Women born into families like hers rarely needed to.
She entered the Moretti kitchen as if she owned the room, and everyone except Sophia behaved as though she did.
The chef lowered his eyes.
The housekeeper suddenly found a reason to inspect a cabinet.
Even the security guard by the doorway straightened.
Sophia stood near the marble counter with flour on her fingers.
Dante moved away from her.
The gesture was small.
It hurt anyway.
Vanessa kissed his cheek.
“You didn’t tell me you were home.”
“I didn’t know I needed permission.”
“You don’t.”
Her smile sharpened.
“I simply enjoy knowing where my future husband sleeps.”
Sophia turned toward the pasta dough.
This was none of her business.
That became her new mantra.
None of my business.
Dante’s marriage arrangement?
None of her business.
The fact that he watched her whenever he entered a room?
None of her business.
The fact that she had begun recognizing his footsteps?
Absolutely none of her business.
Vanessa approached.
“So you’re Sophia.”
“Yes.”
“Elena talks about you.”
“I hope kindly.”
“Constantly.”
Vanessa picked up a strand of uncooked pasta and examined it.
“Apparently you’re a miracle.”
Sophia smiled politely.
“I make lunch.”
“Oh, I’m sure you do much more than that.”
Dante’s voice hardened.
“Vanessa.”
“What?”
She turned innocently.
“I’m complimenting her.”
Sophia knew cruelty disguised as manners.
She had served enough rich people.
“I should finish dinner.”
“Yes,” Vanessa said. “You should.”
Dante’s eyes met Sophia’s.
Something passed between them.
Regret?
Warning?
Sophia did not know.
She focused on the pasta.
For the rest of the afternoon, Vanessa remained at the estate.
Sophia tried to avoid her.
Elena made that impossible.
At four, Sophia carried tea into the sunroom and found Elena seated beside Vanessa.
Vanessa was showing her wedding invitations.
Ivory card stock.
Gold lettering.
The Moretti and Genovese names joined together like corporations announcing a merger.
Elena looked bored.
“Sophia,” she said with immediate relief. “Sit.”
Vanessa glanced up.
“She’s working.”
“She can work sitting.”
Sophia placed the tray down.
“I’m fine standing.”
Elena ignored her.
“Tell Vanessa what you told me about the flowers.”
Sophia hesitated.
“What flowers?”
“The ones from my wedding.”
Elena’s eyes brightened.
“Orange blossoms.”
Sophia remembered.
“Your mother sewed them into your veil.”
“Yes.”
Vanessa’s smile thinned.
“My florist is flying peonies from Holland.”
Elena made a face.
“Flowers have no smell anymore.”
Vanessa looked toward Sophia.
“I suppose your wedding will have orange blossoms too.”
Sophia laughed awkwardly.
“I’d need a groom first.”
Elena stared toward the hallway.
“So would some people.”
Sophia nearly dropped the teapot.
Vanessa did not move.
“Elena.”
“What?”
“You know Dante and I are getting married.”
“I know your fathers signed papers.”
“That isn’t the same thing?”
Elena sipped her tea.
“No.”
The silence stretched.
Sophia wanted to crawl beneath the furniture.
Vanessa stood.
“I’ll see you at dinner.”
She walked out.
Sophia turned toward Elena.
“You enjoy danger.”
Elena smiled.
“I am eighty. What will they do? Ground me?”
Sophia laughed despite herself.
Then Elena took her hand.
“Be careful.”
The humor vanished.
“Of Vanessa?”
“Of everyone.”
Sophia studied her.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Elena looked toward the windows.
Long Island Sound was steel gray beyond the gardens.
“My son lives among men who believe affection is weakness.”
“And Vanessa?”
“She believes affection is property.”
Sophia pulled her hand back.
“I’m not involved with Dante.”
Elena looked at her for a long moment.
“I did not say you were.”
Sophia felt heat rise into her face.
That night, dinner was unbearable.
Vanessa sat beside Dante.
Sophia served Elena.
Every time Sophia approached the table, Vanessa touched Dante.
His wrist.
His shoulder.
His arm.
It was not affection.
It was marking territory.
Dante seemed increasingly irritated.
Halfway through dinner, Vanessa mentioned the wedding date.
“October seventeenth.”
Dante looked up.
“That hasn’t been decided.”
“My father reserved Saint Patrick’s.”
“Your father is not marrying you.”
Vanessa’s fork stopped.
Elena kept eating.
Sophia pretended not to hear.
Vanessa smiled.
“Six years, Dante.”
“What about them?”
“We have spent six years preparing our families for this.”
“No. Our fathers spent six years preparing.”
Vanessa’s face changed.
Barely.
But enough.
“You never objected before.”
“I’m objecting now.”
Sophia left the dining room before she could hear more.
She made it to the pantry.
Then Dante followed.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Sophia.”
“Go back to your fiancée.”
He closed the pantry door behind him.
“You’re angry.”
“I’m an employee.”
“You’re angry.”
She turned.
“Fine. You want honesty? You should have told me.”
“Told you what?”
“That you were engaged.”
“Why?”
The question cut deeper than it should have.
Sophia laughed once.
“You’re right.”
Dante’s expression changed.
“That came out wrong.”
“No. It came out exactly right.”
“Sophia.”
“You offered me a job. I accepted. Your personal life is none of my business.”
“Then why are your eyes wet?”
She hated him for noticing.
“I’m tired.”
“You lie badly.”
“And you manipulate people professionally.”
Dante moved closer.
“Sophia—”
“No.”
She held up one hand.
“You bought my father’s debt. You moved me into your house. You made me feel safe for the first time in years. And then I find out there’s a woman wearing your ring.”
“I never gave her that ring.”
Sophia froze.
“What?”
“My father did.”
“That makes no sense.”
“In my world, marriages are sometimes negotiated.”
“You’re thirty-two.”
“Yes.”
“Not twelve.”
A faint smile touched his face.
“This is one of the reasons I like you.”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Say things like that.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re engaged.”
He stared at her.
Then his voice became quiet.
“I don’t love Vanessa.”
“That doesn’t solve anything.”
“No.”
“Then solve it before you look at me like that.”
For the first time, Dante Moretti looked caught off guard.
Sophia opened the pantry door.
“I have work.”
He let her pass.
The next morning, Sophia received a call from her father.
She almost ignored it.
Then she answered.
“Dad?”
“Soph.”
His voice was shaking.
“What happened?”
“I messed up.”
Her stomach tightened.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing. I swear. I haven’t gambled.”
“Then what?”
“Two men came by.”
Sophia stood.
“What men?”
“They said the debt wasn’t over.”
“That’s impossible.”
“They knew about Moretti.”
Sophia’s blood went cold.
“What exactly did they say?”
A pause.
“They said you think you’re protected.”
“Dad, lock the door.”
“Sophia—”
“Lock it now.”
She ran toward Dante’s office.
Enzo tried to stop her.
“Miss Rossi—”
She shoved past him.
Dante was in a meeting with three men.
“I need you.”
Every man in the room stared.
Dante stood immediately.
The others were dismissed without explanation.
Sophia handed him the phone.
“My father.”
Dante listened.
His expression became still.
Dangerously still.
“Anthony,” he said, “go into your bedroom. Lock the door. Do not approach the windows.”
Sophia’s heart pounded.
Dante signaled Enzo.
Within seconds, the house changed.
Phones rang.
Security moved.
Cars started outside.
Dante handed back the phone.
“Who are they?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“You said he was protected.”
“He is.”
“Then why are men at his door?”
Dante stepped close.
“Because someone wants you frightened.”
Sophia understood immediately.
Vanessa.
Then rejected the thought.
“You think—”
“I think nothing without proof.”
For the next hour, Sophia sat beside Elena while Dante’s men secured her father’s apartment.
The two visitors disappeared before anyone arrived.
No damage.
No attack.
Just a message slipped beneath the door.
Sophia never saw it.
Dante did.
That evening, she found him alone in his office.
“What did it say?”
“Nothing important.”
“Don’t lie.”
He looked at her.
She held out her hand.
“Give it to me.”
After several seconds, Dante opened a drawer.
Inside was a photograph.
Sophia leaving Veluto.
A red circle had been drawn around her face.
On the back were seven words.
SEND THE WAITRESS HOME BEFORE SHE COSTS YOU.
Sophia sat down.
“Vanessa?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who else?”
“People who want the Genovese alliance to happen.”
“So I’m interfering.”
“You’re breathing. Apparently that’s enough.”
Sophia stared at the photograph.
“I should leave.”
“No.”
“If I go back to the Bronx—”
“No.”
“You can’t keep ordering me.”
“I can when someone is threatening you.”
“You said after three months I could walk away.”
“Three months aren’t over.”
“That is not why you’re saying no.”
Dante’s jaw tightened.
Sophia stood.
“Tell me the truth.”
He did not answer.
She moved closer.
“Dante.”
It was the first time she had used his first name without sarcasm.
Something shifted between them.
“I cannot lose you,” he said.
Sophia forgot how to breathe.
Dante looked almost angry at himself.
“I brought you here for my mother. That was true. Then you started turning this house into something I had forgotten it could be.”
“What?”
“A home.”
Sophia’s eyes burned.
“And Vanessa?”
His face hardened again.
“I will handle Vanessa.”
The office door opened.
Elena stood there.
She looked pale.
Too pale.
“Mama?”
Elena grabbed the doorframe.
Then collapsed.
Everything after that happened quickly.
Dante caught her before she struck the floor.
Sophia screamed for help.
Doctors were called.
Cars raced through the gates.
Within forty minutes, Elena was stabilized in her bedroom.
The physician blamed stress and an irregular heartbeat.
Sophia stayed beside her.
Near midnight, Elena opened her eyes.
“Sophia?”
“I’m here.”
“Dante?”
“Outside.”
Elena grabbed Sophia’s wrist.
Her grip was weak.
“There is something you need to know.”
“Elena, rest.”
“No.”
Fear appeared in the old woman’s eyes.
Not fear for herself.
For Sophia.
“Vanessa cannot marry my son.”
Sophia swallowed.
“That’s between them.”
“No.”
Elena pulled Sophia closer.
“If Dante marries Vanessa, the Moretti family will belong to the Genovese family within a year.”
Sophia stared.
“What are you talking about?”
Elena’s eyes moved toward the closed bedroom door.
Then she whispered:
“Because Vanessa’s father killed Dante’s brother.”
And suddenly Sophia understood.
The threatening photograph.
The arranged marriage.
The hatred behind Elena’s polite smiles.
This was not jealousy.
It was a war that had been waiting years to begin.
