I spun around to face her, making her stumble backward. “Not here. Not now. Just keep your mouth shut. Am I clear?” I squeezed that last words out, desperate. We just needed to survive this dinner. She could go to our room, then, and we could leave early the following morning. But how many nights like this would we have to survive? And what would happen if she didn’t do as I said, and she did goad him into action? What would he do?
Take her from me.
Take my place from me.
Give it all to Dominic.
She had no idea what she was doing.
“Let’s go,” I said.
Her gaze stabbed me, as if by forcing her in there, I was betraying her. In a way, I was. Because I was a coward, I was. But this was the only way.
Twenty-eight sets of eyes turned to us as we entered the dining room, my father’s flat gaze locked on Lucia who, for once, didn’t challenge him with her own. Instead, she kept her eyes on the intricate patterns of the fresco on the far wall, probably wishing she could disappear into it.
Alice in Wonderland. My mother had loved the story, and my father had surprised her with the fresco. Tenderness was not a trait I associated with my father, but he’d felt it. For her, at least. It was almost as though I never knew that version of Franco Benedetti, though, and in a way, it was sad.
My father pulled out the chair beside him. “Lucia.”
Fuck. The only other empty seat stood at the foot of the table, as far from her as physically possible.
Lucia’s footsteps dragged, and I had to nudge her forward. As the guests watched, I sat her down between my father and Dominic and, hands fisted, I walked to the empty chair and took it. Lucia’s eyes met mine, and I burned my warnings in the look that passed between us, knowing she’d heed none of them.
Servers began to pour wine, and conversation flowed. I watched the lecherous eyes of both my brother and father consume her. She remained between them, eyes on her plate, her face tense as she pulled her arms tighter to herself. I’d come to know those little things she did, small physical movements she may not have been aware of herself, to protect herself. To hide away. Perhaps willing herself to disappear.
I felt powerless as course after course was served. I ate a few bites from each plate, forcing myself to join in the conversation or at least smile and pretend to be listening, but all I could do was watch her. She refused to eat a bite of food but drank glass after glass of wine and, after a glare in my direction, finally turned her attention to Dominic. He gave me a grin and brushed his fingertips over her shoulder.
I fumed, nearly breaking the stem of the wineglass I held. Clearing my throat, I stood and, with my knife clinking against the crystal of the glass, called everyone’s attention.
“A toast.”
Everyone picked up their glasses. Everyone except Lucia.
“To my father on his birthday.”
We waited, the room silent as my father watched her, his fury visibly increasing. I willed her to pick up her glass, to take one last fucking sip, before I could excuse us and take her away, but she wouldn’t do it. She was too stubborn to save her own damn neck.
“Happy birthday,” I said, hoping to draw attention back to me. “And many more, father.”
Everyone joined in, wishing him many more, and, after a moment, my father turned to me, acknowledged my toast with a raising of his glass, and drank, our gazes locked, his angry, dark, and foreboding.
He stood. The guests put knives and forks down and wiped their mouths, rising too. Lucia remained as she was. At least she knew to remain seated. As if the guests understood, they cleared the dining room quietly so only my father, brother, Lucia, and I remained. A server closed the doors.
“Punish her,” he said, spitting the words. “Make it good, or I’ll do it for you.”
A grin played along Dominic’s lips. I nodded once. Dominic and my father left the dining room. I looked at Lucia sitting there, her face insolent, her eyes the only part of her betraying her fear.
I took my jacket off and hung it over the back of a chair, then loosened my tie, unbuttoning the top buttons of my dress shirt before it choked me. All the while, my eyes remained locked on hers. I walked toward her, rolling my right shirt sleeve up as I went. I wondered if she knew what was coming, what had to happen now. Why the room adjacent to ours became suddenly so quiet, as if there wasn’t an audience just beyond the doors to bear witness.