Forbidden lessons with my mafia brother -in-law

Julianna's POV*

It took every ounce of self-control, and one warning glare from my mother, to keep my composure. This wasn't the boring night of wedding talk I'd braced myself for.

"Dante." Don Marchetti's voice came sharp, though I caught the hesitation underneath it. He set down his steak knife. "You talk to your brother with respect under my roof. This isn't one of your whorehouses. A seat at this table doesn't erase everything."

So Dante was the feared Marchetti son who owned pleasure clubs?

"I don't give two fucks about being back in, Father. I care about numbers." Dante didn't even look at him. His gray eyes were pinned on me, heavy and suffocating, emotionless and indifferent. "The docks in Chicago - the ones Alistair just tanked? The local crews wouldn't sign. I went down there myself this morning. The paperwork's on your desk. The Outfit's locked down for five years."

Alistair's jaw tightened. Dante was a threat he couldn't compete with, and everyone at the table knew it. And he was also a threat to me.

"That's enough," Gaia cut in, her voice sharp with the practiced sweetness mothers use to paper over family disasters. She offered my mother a tight smile. "It's a family dinner. We're celebrating a wedding. Dante, if you're staying, sit down. Alistair - stop."

Don Marchetti's eyes flicked to his wife, sending a harsh message to her with his eyes. Twenty-six years of marriage had taught Gaia exactly when to step in and exactly how much she was allowed to say before he'd shut her down with a single look. He gave her that look now. She held it a beat longer than she needed to, then returned to her wine, her jaw tight. It was the only rebellion I'd ever seen her permit herself, and it told me more about their marriage than any conversation could have. Gaia Marchetti hadn't married for love. She'd married for survival, the same as the rest of us, and twenty-six years in, she still hadn't decided if she'd won or lost. Just like my mother and every other woman in the mafia. And I would be following their footsteps in a matter of months.

"He shouldn't even be in this city, let alone this house." Alistair didn't look at his brother. Under the table, his fingers dug into my thigh hard enough that I bit my lip to keep from gasping. He stared at his plate like a kid who'd just learned he wasn't the favorite anymore.

"I go where I'm needed, little brother." Dante leaned forward, steepling his fingers on the white cloth, his gaze sliding back to me - down the collar of my blouse, then lingering on my hands, which I hadn't realized were shaking until he noticed. Of course he noticed. He always did.

I forced my eyes away and reached for my wine. I needed courage tonight and a dose of goodluck.

"I heard you talking about the traditional bride on my way in." His mouth curved. "Funny - I always thought the best things in Vegas were the ones that were already ruined."

My heart pounded loud enough I was certain the whole table could hear it. My mother missed the hit entirely. Alistair's head snapped up.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Just talking about taste." Dante lifted his water glass, unhurried. "But I don't owe you an explanation."

I was literally begging him with my eyes but he was obviously enjoying my suffering.

The room felt suffocating, like he was playing with my life in front people who wouldn't hesitate to end it. I needed to leave before I lost it.

"Excuse me." I forced a sweet smile and stood, smoothing my skirt with hands I prayed weren't visibly trembling. "The wine's made the room a little warm. I'll get some air before dessert."

My mother nodded, pleased with my manners. Gaia smiled. Alistair waved a dismissive hand without looking up. "Don't be long. We still need to settle the gala seating."

"I won't be."

I kept my back straight until the door shut behind me. The moment the cool air hit my skin, my shoulders sagged. I stumbled to the glass doors leading to the courtyard and pushed them open, letting the freezing New York night bite into me. The cold was better than the heat of Dante's stare. The accusation I'm his eyes I couldn't understand.

I gripped the stone railing, chest heaving as I looked out over the frozen gardens.

He's back. He's here. He's going to tell them. Could the night get any worse? In the following months his face had haunted me less. I had been able to sleep without crying his name, mostly because I now busied myself with the impending misery.i would deal with in my forthcoming marriage. Tonight had undone all of that in under an hour. Why hadn't he just stayed in Vegas, in my past, where he belonged? Of course he'd find the cruelest possible way to return - as my future brother-in-law.

Perfect.

I was so deep in my thoughts that a firm hand closed around my arm before I could react, pulling me back against a hard chest. The scent of expensive whiskey filled my lungs.

Dante.

His palm settled flat against the small of my back, and for one disorienting second he felt exactly like he had three years ago - strong, safe, mine. He couldn't be the last one anymore.

"Let go of me." I shoved against his chest. "What are you doing? This is my fiancé's house."

"Fiancé." He said the word like it tasted wrong. "Your body doesn't seem to agree. He had his hands on you all night and you trembled. Now your pulse is racing." A dark smile appeared on his face as he waited for my reaction.

He wasn't wrong. My heart was hammering, and not only from the fear of being caught.

"Dante, please." I tried to pull back, but his grip only tightened. "If Alistair finds us out here, he'll kill us both."

"Alistair couldn't kill me if I handed him the gun." His eyes flashed in the moonlight. "But he'd break you without blinking. Is that what you want? To let my pathetic brother ruin you?"

"You ruined me, Dante Marchetti."

I pulled back like I'd been burned. Something dark flickered across Dante's face.

"I don't have a choice." Panic finally cracked through, and the tears I'd been holding all evening ran down. "He thinks I'm an experienced woman. He expects things from me on our wedding night that I don't - that I can't - and if he finds out I lied, he'll destroy my family. He'll destroy me."

Dante went still. He didn't bring up Vegas. He didn't bring up three years of silence. He just watched me fall apart in front of him.

"Help me, Dante. You run half the city's pleasure clubs - you know exactly what a man like Alistair expects."

The words humiliated me even as I said them, but pride had stopped mattering the moment Alistair called me useless.

"Do you understand what you're asking, Julianna?"

"Please."

His gray eyes searched mine, his face cold and unreadable - until, for one heartbeat, the stranger's mask slipped and I saw the man from Nevada looking back at me.

"This is reckless. If anyone finds out-"

"No one will." I said it with more certainty than I felt.

"This is the mafia, Julianna. Walls have ears."

The sharp click of shoes on marble cut through the courtyard before I could answer. The doorknob rattled.

Alistair.

"Dante-"

"My office. Manhattan. Tomorrow." He was already stepping back into the shadows, gone before I'd fully caught my breath.

"Julianna."

I turned, hands clasped behind my back so he wouldn't see them shake, and arranged my face into the picture of a perfect Marchetti bride.

"Alistair. I was just heading back in."

He took my hand and pulled me toward the house.

"My father wants to toast our future," he said.

Our future.

I swallowed, and let him lead me back inside.