The restaurant Adrian chose wasn't just expensive — it was untouchable.
Hidden behind an unmarked black door in the heart of Rome, it didn't take reservations, didn't advertise, and didn't open unless your name carried enough weight to make doors open on their own. Inside, the lighting was low, the tables spread far enough apart that conversations stayed private, and every server moved with the quiet precision of someone who knew exactly who they were serving.
Elena hated it instantly.
Her father walked two steps behind Adrian as they entered, head bowed slightly, like a man bringing his executioner a gift. Adrian didn't even glance back to see if she was keeping up — he knew she would. There were too many eyes on them for her to make a scene.
She wore black silk, the kind of dress that clung in ways she wasn't sure were a good idea. She'd chosen it deliberately — not for him, but for herself. She wanted to feel like she had some kind of armor.
Adrian's hand found the small of her back just before they stepped into the main dining room. The touch wasn't soft — it was guiding, claiming. She stiffened.
"Smile," he murmured without looking at her. "Everyone here already knows. No need to give them something to gossip about."
Her lips curved, but it wasn't a smile. "You mean no need to give them the truth?"
A corner of his mouth twitched, and then they were at the table.
---
There were already people waiting — men in tailored suits, women in gowns that could bankrupt a small city. The moment they sat, a server appeared with champagne.
"To the future Mr. and Mrs. D'Angelo," said one of the older men at the table, raising his glass. His accent was thick, his smile all teeth.
Elena raised her own glass because not doing so would make her father's voice break again. But she didn't drink.
For the first half-hour, she stayed quiet. She listened. To the casual way they spoke of money as if it was air. To the hints of violence wrapped in polite conversation. To the way every person at that table looked at Adrian like a man who'd already won whatever game they were all playing.
When the talk shifted to the upcoming wedding, one of the women — tall, blonde, wearing diamonds like they were plastic beads — leaned in. "So, Elena," she said, her smile sweet but her eyes sharp. "Was it love at first sight?"
The table chuckled softly.
Elena set her glass down. "Oh, absolutely. The moment he told my father he'd kill him if I didn't marry him, I knew it was meant to be."
The laughter stopped. Someone coughed.
Adrian didn't flinch, didn't even turn his head toward her. But under the table, his hand closed over her knee — not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to warn.
She ignored it.
The conversation stumbled back into safer territory, but she could feel him watching her now. Like he was deciding whether to be impressed or furious.
---
Halfway through the evening, she excused herself to the restroom. She needed a moment to breathe without the weight of Adrian's shadow. The mirror reflected a woman she barely recognized — poised, composed, but with a tightness in her eyes she couldn't hide from herself.
When she stepped back into the hallway, she found him leaning against the wall, waiting.
"You enjoyed that," he said quietly.
"What?"
"Poking the wolf in front of the pack."
She crossed her arms. "Maybe I just like reminding people I have teeth too."
Adrian straightened, stepping closer until the hallway felt too narrow. "You think I'm the wolf?"
"I think you're worse."
His eyes darkened, a slow, dangerous smile ghosting across his lips. "Good. Wolves can be tamed. I can't."
Her pulse tripped over itself, but she kept her chin high. "We'll see."
For a long moment, they just stared at each other — the air thick with the kind of pull neither wanted to admit to. Then he stepped back, offering his arm like nothing had happened. "Come on, Mrs. Almost-D'Angelo. The vultures are waiting."
---
When they returned to the table, the mood had shifted. Two men in dark suits stood near the door, speaking in low voices with one of Adrian's men. She caught fragments — shipment… Conti… moving early.
Adrian's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Change of plans," he said to the table. "Enjoy the rest of your evening."
Before Elena could ask what was happening, his hand was back at her waist, steering her toward the exit.
The night air outside was cooler, but she didn't get to enjoy it. The moment the car door shut behind them, Adrian's voice was low, sharp.
"You don't get to humiliate me in front of my people."
She turned to him, meeting his gaze head-on. "Maybe your people should know the truth about their perfect leader."
His laugh was soft, humorless. "Truth doesn't matter in my world, Elena. Power does. And you just showed them you're willing to challenge mine."
"Maybe I am."
He leaned in slightly, his eyes locked on hers. "Careful. There's a fine line between being my wife and being my enemy. And in my world, enemies don't live long."
Her heart slammed against her ribs, but she didn't look away. "Then you'd better decide which one you want me to be."
The car pulled away from the curb, the city lights flickering across his face. He didn't answer.
But the faint curve of his mouth told her he liked the game far too much to end it now