He cut the ignition, but neither of us made to leave. He looked to be contemplating what to say and, truthfully, I didn’t expect much more than he offered. “My father will want to have a word, then you’re going to meet my kids. After that, we’ll say hi to everyone else and get this over with. Don’t expect much. They’re not going to warm up to you. But this is my family and I expect you to be polite and respectful.”

I was a little slighted that he felt the need to lecture me.

“Of course,” I replied, docile as a spring lamb.

He spared me once last glance, taking his time looking me up then down before opening the driver’s side door. “Come on.”

Nervous as hell, I let myself out and hopped down, smoothing out my dress. On shaking legs, I made my way over to him. We were toe-to-toe. I glanced up at him through my lashes, and he stared down at me. And then, he held out his hand. I took it immediately and when he curled his fingers around mine, I squeezed them back in return.

I had to admit, it felt a lot safer for a lamb to walk into a Lion’s den with the king of the jungle himself.

Instead of approaching the front door, Ettore led us around the house towards a side gate. He opened it and I followed him down the narrow path. We reached the backyard and Ettore walked us to the back of the house. I could hear people inside, but rather than entering through the sliding door, he brought us around to a second entrance. He opened the door slowly, quietly, and once we were inside, he peered down the hall, making sure we were alone. His odd behavior made it clear he didn’t want us to be seen just yet.

We followed the hall until there was nowhere else to go. Ettore lifted his free hand and knocked on the heavy looking, intricately carved mahogany door. Without waiting for a response, he placed his hand to the brass lever and pushed, letting us in.

The moment my eyes landed on Ettore’s father I had the weirdest feeling of déjà vu. The older man stood in the center of the home office with his hands behind his back, evidently waiting on us.

Ettore brought us forward then released my hand and stepped away. I twisted back in fear, and when I was reassured he wasn’t going far, I let out a breath, turning back to the head of the Scala family.

The moment he smiled I felt a weight lift off of my shoulders. He stepped towards me and, in a paternal gesture I’d sorely missed since the passing of my father, took both of my hands in his and held them firm. “Hello, Vittoria.”

My throat ached. “Hello,” I replied apprehensively.