This was too much. It was all too much.
When dinner time rolled around and Rocco still hadn’t come home, I came upon the realization that I hadn’t eaten all day. Not even breakfast. The day had been all about moving and getting out of that house, unpacking once I got to the Moretti suite. When I told Luca that I was hungry and wasn’t much of a cook myself—my father always had someone do the cooking, or had stuff delivered—he decided to order food service from the hotel. I got the pick of what to order, and I chose a bit of everything.
I mean, I was a Moretti now, so I could spend their money just as easily as I’d spent my father’s.
The suite had a long table adjacent to the kitchen, one that could seat up to eight people. Six in the middle, three on each side, and two at the opposite heads of the table. I chose an end seat; didn’t feel right to sit at one of the head positions. As much as I didn’t want Luca sitting beside me, he chose the chair to my right, also avoiding the head of the table.
The food was surprisingly good, for being from the hotel’s cook. Meatloaf, potatoes, all kinds of other sides. Really, I’d gone overboard when I’d ordered, but I didn’t care. Right now, I hardly cared about anything.
“I have to say, I was worried about the hotel’s meatloaf,” Luca said, stabbing his fork in a piece of meat, “but it’s actually pretty good. I—” He was going to say more, but right then the door to the suite opened and the one man I never wanted to see strolled in, carrying a sleek black briefcase.
Rocco Moretti.
The man walked around the corner, coming into the kitchen area and spotting us immediately. “Oh, good,” he spoke, his eyes glazing over the food and landing on me. “I’m starving. I’m glad you got food.” He went to set his briefcase on the counter, grabbed himself a wine glass out of the cabinet, popped open the cork on one of the wine bottles on the rack, and poured himself a full glass. “You know what? It’s a day for celebration—let’s all have a toast.” He got two more glasses and filled them up as well.
I shot a glance at Luca. I hoped, prayed that Rocco wouldn’t take the seat on my other side, but somehow I knew that was a pointless hope.
When Rocco came over, juggling three wine glasses, I found I was right. He set one glass at the head of the table to my left, put one in front of me, and then leaned over me to place one before Luca. And when he leaned over me, he got far too close. Close enough I could smell him. Close enough his chest brushed over my back and gave me the worst case of the chills I’d had in a long time.
My hands tensed in my lap. Thank God there was a tablecloth to hide my reaction.
“Sorry we didn’t wait,” Luca said. “We didn’t know when you’d be home.”
“No harm done,” Rocco said, finally sitting in the seat on my other side. I angled my legs toward Luca the moment I felt Rocco’s shoe touch mine beneath the table. He grabbed his wine glass, holding it up. “Now, that toast.” He waited until both Luca and I lifted our glasses in unison. “Here’s to new beginnings and new loyalties.” His lips curled into a smile, and just like that, I was thrown back in time.
That smile. That fucking smile. It was the same smile Rocco had worn when I’d first walked into that room, when he’d first laid eyes on me, the disgusting, sick fuck. It was the smile of a cheater, a man who’d do anything to win, not unlike my father in that respect. The smile of a man who didn’t care who he hurt.
We clinked our glasses together, and then both he and Luca took a sip from their respective glasses. I, on the other hand, refrained. I merely set the glass down and resisted the innate urge to crawl out of my own skin.
“How are you getting along here, Giselle?” Rocco asked. Before I had the chance to answer, he realized he didn’t have a plate. “Would you hand me one of those plates down there, Luca?”
Luca reached for the top plate in the stack that had been brought up with the food, handing it to me, which I then had to pass to Rocco. His fingers brushed mine underneath the plate, and I jerked back, nearly dropping it. Luckily I didn’t, and Rocco only smirked at me, as if he knew how uncomfortable he made me and thoroughly enjoyed it.
I realized he’d asked me a question, and as he filled his plate with a bunch of food, I managed to say, “Fine, thank you.” I really didn’t have much to say to the man, nor would I ever. This would never, ever become my home.
“I realize this must all be happening fast for you,” Rocco went on, grabbing his knife and cutting through his slice of meatloaf, “but I assure you, it’s what’s for the best. You’re a Moretti now, Giselle.”
“I know.”
“And because you’re a Moretti, your loyalty lies with your husband now, and therefore me. I trust I don’t have to remind you that there is still a position on the Black Hand up for grabs—I want it, and I will do anything to get it.”
I had to resist the urge to roll my eyes; he was telling me things I already knew. Beside me, Luca’s hand found mine under the table, squeezing gently as if to remind me to continue to eat. I’d stopped the moment Rocco had made an appearance.
I did my best to resume eating, though I’d lost all remnants of my appetite.
“That is why I’ve been working closely with your father,” Rocco went on, only pausing to chew a rather sizeable piece of the meatloaf. Once he swallowed, he took a sip of his wine. “I trust he hasn’t told you what’s going on?”
“I met his fiancé,” I whispered.
“Yeah,” Luca chimed in. “Kind of shitty to keep her a secret from Giselle, isn’t it?”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. I think hiding her away was his way of making sure she was safe. After all, if Giselle had found out that she was being replaced by a son, maybe she would’ve taken some drastic measures herself to rectify the situation,” Rocco spoke, dark eyes on me.
Was he insinuating that I would’ve had Gianna and her unborn baby killed? I wouldn’t—killing someone for such a dumb reason simply wasn’t me. I wasn’t bloodthirsty or murderous, not unless the asshole deserved it.
Like Rocco, for instance. Or my father.
And… wait. Did he say a son? Gianna was pregnant with a boy? The news made me speechless. Angry and speechless.