Chapter 2 - The Family Table
The Castelli estate was less of a home and more of a fortress disguised as a Venetian villa.
Ten minutes after Dominic laid out the terrifying reality of her situation, Harper found herself walking down a sweeping marble staircase, wrapped in a plush white silk robe that belonged to Dominic’s late mother. Her hair was still damp from a quick wash, and her feet were tucked into velvet slippers that were two sizes too large.
Beside her walked Dominic, dressed in a bespoke charcoal suit that hid his tattoos but did nothing to soften the brutal aura of command he projected.
As they reached the main dining room, the smell of fresh espresso, fried rosemary, and baked bread filled the air.
At the head of a thirty-foot mahogany table sat Nonna Rosa, looking remarkably energetic for an elderly woman with a heart condition. Surrounding her were four men in dark suits, all possessing the same hard jawlines and watchful eyes as Dominic.
“Here she is!” Nonna Rosa announced in Italian-accented English, clapping her hands together. The four men immediately stood up, their hands folding respectfully in front of their waists. “Come, child! Sit beside me!”
Dominic pulled out a heavy carved chair directly to the right of his grandmother, guiding Harper into it with a firm hand on her waist. His touch was warm, heavy, and completely possessive.
“Harper,” Dominic said, his voice dropping into a deep, warm tone that sounded unnervingly natural, “these are my captains. Matteo, Vince, Paulie, and my cousin Frank.”
The men nodded to her with solemn respect. Matteo, a gray-haired man with a deep scar along his jawline, bowed his head slightly. “Welcome to the family, Miss Russo.”
Harper tried to smile, but her lips felt numb. “Thank you. Please, call me Harper.”
Nonna Rosa reached across the table and grabbed Harper’s hands, her dark eyes sparkling with unbridled joy. “Look at your hands. Rough. You work hard. You don't have those fake plastic nails like the women Lorenzo Marino’s sons bring around. Dominic, where did you find her?”
Dominic took his seat beside Harper, casually resting one arm over the back of her chair. “She was working the gala, Nonna. I saw her lifting heavy silver trays in the kitchen without complaining, and I knew she was different.”
Harper shot Dominic a sharp glance out of the corner of her eye. The man lied with terrifying ease.
“A hard worker,” Nonna Rosa sighed happily, piling three lemon ricotta pancakes onto Harper’s plate. “A woman who understands sacrifice! Eat, child! You look like a breeze could blow you back into the lake!”
Before Harper could take a bite, the heavy double doors of the dining room swung open.
A tall man with slicked-back hair and a sharp, fox-like face stepped into the room, flanked by two guards. He wore a plum-colored suit and carried an air of slippery arrogance that made Harper’s skin crawl.
Dominic’s posture shifted instantly. The casual, relaxed fiancé vanished, replaced by the apex predator of Chicago’s underworld.
“Lorenzo,” Dominic said, his voice dropping an octave into a low, rumbling growl. “You’re early for our ten o'clock meeting.”
Lorenzo Marino smiled, revealing a row of unnaturally white teeth. His eyes darted past Dominic and landed directly on Harper, taking in her silk robe, her wet hair, and the way Dominic’s hand had instinctively shifted to cover her knee under the table.
“Forgive the intrusion, Don Castelli,” Lorenzo said smoothly, his eyes narrowing. “I came to deliver my condolences for the security breach in your east wing last night. I heard a server was detained.”
Nonna Rosa snorted loudly. “A security breach? My grandson was entertaining his future wife, Lorenzo! Something you wouldn't understand, considering your sons only entertain women from stripping clubs!”
Lorenzo froze, his fake smile faltering for a split second. “Future wife?”
Dominic stood up slowly, stepping around the table until he stood directly in front of Lorenzo Marino. The sheer physical contrast between the two men was striking; Dominic towered over him, radiating sheer, untamed violence.
“Harper Russo is my betrothed,” Dominic announced, his voice echoing off the high frescoed ceilings. “We’ve kept it private until today. But since you are here, Lorenzo, you can carry the news back to your associates. Any disrespect shown to her, any attempt to approach her, will be considered a declaration of total war against the Castelli family.”
Lorenzo’s eyes flickered with suppressed rage. He knew his trap had failed. Instead of catching Dominic in a scandal, he had inadvertently forced Dominic to secure an alliance with the powerful local labor unions that Harper’s father belonged to.
“I see,” Lorenzo said softly, bowing his head slightly. “My congratulations, Don Castelli. And to you, Miss Russo.”
Lorenzo turned and walked out of the room, his guards falling in step behind him.
The moment the doors closed, Dominic turned back to Harper. The coldness in his eyes didn't dissipate.
“Matteo,” Dominic ordered quietly. “Put three men on her mother’s house in Bridgeport. Move her father’s union shift to the secure docks. Nobody gets within fifty feet of Harper’s family.”
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Harper looked at Dominic, her chest tightening. She realized then that this wasn't just a game of pretend.
She had just been thrust onto a chessboard where one wrong move meant death.
