As Lorenzo turns toward the table to bring Olivia to sit, he sees me and I straighten in my seat. I feel my blood run cold with fear and I let it wash through my veins, an icy stream that slows my heartbeat and freezes over my soul. It helps me become the cold, hard, dominant bitch I have to be to protect myself.
I nod at him as he holds out a chair two seats away from me for Olivia. Then he sits beside her, in the chair just to my left.
“That seat belongs to Renata,” he says matter-of-factly.
“I guess it belongs to me now,” I reply.
Lorenzo raises an eyebrow and smirks, amused. “If you say so.”
He turns his body sideways toward Olivia, grabbing her face in his hands and catching her off-guard with a passionate kiss.
My iced-over heart thumps an extra beat in jealousy.
Will I see Ezra tonight?
Is he okay?
When will I kiss him again?
I don’t have much time to let my mind wander as more people enter the room. There’s an older man Lorenzo introduces to me as his father and he immediately questions who I am and why I’m sitting in Renata’s chair. Lorenzo speaks to him in Italian, saying something that seems to calm him enough to sit without saying another word. Two others are introduced as cousins.
I’m taken by surprise when Kostya enters. He looks like he’s been through hell. Obviously, he’s recovering from the gunshot wound to his shoulder, and that’s partly why I’m surprised to see him tonight. But he also has a black eye, stitches along a gash in his cheek, and he’s limping. He looks as though he’s been mauled.
I push to my feet, somehow feeling compelled to go and help him to the table, but his eyes widen and he practically shouts when I do. “Stay.” The insistence in his tone is jarring and it freezes me in place. I give him a nod as he hobbles in my direction.
When he reaches me, he leans in close, whispering in Russian. He tells me to stay in my seat and refuse to give it up if asked. He tells me to be headstrong with Renata, to show the extended family my assertiveness and demonstrate my authority. He tells me to keep my head held high, and when he pulls back to look at me, he taps two fingers beneath his chin with a small smile.
Chin up.
I watch him as he moves to sit along the long edge of the table. Strangely, I feel comforted by his presence.
Soon after, the room begins to fill with family. Too many of them come in at once for introductions, one filing in after the other. In moments, the table is full—except for one seat directly opposite mine—but the deluge of people continues to flood the room.
Within minutes, the open space around the table is nearly filled as members of the family crowd into the room. They came here for the Vittori family’s talent show and reception, but they stayed because of Vigo’s death. I glance around the room and see faces filled with sadness, anger, and confusion. Their questions are about to be answered, and I don’t think they’ll be pleased to learn the truth.
I grow more uncomfortable as moments pass, as familiar family chatter continues, mostly in Italian. It’s a fight to control my breathing, to keep from hyperventilating when I feel like a fish out of water.
I’m an impostor.
I don’t belong here.
I can’t pull this off.
Why did I sit here?
My racing pulse hisses through my veins and I feel my heart slam against my ribcage with every pounding beat. I twist the rings on my finger with my hands on my lap, hidden beneath the table. My fear climbs a mountain and reaches the peak.
But then the currents of anxiety that ripple from my chest come to a sudden, stomach grinding halt. My hands still and I press my palms against my thighs. My hissing pulse slows to a steady thrum. Awareness makes my heart skip a beat before forcing the insistent thrashing to dull into a calm, steady rhythm. A gentle prickle at the back of my neck sends a pleasant shiver down my spine.
Ezra.
I know he’s near before he appears in the doorway beside Renata.
His eyes immediately land on mine without the need to glance around the crowded room for me. He felt the familiar tug and pull of our souls before he rounded the corner, just as I had.
Neither of us react; we just allow our eyes to connect, and in that connection, strength builds. He feeds me the power I need in his gaze, just like he always has. I want to touch him, kiss him, hold him more than anything else in the world right now, but I’ll have to settle for this brief connection.
Our gaze is interrupted when Renata sees me. She puts her hand on the center of his chest—his bare chest—and crosses in front of him, charging toward me with a graceful but fierce walk. But my attention is still on Ezra, distracted by his naked chest and the black leather collar around his neck.
She really has made him her slave.
Oh, God.
My stomach flips with nausea, but then anger burns my skin. I know I should be grateful she hasn’t killed him, but I feel sorely indignant that she thinks she can take what’s mine and make it hers.
I don’t care who she is, Ezra is mine.
She smiles at me as she comes closer and I turn my head, lifting my chin to look up at her from the seat I refuse to vacate. She slips her arm around my shoulders and bends, making it look as though she’s merely greeting me as she bends to kiss my cheek. She lingers there, whispering into my ear so quietly, I have to strain to hear her. “You can have my seat. I have your lover.”
My head ticks, jerking toward her as she straightens to look at me with a smug expression. I let a smile spread across my face. There are so many things I want to say to her in response, a million retorts scrambling across my mind.
But I breathe deeply and hold them all inside, deciding that my silence is more powerful than any words I could ever give her. I hold her stare, smiling up at her until her cheeks twitch from her faltering resolve and she walks away.
I try not to make it obvious when I blow out the breath I was holding.
Renata moves around the table and sits at the opposite end, facing me. Her family has gone quiet when she lowers regally into her seat and all eyes fall upon her. She snaps her fingers and Ezra moves to her side. I can see the tension rippling through every beautiful, bare muscle in his body, the familiar battle against himself to control his impulses to fight and run.
My mouth drops open when he lowers to his knees at Renata’s side and bows his head, and I force myself to clamp it shut.
She knows.
She knows how much this hurts me.
She knows how much it hurts him.
But what did she tell him to make him bow so easily? It’s not right…
My eyes are on Ezra, though his eyes fall to the floor. I want to kneel in front of him, lift his chin, kiss him like I’ve never kissed him before, and bring him back to life with me. But I can’t do any of that.