The silver Mercedes-Maybach glided through the wrought-iron gates of the estate, its tinted windows swallowing the cold evening rain that had begun to slick the roads of Long Island.
Olivia sat in the plush leather rear seat, her back erect, her hands resting tightly in her lap. Salvatore sat beside her, impeccably tailored in a double-breasted charcoal suit. One of his broad hands rested firmly over her knee, a constant, heavy weight that reminded her precisely who she belonged to and where her boundaries lay.
“Remember the rules for tonight, Olivia,” Salvatore spoke, his baritone smooth and unhurried as he watched the dark trees blur past the window. “You sit at my right hand. You speak when spoken to, with poise and brevity. You do not discuss your past, your aunt, or the circumstance
