Page 82 of Luca

"True. But not every family has such... unusual circumstances surrounding their daughters." Dante's smile becomes razor-sharp. "Would you like to know what I found most intriguing about you, Mrs. Romano?"

I can't speak. Can't breathe. He knows. Somehow, he's figured it out.

"I found it fascinating," Dante continues, "that someone with your gentle background could play poker like a professional. Could read tells and manage betting patterns like someone who'd spent years in underground games across Europe." He pauses. "Almost as if you'd lived a completely different life than the one in your official records."

"I think you've had too much champagne," Luca says, but his voice carries a warning.

"Have I? Or have I simply been more observant than most?" Dante leans closer. "Tell me, Mrs. Romano, have you ever been to Bangkok? Or perhaps São Paulo? I have contacts in those cities who might find your face familiar."

The mention of specific cities where I've traveled makes my knees weak. He's not guessing. He has actual information.

"This conversation is over," Luca snaps.

"No, it isn’t. In fact, I think it's just beginning." Dante's eyes glitter with malicious satisfaction. "You see, I don't like being made a fool of. And I especially don't like losing money to someone who lied about their capabilities."

"What do you want?" I ask.

"Justice. Compensation for my losses. And perhaps a more honest conversation about who you really are." He finishes his champagne and sets the glass on a nearby table. "I think you'll find I can be very persuasive when I want answers."

Luca’s hand tightens slightly around my waist. "Is that a threat?" he asks.

"It's a promise. I'll be in touch soon to discuss terms." Dante inclines his head in a mockery of politeness. "Enjoy the rest of your evening. Both of you. Lovely party."

He walks away, leaving us standing there with the weight of his implied blackmail hanging between us.

"We need to leave," Luca says quietly. “Now.”

"But your stepmother—"

"Will understand that my wife isn't feeling well."

The ride home passes in silence, but this time it's charged with a different kind of tension.

"How much does he know?" I ask finally.

"Enough to be dangerous."

"What are we going to do?"

"I’ll handle it.”

"How?"

He glances at me. "Leave that to me. You don’t need to know details."

"Luca—"

"Don't." His voice is quiet but final. "Don't apologize, don't explain, don't try to fix this. It's done and now it must be taken care of."

“Can we talk about this when we get inside?” I ask.

“I’m not coming in with you. I’ll be home later. Don’t wait up for me.”

We pull through the gates of the villa, and I realize that everything has changed again.

Now there's only one question left to answer. How far is Luca willing to go to protect a wife who isn't really his wife at all?

And how much blood will it cost to keep my secret buried?