gets them killed."

The honesty stole my breath.

"We should go back," I whispered.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. In the car, I pressed my forehead against the window.

"You did well," Dante said quietly.

"I felt like I was on display."

"You were. I'm sorry."

Back at the apartment, I went straight to my room. I stood in the shower until the water ran cold.

When I emerged, there was a mug of tea on my nightstand and a note.

“Chamomile. It helps with anxiety. -D”

None of it changed that he'd bought me.

But it made it harder to hate him.

I was almost asleep when I heard Dante on the phone in the hallway, speaking in low Italian.

I cracked my door open.

"...I don't care what she thinks, Marco. Luca is not... no, it's not like that... just keep Teresa away from him..."

The call ended. A few minutes later I found myself walking down the hallway.

Dante stood at the windows with a glass of scotch.

"Can't sleep?" he asked without turning.

"How did you know I was there?"

"I always know where you are in this apartment."

That should have been creepy. Instead, it felt oddly comforting.

"Thank you. For tonight. For keeping Alessio away from me. For the tea."

"You don't need to thank me for basic decency, Luca."

"In my current situation, basic decency feels revolutionary."

He turned. "I'm sorry. For all of it."

"You've apologized before."

"I'll probably apologize again. It doesn't make it better, but it's all I have."

"What did Marco say on the phone? About me?"

"He wanted to know if you were more than an intelligence asset."

"What did you tell him?"

"The truth. That I don't know what you are."

We stood there in the dark.

"I should go to bed," I said, but I didn't move.

"Probably," he agreed, but he didn't look away.

"Goodnight, Dante."

"Goodnight, Luca."

I walked back to my room. But sleep didn't come for hours.

Because Teresa's words kept echoing.

“Dante has a tendency to become attached to broken things. It's a weakness.”

And Dante's response.

“Someone I'm trying very hard not to care about. Because caring about people in this life gets them killed.”

I wasn't broken. But maybe we both were.