Page 11 of Wicked Bloodlines

Dario occupied the head of the table like a man who’d been born in that chair, his salt-and-pepper beard neatly trimmed, those piercing blue eyes tracking my entrance with detached interest. Sizing me up, no doubt.

Matteo sat at the far end, directly opposite where an empty chair waited for me. He’d changed into a dark button-down, sleeves rolled to the forearms, exposing those scarred knuckles wrapped around a whiskey glass. His gaze found mine, and the weight of his attention settled over me like a ban wrapped around my chest.

Then a cheerful voice cut through the tension like sunlight through a crack in a wall. “Oh, you’re here!”

A woman appeared from somewhere to my left, slight of build but radiating enough energy to power the chandelier, with long dark auburn hair and green eyes that practically sparkled with unfiltered delight. She wore a loose cashmere sweater that looked deliberately oversized, sleeves pushed past her wrists, and she moved toward me with arms already open like we were old friends reuniting rather than strangers meeting for the first time.

Before I could process what was happening, she’d wrapped me in a hug. A real one. The kind that pressed her cheek against my shoulder and squeezed with genuine warmth, not the performative air-kisses I’d grown up with. I fucking hated air-kisses.

“I’m Blue,” she said, pulling back but keeping hold of my hands. “Only everyone calls me Belle.”

I blinked at her, not certain I’d heard her correctly. “I’m sorry?”

She grinned. “My name is Blue Belle. Belle’s my last name. But Dario took to calling me Belle and it stuck.” She looped her arm through mine and took me to the seat across from Matteo. “I’m Dario’s wife. And I am glad you’re here.” She leaned in conspiratorially, her voice dropping to a stage whisper. “Don’t let them intimidate you. They’re mostly bark.”

“Mostly,” Dario murmured from the head of the table, and the faintest smile touched his mouth. He snagged Belle’s hand as she walked around him to her own chair and brought her fingers to his lips for a gentle kiss. The only time Dario’s gaze warmed even fractionally seemed to be when he looked at Belle. I found the words “oh how sweet” hovering in the back of my mind but, thankfully, I managed not to comment.

Dinner went surprisingly smoothly. Questions came from the Lucas as well as myself. We avoided the pink elephant in the room. Which was mine and Matteo’s engagement. Thanks to Belle’s delicate touch, the conversation kept flowing, putting me more at ease than I probably should have been given the circumstances. But slowly, I relaxed. Advisable or not. Probably their plan, but I didn’t think I cared anymore. Seeing how happy Belle looked, I decided maybe there were worse things than death. Like being terrified for the rest of my life. I knew better than anyone how appearances could be deceiving, but I was adept at hiding my feelings so much I recognized it in others. This woman’s happiness was genuine.

I felt Matteo’s gaze on me. He barely spoke during dinner. Barely ate. He sat with one hand wrapped around his whiskey glass and watched me navigate his family with an expression I couldn’t fully decode. Every time I looked up, he was already looking at me. And every time our eyes met across that table, something hot and uncomfortable twisted in my chest, a warning I couldn’t afford to ignore.

I made it through dessert and coffee before the mask started to crack at the edges. Small fractures that no one at the table would notice unless they were looking, and Matteo was always looking.

“If you’ll excuse me,” I said, folding my napkin with deliberate care and placing it beside my plate. “I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s been a long day. The move and everything.” I let a small, tired smile do the work of a longer explanation.

Belle reached across the table to squeeze my hand. “Of course, sweetheart. You must be exhausted. Sleep in tomorrow. I’ll make sure nobody bothers you before ten.” She shot a meaningful look toward the assembled brothers that dared any of them to argue.

“Thank you, Belle. For everything tonight.” And I meant it, which was the most unsettling part. I hadn’t expected to mean anything I said in this house. Unexpectedly, I felt tears prick behind my eyes and knew I needed to get out before I did something completely unforgivably. Like cry in front of these people.

I pushed my chair back and stood, murmuring goodnight to the table. I didn’t look at Matteo. I could feel his stare like a brand between my shoulder blades as I walked out, and looking back would have acknowledged it. Would have given him something I wasn’t prepared to give.

The hallway stretched ahead of me, dim and quiet after the bright noise of dinner. The immediate relief I felt nearly overwhelmed me. I sagged briefly against the wall, needing to catch my breath. I had no idea how I’d make it through this. Whatever this was. I would be the wife of Matteo Luca. And I had no idea what that looked like or if I should be running screaming into the night.

Halfway to the eastern wing I heard heavy footfalls behind me, closing the distance with purpose. My pulse spiked before my brain caught up, and I quickened my pace without breaking into anything that could be called a run. The door to my suite was close.

His hand hit the door to shove it closed as I tried to open it. I flinched. Couldn’t help it. My body jerked sideways, one hand flying up instinctively before I caught myself and pressed my back flat against the wall.

Matteo loomed over me with his superior height, his body forming a cage of muscle and heat and barely restrained aggression as he stood in front of me. He leaned in to rest his hands on the wall beside my head. His face was inches from mine.

“What’s your game?” His voice was low, rougher than it had been at dinner, stripped of whatever thin civility he’d been wearing at the table.

My heart threw itself against my ribs like something trying to break free. I made myself hold his gaze. Made myself breathe. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Bullshit.” He leaned closer, and I caught his scent again, whiskey and soap and the dark undercurrent of something that made my stomach tighten in a way that had nothing to do with fear. “Nobody’s that perfect at dinner. Nobody charms my brothers that easily. Alessandro’s already half-convinced you’re harmless, and he doesn’t trust anyone.”

One of his hands found my waist. Not gently. His fingers dug into my hip through the thin fabric of the dress, anchoring me in place with a grip that communicated ownership and warning in equal measure.

“I’m watching you, princess.”

The word landed like a lit match on dry kindling. Something behind my sternum caught fire, not fear, not anymore, but a rage so clean and bright it burned away everything else. The exhaustion, the careful control I’d maintained for hours, the driving need to make my father pay for his crimes and not being able to do so finally got the better of me.

I shoved against his chest with both hands. Hard. He barely moved, but it created enough distance for me to straighten to my full height and meet his gaze with everything I’d been swallowing since my father had announced this arrangement.

“Get your hands off me.” My voice came out steady. Cold. A tone I’d learned from a man who used it to terrorize. “I didn’t ask for this arrangement any more than you did. I’m doing what’s required of me. Nothing more.” At least, not with regard to his family.

Something shifted in his expression. The suspicion was still there, but underneath it, something seemed to give, a flash of surprise that I’d pushed back instead of crumbling. Our faces were close enough that I could feel his breath against my lips. Close enough that I could see the war happening behind his eyes. And the moment when whatever he’d come here to do collided with something he hadn’t planned for.

His gaze dropped to my mouth and the air between us changed. Charged. Became something dense and volatile that sizzled on my skin like static before a lightning strike. I should have turned my head. Should have ducked under his arm and into my suite. I should have done anything other than stand there, pulse hammering in my throat, watching his jaw clench as he fought a battle I could see him losing in real time.