Margaret finally spoke, her tone cool and restrained, her eyes never quite meeting mine. "You should understand that having someone willing to honor this alliance with you is your good fortune."
The word fortune sounded especially ironic in my mind.
I glanced sideways at Giorgio. He was receiving praise from one of the Capos, his expression confident and composed—the face of a man who knew exactly where he stood in the hierarchy and intended to climb higher still. That face no longer overlapped with the version of him that had once made me waver, that had once made me believe this arrangement might become something more.
At that moment, Silvia smoothly took the seat on his other side. Her movement was not fast, but precise—calculated with the same cold efficiency she brought to everything. I was forced to shift half an inch outward, almost pressed against the edge of the table like an afterthought.
Under the table, there was a slight touch—her fingers brushing against his.
I did not lower my head. I only tightened my fingers around the stem of my wine glass until the crystal threatened to crack.