Chapter 3 - The Dinner of WolvesThe formal dinner at the Castelli estate on Thursday night was designed as a psychological battlefield disguised as a family meal.
Nonna Rosa had insisted on hosting a traditional Italian gathering to "introduce Harper properly to the inner circle." In mob terms, the inner circle meant capos, regional enforcers, and ruthless syndicate lieutenants who viewed every human interaction through the lens of leverage and power.
I sat at the mahogany dining table wearing a stunning crimson velvet dress that Madame Elena had rushed out for the occasion. My hair was swept up into an elegant chignon, and a heavy diamond tennis bracelet—a gift from Nonna Rosa that practically screamed family property—sparked against my wrist.
To my left sat Dominic. To my right sat Salvatore Marino.
The invitation of Salvatore Marino had been Dominic’s idea. A power play of epic proportions. When the silver-haired, impeccably dressed mafia patriarch had walked into the dining room with a chilling, artificial smile, the temperature in the room had dropped twenty degrees.
"Dominic, my boy," Salvatore purred, cutting into his roasted veal with surgical precision. "I must admit, when I heard you were engaged, I assumed you would choose someone from... well, our world. Someone with lineage. Instead of a catering temp."
The table went dead silent. You could hear the crackle of the fireplace across the grand dining hall. Every capo and lieutenant stopped chewing, holding their breath to see how Dominic would react.
I froze, my fork hovering over my plate. My stomach twisted into knots. Here it comes, I thought. The humiliation.
Dominic didn't even blink. He slowly set down his silver knife and fork, picked up his glass of red wine, and took a deliberate sip before looking across the table.
"Salvatore," Dominic said, his voice smooth, low, and entirely devoid of warmth. "Perhaps that is why my family thrives while yours is currently struggling to maintain control of the docks. You look at lineage; I look at strength."
Salvatore’s eyes narrowed into slits. "Strength? You call shacking up with a working-class nobody strength? The girl doesn't even know the difference between a syndicate meeting and a PTA bake sale."
"Actually," I found myself saying before my brain could stop my mouth, "I know the difference quite well. One involves people in expensive suits plotting illegal activities, and the other involves dry brownies."
A sudden, sharp snort echoed down the table. Dante Castelli buried his face in his linen napkin, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
Dominic turned his head toward me, a slow, genuine smile breaking across his harsh features. He reached under the table, finding my hand and interlacing his fingers firmly with mine, grounding me.
Salvatore's face flushed a deep, mottled purple. "Watch your tongue, girl. You're playing in waters far deeper than you realize."
"She isn't playing, Salvatore," Dominic interrupted, his voice hardening into absolute, chilling authority. He leaned forward, the ambient lighting catching the scar on his brow and the dark serpent tattoo on his forearm. "Harper is a Castelli now. Which means anyone who speaks to her with disrespect is disrespecting me. And the last man who did that is currently sleeping at the bottom of Lake Michigan."
The silence that followed was absolute. Salvatore Marino clenched his jaw so hard his jaw muscles strained, but he kept his mouth shut, looking away with a venomous glare.
Nonna Rosa beamed from the head of the table, calmly sipping her espresso as if Dominic had just complimented the weather.
"Well said, Dominic," Nonna Rosa announced cheerfully, breaking the tension. "Now, let's talk about the wedding cake. Seven tiers? Or eight?"
After the dinner concluded and the capos and rivals had cleared out—Salvatore leaving with a face like thunder—I escaped onto the stone terrace overlooking Lake Michigan.
The night air was crisp and biting, carrying the scent of pine and cold water. I stood at the stone railing, resting my forehead against my cool hands, trying to regulate my breathing.
Footsteps crunched softly behind me on the gravel. A heavy woolen jacket draped over my bare shoulders, smelling instantly of cedar, leather, and Dominic.
"You shouldn't be out here in the cold without a wrap," Dominic's deep voice murmured as he stepped up beside me, leaning against the railing.
"I needed air," I whispered, pulling the jacket tighter around myself. "Dominic... what am I doing here? Tonight was insane. Salvatore Marino looked at me like he wanted to dissolve me in acid."
"Salvatore looks at everyone like that," Dominic replied smoothly. "It’s his default setting."
"I'm serious," I turned to look at him, the moonlight catching the amber in his eyes. "This isn't a game. You're playing with fire bringing him to your home while pretending I'm the love of your life."
"Who said I'm pretending?" Dominic asked quietly.
I stopped breathing. I stared up at him, my heart hammering wildly against my ribs. "Don't say things like that. We both know how this started. I fell asleep in your bed by accident."
"And I chose not to wake you," Dominic said, taking a step closer until his chest was inches from mine. He reached out, his warm fingers gently cupping my cheek, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone. "Harper, do you have any idea how many people walk into my life every day with an agenda? Politicians, capos, informants, assassins. Everyone wants something from me. Money, protection, blood."
He paused, his amber eyes searching my face with raw, unfiltered intensity.
"You walked into my room smelling like vanilla and exhaustion, wearing a cheap black uniform, and you fell asleep without asking for a single thing," Dominic whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "You were the only real thing in my world in a decade. I am not letting you go back to folding tables and eighteen-hour shifts. Not ever."
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"Dominic..." I breathed, my defenses crumbling entirely.
Before I could say another word, his lips descended onto mine. This time, there was no hesitation, no sarcastic quip, no audience of wolves. It was a kiss that claimed, protected, and consumed all my remaining doubts.
