The Morellis were a prominent family, one of the families who ran the city. If Tiernan went against him, that meant I was taking on a fight at an epic scale. One that could mean I lost my newly minted law firm, my reputation, and perhaps, my life.

But I’d always been a fighter.

Dante’s lottatrice.

And I was intrigued, which was dangerous because I’d never been able to stymy my curiosity once piqued.

“This isn’t a promise to represent you,” I warned him as I took his hand in mine with a firm grip. “But I’ll be at the party with my husband. And this is a promise. If you touch either of us without permission again, I’ll scar your right cheek to match the left, capisci?”

Tiernan Morelli shook my hand and laughed, but the sound was hollow and rang though the empty offices like an echo in a haunted house.

Chapter Three

Elena

Bishop’s Landing was the kind of place I’d dreamed of when I was a girl in the cramped, urine-scented streets of Naples. I thought all of America was exactly like that absurdly expensive strip of ocean-front land outside of New York, with its epic mansions and quiet streets dotted with exotic cars.

The Morelli Mansion was the epitome of it all.

The wealth, the glamor, the glittering American Dream.

Only, I wasn’t a girl anymore.

I knew better than to be taken in by the silk brocade fabrics and elegant furnishings. I knew enough to be wary of the beautiful bodies clad in enough jewels and designer outfits to fund a third-world country for a year.

It was all so pretty, and all so very fake.

Before Dante, I would have made myself sick worrying about fitting in with the upper echelons of society present at the Morelli Christmas party. I wanted almost nothing more than to be exactly like them.

Perfect.

But perfect wasn’t even a dream; it was a nightmare so many people spent their lives subscribing to, never content, always reaching.

My life was imperfect, but it was mine and I’d earned it.

“You are stunning when you overthink things.”

Dante’s breath heated my ear causing goosebumps to ripple across my skin. I shivered delicately as he bent too close for polite company and bit into the junction of my neck and shoulder. The dress he had bought me, a habit of his, left the entire expanse of my shoulders bare, the heavy swoops of black velvet fabric hooked loosely around my biceps. The bodice was tight before the gown flared into slight train over my spiked heels, tall enough I barely had to crane my neck to capture my husband’s lips in a searing kiss.

Around us, a few people muttered comments about our lack of decorum.

Dante banded a strong arm around the base of my back and tugged me flush to his front in response.