Page 74 of Savage Vows

He lets her cling for a moment, only half turning to acknowledge her, still in conversation. I watch them together—her confidence, the way everyone smiles and leans in, as if this is how things should be. As if I’m invisible.

The world narrows to a dull, heavy ache. I can barely hear the aunts tittering behind me, the soft scrape of cutlery, the wind in the leaves. All I can think is,This is what the rest of my life will be. Always an outsider, always watching someone else step into the space I thought might be mine.

I take a shaky breath. I can’t do this. Not today.

I turn away from the table, heart pounding, mind racing with everything I don’t say. I start to walk, not fast, not running, but purposeful—back through the roses, away from the laughter, away from the table where no one is waiting for me.

Just as I reach the path, I hear Dante’s voice, clear and commanding. “Adriana.”

I pause, the instinct to stop ingrained, but this time I don’t. I keep moving, head down, wishing I could shed my skin and be anyone, anywhere else. I don’t trust my voice, and I don’t trust myself not to look back.

20

DANTE

Yonez scrolls to a manifest photo.“Four containers—two declared as farm machinery, two as ceramic tile. Actual load?—”

“Sixty crates of Makarovs and three pallets of spare mags,” I finish. “Everything routed through Tallinn first, relabeled in Hamburg, then trucked down to us.”

Markov taps the screen. “Customs will flag the tile containers if they open them. Weight’s wrong.”

“I’ve got Otto at the port hungry for bribe money,” I say. “He’ll wave it through for ten grand and a box of Rolex knockoffs. But if Tallinn’s paperwork slips, we’re exposed.”

Yonez nods. “Then we stage the swap twenty-four hours earlier—shift the manifests, give Tallinn less time to ask questions.”

I’m about to confirm when a pair of manicured hands snake over my shoulders and latch on. Lavender perfume hits me a beat later.

“Dante!” Larissa chirps, hugging me like we’re childhood sweethearts.

I stiffen. “Larissa.” I try to pry her off, but she just squeezes tighter, beaming up at me, oblivious to the coldness in my voice. “We’re in the middle of work.”

She pouts, oblivious. “Work, work, work. You hardly said hello.”

“Because I was talking.” My tone slips colder than I intend, but she either doesn’t hear it or pretends she doesn’t.

Past her shoulder, I catch Adriana standing at the table—blue dress, hair neat, shoulders tight. She’s holding the back of a chair like a lifeline. Larissa’s voice goes on, a bright hum I tune out. Adriana looks straight at me, something like hurt flickering across her face—then she turns, heads for the path without a word.

Static floods my chest. I step away from Larissa. “Adriana.”

She keeps walking. Doesn’t even slow.

Larissa laughs lightly, still too close. “Did I interrupt?”

I ignore her, eyes on Adriana’s retreating figure. “Yonez, finalize the Tallinn change. Markov, set up the payoff with Otto. I want confirmation by noon.”

They nod, already turning away. Larissa tries to capture my arm again. I sidestep, voice flat. “Not now, Larissa.”

Her smile falters, confusion flickering in her eyes. I don’t wait to explain.

I turn off the path, determined to catch up with Adriana, but my father wheels himself in front of me, blocking the way with practiced ease. He rests both hands on the rims, that familiar, polite mask settling over his face—a look I’ve seen a hundred times before, right before he twists the knife.

“Dante, don’t be rude to our guest,” he says, voice mild enough to grate. “Larissa came a long way to see the family. If your—” He pauses, lets the pause sting. “Arrogant wife doesn’t care to join us, she’s free to sulk somewhere else.”

“I need to speak to her.”

He tilts his head, the faintest smile appearing. He clicks his tongue. “Son, this breakfast was arranged to foster good relations. Larissa is important for our family’s public face. If your bride can’t understand how to behave, the rest of us will enjoy some proper company.”

My jaw tightens. I glance from my father’s smug face to the table, to Larissa. All of them are watching, some openly, some just pretending not to see. It’s all a show.