Give it all to Dominic.

She had no idea what she was doing.

“Let’s go,” I said.

Her gaze stabbed me, as if by forcing her in there, I was betraying her. In a way, I was. Because I was a coward, I was. But this was the only way.

Twenty-eight sets of eyes turned to us as we entered the dining room, my father’s flat gaze locked on Lucia who, for once, didn’t challenge him with her own. Instead, she kept her eyes on the intricate patterns of the fresco on the far wall, probably wishing she could disappear into it.

Alice in Wonderland. My mother had loved the story, and my father had surprised her with the fresco. Tenderness was not a trait I associated with my father, but he’d felt it. For her, at least. It was almost as though I never knew that version of Franco Benedetti, though, and in a way, it was sad.

My father pulled out the chair beside him. “Lucia.”

Fuck. The only other empty seat stood at the foot of the table, as far from her as physically possible.

Lucia’s footsteps dragged, and I had to nudge her forward. As the guests watched, I sat her down between my father and Dominic and, hands fisted, I walked to the empty chair and took it. Lucia’s eyes met mine, and I burned my warnings in the look that passed between us, knowing she’d heed none of them.

Servers began to pour wine, and conversation flowed. I watched the lecherous eyes of both my brother and father consume her. She remained between them, eyes on her plate, her face tense as she pulled her arms tighter to herself. I’d come to know those little things she did, small physical movements she may not have been aware of herself, to protect herself. To hide away. Perhaps willing herself to disappear.

I felt powerless as course after course was served. I ate a few bites from each plate, forcing myself to join in the conversation or at least smile and pretend to be listening, but all I could do was watch her. She refused to eat a bite of food but drank glass after glass of wine and, after a glare in my direction, finally turned her attention to Dominic. He gave me a grin and brushed his fingertips over her shoulder.

I fumed, nearly breaking the stem of the wineglass I held. Clearing my throat, I stood and, with my knife clinking against the crystal of the glass, called everyone’s attention.

“A toast.”

Everyone picked up their glasses. Everyone except Lucia.

“To my father on his birthday.”