Leora didn't understand why her pulse thrummed with unease. It wasn't the dress, it was tailored perfection in deep emerald velvet. It wasn't the jewelry, white gold, gleaming like frost. It wasn't even the crimson lipstick Rosetta insisted she wear.
It was the setting: a formal dinner with the heads of the five allied Mafia families.
A show of unity.
A display of power.
A trap.
"You'll be seated at Allerick's right," Lucien had warned earlier. "Don't speak unless he allows it. Don't drink unless he does. And whatever you do, don't look weak."
"Is this dinner or war?" she had asked dryly.
He had only smiled. "In this house, they're the same."
Now, as she stepped into the grand dining hall, chandeliers blazing and long table set with military precision, her fingers curled tighter around the clutch in her hand.
Ten men and one woman were already seated, their tailored suits and polished shoes marking them as predators in expensive skin. Their eyes locked on her with varying degrees of curiosity, disdain, and something colder...calculation.
And then there was Don Allerick.
He was already seated at the head of the table, posture straight despite his injury, his cane leaning beside his chair like a silent threat. When his gaze found hers, it didn't beckon—it commanded.
She obeyed.
As she moved to his right, silence followed. Her heels clicked like gunshots on marble. She didn't falter. Didn't blink.
Let them think she belonged.
Let them fear she did.
"Gentlemen," Allerick said once she was seated, his voice as smooth and lethal as a razor's edge. "You know my wife."
There was a murmur of acknowledgment. One of the older dons, a silver-haired man with a thick Sicilian accent, lifted his wine. "A rare choice, Don Allerick. We didn't expect... so much beauty."
The table chuckled.
Leora smiled with a subtle tilt of her head. "Beauty is a weapon. I intend to wield it wisely."
The laughter that followed was sharper this time, less amused, more wary.
Allerick gave a nod of approval. "She learns fast."
The food was served, slow-roasted duck, truffle risotto, glazed carrots cut into art. Leora barely touched her plate. Instead, she listened.
The dons spoke in code, about shipping routes, missing crates, new enforcement strategies. Every sentence was wrapped in velvet but carried the weight of blood.
At one point, a young heir named Emilio raised his glass to Leora.
"To the new queen of De Vallo. May she soften your blade, Don."
Allerick's expression didn't change. "My blade was never meant to be soft."
The message was clear.
Leora was not a balm.
She was the edge.
Halfway through the dinner, the atmosphere shifted.
A servant entered with a new bottle of wine. Vintage. Rare.
Allerick's gaze flicked to the label.
Subtle. Almost imperceptible.
He didn't touch his glass.
Neither did Leora.
But Emilio refilled hers with a smirk. "Surely, Don Allerick doesn't keep a wife who fears a little indulgence?"
Her heart hammered. All eyes were on her.
She picked up the glass. Swirled it gently. Brought it to her lips.
But before it could touch her mouth....
"Rosetta," Allerick said sharply.
From the shadows, Rosetta stepped forward. Calm, silent, deadly.
She reached for the glass and poured it out into a white cloth napkin.
Where the wine touched, it smoked.
Gasps rippled.
Emilio paled.
Allerick's voice was ice. "A test, gentlemen?"
Silence.
Dead silence.
Then the silver-haired Don spoke, voice low. "Or a message."
Leora's pulse slowed. Steady now. Calculated.
She met Emilio's wide eyes. "If that was meant to scare me, you'll have to do better."
Allerick smiled. But it was the kind of smile that promised bodies.
"I suggest we continue dinner without theatrics," he said.
No one argued.
Later, in the privacy of his study, Leora stood near the fire, arms crossed, heart still racing beneath the calm.
"You knew it was poisoned," she said quietly.
Allerick nodded. "The label was tampered with. Lucien confirmed it earlier."
"Then why let me pick up the glass?"
"Because I needed to know what you'd do."
She turned, incredulous. "I could've died."
"No," he said simply. "You wouldn't have drunk it. You're not stupid."
Leora's throat tightened. "You gambled."
"I calculated."
He moved closer. No limp tonight. Just a man whose presence bent rooms.
"You passed," he said. "And more than that—you turned it on them."
"But now they'll try harder," she whispered. "I humiliated one of them."
He touched her chin. Not gently. Not cruelly. Just firmly, grounding her.
"Good. Let them fear you. Let them believe you're unpredictable."
She stared into his storm-gray eyes. "You're shaping me into something else."
He didn't deny it.
"You agreed to be mine," he murmured. "Now you must become what that means."
The next morning, the staff was tenser than usual. Rumors buzzed, about the wine, about the Don's wrath. Emilio had fled the city under the guise of illness. One of his guards was found dead in a back alley. No one spoke the word "message."
They didn't need to.
Leora wandered the garden alone, needing air, needing distance. Rosetta found her by the fountain, a crimson shawl draped over her arm.
"You made waves last night."
Leora glanced at her. "I didn't ask to."
"You didn't need to. That's what made it powerful."
They sat in silence for a moment.
Rosetta's voice softened. "Power isn't about fear alone. It's about command. Presence. You've started to grow yours."
Leora turned toward her. "And what about you? What keeps you here?"
Rosetta's smile was sad. "A debt."
"To whom?"
"To the girl I once was. I swore she wouldn't be forgotten."
Leora looked away. "I don't want to become someone else."
Rosetta's fingers gently touched her wrist. "Then don't. Become more of who you already are."
That night, as Leora returned to her chambers, she found a small box resting on the center of her bed.
No note.
Inside: a slim dagger, jeweled, balanced perfectly for a woman's hand.
Beneath it, a message carved into the velvet lining:
"For when charm fails."
She didn't need a signature.
She ran her thumb along the blade's edge.
Not just a gift.
A promise.
A warning.
And maybe, just maybe, a mark of trust.