Amara didn’t know if she had ever come onto Dante, but she straightened her spine as the room emptied.
Dressed in a stunning silver dress, Chiara strode in, a polite smile on her lips. “I don’t think we have been introduced. I’m Chiara.”
For a second Amara felt vulnerable, as though she was somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be. But then she remembered the man who had walked through hell with her, the man she was going to spend the rest of her life with, and realized that dealing with people like Chiara would come with the package of them being open.
“Dr. Amara,” she introduced herself politely, using the same confident tone she used with her clients.
Chiara’s eyes flickered to the scar on her neck that she wasn’t hiding anymore before she looked up at Amara. It was one of the rare occasions Amara thanked her height over the shorter woman.
“Well,” the other woman began, looking down at the sleeping cat in her arms, her nose wrinkling slightly. “Are you Dante’s girlfriend?”
Amara gave the woman a cool gaze. “I’m sorry, who are you?”
“I’m Dante’s family,” Chiara chimed, her eyes all innocent. “He’s under such pressure. Being the leader is not easy, and he’s so young yet. I’m just looking out for him.”
“I appreciate that,” Amara told her in her soft voice that she still hated on certain occasions like this one. People like Chiara heard her speak and immediately thought her weak. Soft did not equal strong in their vocabulary. Soft meant malleable, gullible, vulnerable. Only that was strong which was in-their-face. Morana was strong in her eyes probably, with her devil-may-care attitude and the spine of steel she wore in her eyes. Amara, with her flowery dress and furry cat and soft voice and scars, was a passing fancy, a poor little innocent, an easy target.
Maybe, her voice and her demeanor was a good thing. It let them underestimate her.
Keeping her expression deliberately pleasant, Amara thanked her. “It’s nice of you to look out for him.”
Chiara fell for it, hook, line, and sinker. “Someone has to. Hopefully, he’ll marry one of the prospects soon.”
“Prospects?” Amara asked, mildly curious, rocking Lulu in her arms.
“Oh, women he’s been vetting for years,” Chiara told her helpfully. “All girls from prominent families with good connections. He needs someone who adds to his power.”
Amara felt her lips turn up at the not-so-subtle attack at herself. Amara of a week ago might even have agreed with Chiara, might have felt the doubts about her suitability. But the woman who had been tied up in her nightmare had struggled against her ropes, escaped them, and shot a man dead to protect the father of her child. This Amara had woken up into her nightmare and walked out, not unscathed but stronger. This Amara didn’t let a dig get to her simply because if Dante had wanted to marry one of the more suitable girls, he would have. He didn’t. He had given his crown to her.
Before Amara could give a response, she heard Morana’s voice.
“Oh, look Tristan, it’s your lizard ex,” Morana exclaimed from the door, rolling her eyes behind the glasses. She was in such contrast to Chiara, in black jeans and a blue printed t-shirt with ‘Nerd Life = Thug Life’. Amara felt her lips twitch at the quote and the way Morana openly glared at Chiara, coming to stand beside Amara in a clear show of support.
Tristan’s lips twitched too.
Damn, Morana was good for him.
Chiara glared at them, before going to the windows, leaving them alone.
“Is this Lulu?” Morana whispered, looking down at the slumbering cat in awe.
Amara nodded. “You wanna hold her? She’s very friendly.”
“Oh, I can?” Morana grinned at her, slowly taking Lulu’s soft body in her arms. The cat woke up in the transfer, turning to look at Amara.
“It’s okay, baby,” Amara cajoled her, rubbing between her eyes. “She’s a friend. You like new people, remember?”
Lulu meowed and turned to stare at Morana.
“She’s so soft,” Morana uttered, amazed. Tristan came to stand behind her and Lulu, the little attention seeker that she was, tried to climb over Morana’s shoulder to sniff him. Morana struggled to contain her.
“Traitor, I know he smells nice, but stay with me for a second!”
Lulu stretched towards Tristan. Tristan stared at the cat, before shaking his head and taking a step back.
“Get that thing away from me, please.”
Amara felt Dante enter the room, her eyes immediately seeking him out, and smiled as he came towards them. He scooped Lulu up in his arms and turned to Tristan.
“This thing is a fucking cat, dude,” he told the other man, rubbing Lulu behind the ear, so naturally Amara wondered if he’d ever had pets before. “She’s a cute little thing.”
“Can we get one, caveman?” Morana blinked up at him, putting a hand on his arm. “We’ll adopt a stray.”
Tristan sighed, sending a glare at Amara, and she burst out laughing.
It felt good. Life felt good.
Dinner had gone as well as one could hope, she supposed. Chiara had pretty much given her looks and her husband, Leo, had gazed off into the distance, clearly distracted by something. Another couple their age – she didn’t know their names – had given her polite smiles, while their three kids had been quiet but stealing looks at her and Lulu napping at the base of a sitting man’s statue. Dante had taken a seat at the head of the table – where his father had once sat – and had her seated on his left side. Tristan took the seat on his right, opposite Amara, with Morana beside him. It was strategic, a silent message to everyone watching that this was how he was rolling the ball.
Amara had enjoyed the dinner after a long time and observed her man talking in quiet tones with Tristan, or turning to ask one of the kids a question. In between, he had just touched her foot with his shoe, giving her a bit more of that affection she craved from him. With his stubble that darkened his jaw, contrasting with his impeccably-dressed body, Dante Maroni was a vision of masculine beauty and primitive badassery, with a dark gaze that missed nothing and a light smile that hid everything. He was contradictions and balances complimenting each other in one specimen; a slow, deceptive, undetectable poison to everyone except the people close to his heart. Small doses of him over the years had made her stronger, a resilient survivor.
Now, standing in his study, the same study where Lorenzo Maroni had changed her life, Amara watched the king of the underworld on his throne, a glass of scotch in his hand, watching the two other people he trusted talk.
“The airport guy gave me an address,” Morana spoke, sipping from her glass of scotch, sitting cross-legged on the couch, her eyes on Dante. “But when we got there, the house was empty. And just yesterday, I got an alert that it had burned down. Faulty wiring, they said.”
Dante leaned back on the table, swirling the scotch in his glass, his eyes on Tristan. “We’ll find her, Tristan.”
Luna.
Tristan’s little sister who had disappeared twenty years ago.
Amara felt her heart clench at the way he leaned against the window, rigid, looking down at the floor, and she walked to him. Hunched as he was, his head was the same height as hers. Amara put a hand on his bicep, giving him a squeeze, and he looked up at her with those focused blue eyes.