"You don't have to do this," Dante said, his voice low and measured as the car glided through the tree-lined streets of Westchester County. The evening light filtered through ancient oaks, casting dappled shadows across the manicured lawns of estates hidden behind imposing gates.
Sofia smoothed an invisible wrinkle from her navy dress. "According to our agreement, I do. One family dinner per month."
"The agreement can be flexible." He studied her profile. "My father can be... difficult."
"I've faced difficult men before, Mr. Castellano." She turned to meet his gaze. "In courtrooms, boardrooms, and occasionally, charity galas."
The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. "Back to 'Mr. Castellano'? I thought we'd progressed to 'Dante' after you convinced half of New York's elite that you find me irresistible."
"That was for show." Sofia looked away, focusing on the passing landscape. "This is a business conversation."
"Is it?" His voice carried a hint of something Sofia couldn't quite identify. "We've been at this for two weeks now. The lines seem to blur occasionally."
She didn't answer. The lines *had* blurred - more than she cared to admit. Their appearance at the Metropolitan gala had made several society pages, with photographs of them looking far more intimate than she'd intended. Dante's hand at the small of her back. Her face turned toward his, laughing at something he'd said. They looked like a couple - a real one.
The car turned through an imposing iron gate, following a winding driveway flanked by perfectly maintained gardens. At its end stood the Castellano family estate - a sprawling stone mansion that managed to be both intimidating and elegant.
"We're here," Dante said unnecessarily as the car came to a stop.
Sofia took a steadying breath. "Just dinner. Simple."
"Nothing is simple with my family." His expression had shifted, a subtle hardening around the eyes, a squaring of the shoulders. This was Dante returning to his own territory - not the sophisticated businessman of Manhattan, but the heir to the Castellano empire.
The front door opened before they reached it. A man Sofia recognized as Marco Castellano stood waiting, flanked by a striking woman with dark hair pulled into a sleek chignon.
"Dante." Marco's greeting was measured, his gaze moving swiftly to Sofia. "Ms. Ricci. Welcome to our home."
"Thank you for having me, Mr. Castellano." Sofia extended her hand, maintaining eye contact. His grip was firm, assessing.
"Sofia, this is my sister, Elena," Dante said, gesturing to the woman beside his father.
Elena Castellano stepped forward, and Sofia was struck by the intelligence in her dark eyes - so similar to Dante's, yet with a sharper, more analytical quality. She wore a simple black dress that screamed expensive understatement, her only jewelry a vintage gold watch.
"Finally," Elena said, taking Sofia's hand. "I was beginning to think my brother was keeping you all to himself."
"Work schedules," Sofia replied with a smile. "Mine's particularly demanding."
"Yes, I've read about some of your cases." Elena's head tilted slightly. "The Hawkins acquittal was particularly impressive. The prosecution thought they had an airtight case."
Sofia blinked, surprised that Elena had researched her professional work. "They overlooked inconsistencies in the eyewitness testimony."
"And you didn't." Elena smiled, a genuine expression that transformed her serious face. "I admire thoroughness."
Marco cleared his throat. "Let's continue inside. Dinner is ready."
The interior of the Castellano home was a study in old-world luxury - gleaming hardwood floors, antique furniture, oil paintings in heavy gilt frames. Yet Sofia noted the state-of-the-art security cameras discreetly positioned, the modern keypad by the door, the subtle earpiece worn by a man who appeared to be household staff but carried himself like security.
They were led to a formal dining room where a table had been set for four. Crystal glasses caught the light from a magnificent chandelier, and silver serving dishes waited on a sideboard. No other staff were present - apparently, the Castellanos preferred privacy while dining.
"I hope you like Italian cuisine, Ms. Ricci," Marco said as they took their seats.
"Sofia, please," she corrected gently. "And yes, I do."
"Sofia's grandmother was from Naples," Dante added, helping her into her chair.
Marco's eyebrows rose slightly. "You've learned quite a bit about each other in such a short time."
The observation carried a clear undertone of suspicion. Sofia accepted a glass of wine from Elena before responding.
"When you connect with someone, time becomes relative," she said, meeting Marco's gaze steadily. "Don't you find?"
A flicker of surprise crossed the older man's face, quickly masked. "Indeed."
The first course arrived - a delicate caprese salad with heirloom tomatoes and buffalo mozzarella. As they began to eat, Elena took control of the conversation.
"So, Sofia, apart from your legal career, what interests you?"
"Classical literature. Piano, though I don't practice enough. Art history - particularly Italian Renaissance." Sofia took a sip of her wine, noting its exceptional quality.
"Renaissance art?" Elena looked pleased. "Any particular artists?"
"Artemisia Gentileschi." Sofia smiled. "A woman who succeeded in a man's world and painted women as powerful rather than decorative."
"Interesting choice," Marco commented. "Most would say Michelangelo or da Vinci."
"Most haven't studied art history," Sofia countered smoothly. "Gentileschi's 'Judith Slaying Holofernes' has more raw emotion than anything the more famous masters produced."
Dante watched this exchange with veiled amusement. "I warned you she doesn't give expected answers, Father."
"So I see." Marco studied Sofia with renewed interest. "And what exactly does Judge Ricci think of his daughter's new... relationship?"
The question was pointed, designed to unsettle. Sofia set down her fork.
"My father respects my choices," she said simply. "He always has."
"Even when those choices might seem... questionable to a man in his position?"
Dante's jaw tightened. "Father..."
"It's all right," Sofia interrupted, placing a hand briefly on Dante's arm - a gesture that didn't go unnoticed by either Marco or Elena. "My father taught me to judge people on their actions and character, not on rumors or reputations. It's a principle that serves both judges and defense attorneys well."
The main course arrived - osso buco with saffron risotto. The conversation shifted to safer topics as they ate - current events, a new exhibit at the Metropolitan, the recent renovation of an opera house the Castellanos had funded.
Sofia noted the family dynamics with a lawyer's observant eye. Marco clearly commanded respect, but Elena challenged him occasionally with subtle comments. Dante showed his father deference but maintained a quiet authority of his own. They operated like a well-oiled machine, each understanding their role.
When the dessert plates had been cleared, Marco leaned back in his chair. "Elena, why don't you show Sofia the gallery? I believe we have a small Gentileschi you might appreciate."
Sofia recognized the dismissal for what it was - Marco wanted to speak with his son alone. She exchanged a glance with Dante, who gave an almost imperceptible nod.
"I'd love that," she said, rising to follow Elena.
The gallery was a long room lined with art pieces that would have made museum curators weep with envy. Elena moved through the space with casual familiarity.
"My father's passion," she explained. "He believes beautiful things should be owned by those who truly appreciate them."
Sofia paused before a small, darkly luminous painting. "This isn't a Gentileschi."
"No." Elena smiled. "That was just an excuse. I wanted to speak with you privately."
Sofia turned to face Dante's sister, maintaining a composed expression. "I assumed as much."
"You're not what I expected." Elena crossed her arms, studying Sofia with frank assessment. "When Dante first mentioned you, I thought it was a calculated move - the respected attorney, the judge's daughter. Good optics."
"And now?"
"Now I'm not sure." Elena moved to a nearby window, looking out at the darkening gardens. "My brother doesn't bring women home. Not to family dinners. Not ever."
Sofia absorbed this information silently.
"He's different with you," Elena continued. "More present. Less guarded, which for Dante is saying something." She turned back to Sofia. "So I have to wonder what's really happening here."
"We're seeing each other," Sofia said, the practiced line coming easily now. "It's new, but meaningful."
"Meaningful." Elena repeated the word thoughtfully. "That's precisely what concerns me. Dante in a meaningful relationship with a defense attorney whose father sits on the bench? It raises questions."
"I'm not involved in your family's business interests, Elena."
"Everyone who enters our orbit becomes involved, one way or another." Elena's expression softened slightly. "I like you, Sofia. You're intelligent, composed, and you stand your ground with my father, which few people do. But I wonder if you truly understand what you've stepped into."
The irony of the statement wasn't lost on Sofia. She had a far clearer understanding of exactly what she'd stepped into than Elena realized.
"I understand enough," she replied carefully. "I know who Dante is."
"Do you?" Elena's gaze was penetrating. "Because sometimes I think even Dante doesn't know who Dante is. He lives between worlds - the Harvard business graduate and the heir to our father's empire. The man who can discuss Renaissance art and the man who-" She stopped abruptly.
"The man who what?" Sofia prompted.
Elena shook her head. "That's not my story to tell. Just... be careful. With him. With yourself."
Before Sofia could respond, the door opened and Dante entered. His expression was controlled, but Sofia had learned to read the tension in his shoulders, the slight tightness around his eyes.
"Everything all right?" he asked, looking between them.
"Just girl talk," Elena said lightly. "I was telling Sofia about your embarrassing childhood stories."
Dante's expression suggested he didn't believe this for a second, but he played along. "Which ones? The frog incident or the time I decided to 'improve' Father's car?"
"Neither," Elena smiled. "Those are for next time." She touched Sofia's arm briefly. "And I do hope there will be a next time."
The gesture felt genuine, which made Sofia's deception sting unexpectedly. "I'd like that," she said, and was surprised to realize she meant it.
They returned to the foyer where Marco waited to see them off. His handshake was firmer this time, his assessment of Sofia even more calculating.
"Ms. Ricci - Sofia - it's been illuminating," he said. "I hope we'll see more of you."
"Thank you for your hospitality," she replied.
The night air was cool as they walked to the waiting car. Dante was silent until they were inside and moving down the driveway.
"What did my sister say to you?" he asked finally.
"She warned me to be careful," Sofia said, watching his reaction. "Apparently, you don't normally bring women home."
A muscle in his jaw twitched. "I don't."
"She's protective of you."
"Elena sees more than most people." He turned to look out the window. "What did you think of my father?"
"Formidable," Sofia answered honestly. "Calculating. Not entirely convinced by our relationship."
"No, he isn't." Dante's voice had cooled. "He wanted to know your real purpose. What you're after."
"And what did you tell him?"
"The truth. That you've fallen helplessly in love with me and can't resist my charm."
Despite herself, Sofia laughed. "I'm sure he believed that immediately."
Dante's expression relaxed slightly. "I told him it's new and I'm not discussing details. He'll continue his own investigation, of course."
"Investigation?"
"My father doesn't leave anything to chance, Sofia. He'll have people looking into your background, your cases, your connections. Standard procedure."
The casual way he mentioned this sent a chill through her. "That's invasive."
"That's family," Dante countered. "At least, my family."
They fell silent as the car continued toward the city, the lights of Manhattan appearing in the distance like a galaxy of earthbound stars. Sofia found herself thinking about Elena's words - about Dante living between worlds, about being careful.
"You handled yourself well tonight," Dante said finally. "Better than well, actually. You impressed them."
"Even your father?"
"Especially my father. He doesn't dismiss people he doesn't find interesting." He turned to look at her. "Thank you."
The simple words held genuine appreciation, and Sofia felt an unexpected warmth in response. This charade was becoming more complex with each passing day, layers of deception and truth intermingling until she wasn't always certain where one ended and the other began.
"What happens next?" she asked.
"We continue as planned." Dante's gaze was steady. "Public appearances. Building the narrative. In three and a half more months, we end things amicably and move on."
He delivered the words with perfect confidence, but Sofia caught something else in his expression - a brief flicker of uncertainty that mirrored her own unspoken question: would it really be that simple?
The car glided into Manhattan, carrying them back to their separate lives that had become increasingly, uncomfortably intertwined. Sofia looked out at the city lights, remembering Elena's warning. *Be careful.* As if she needed the reminder. Everything about Dante Castellano required caution.
The problem was, caution seemed increasingly difficult to maintain.