The villa walls trembled with shouting long after the guests had gone.
Adriana stood in her father’s study, the heavy oak door locked behind her, the scent of smoke and rage suffocating. Enzo Rossi’s hand slammed against the desk, rattling crystal decanters, his cane clattering to the floor.
“You danced with him.” His voice was thunder, his eyes sharp with betrayal. “Before Naples. Before the dons. Before me. You shamed this house.”
Adriana’s hands trembled at her sides, but her chin lifted. “He asked. And I—”
“You obeyed,” Enzo snapped. “Not him. Me. You will marry Luca Bianchi, and you will forget this insult ever happened. Do you understand?”
Her throat closed around the words she couldn’t speak.
From the corner, Isabella’s voice slid like silk. “Perhaps she didn’t understand, zio
