Sergio and I are the last to walk into the dining room. Everyone is already seated, his whole family, and one other man who’s reading something on his phone. I feel myself tense when he looks up and our eyes meet.

Franco makes a point of checking his watch as a waiter pours wine into his glass.

“Sorry we’re late, mom,” Sergio says, ignoring his father. “Natalie, this is my uncle, Roman.”

Roman stands, extends his hand to me. I pause. Sergio rubs my back and I try to stop my hand from shaking when I extend it to his. Roman is the man from the night at the warehouse. The one who asked if Sergio needed a cleaner.

His uncle smiles. It’s strange, like that night never happened. “Nice to meet you, Natalie,” he says cordially, sounding very different from how he’d sounded at the warehouse.

I don’t like him. I don’t like him even one little bit.

Sergio pulls out my chair and I sit down. He squeezes my hand under the table.

“You look beautiful, dear,” Sergio’s mom says.

“Thank you, Mrs. Benedetti.”

Mr. and Mrs. Benedetti are sitting across from me. Roman is on Franco’s right and Dominic is beside his mother. Salvatore is the cushion between me and Dominic and I’m grateful for it. There’s something about Dominic that makes me incredibly uncomfortable. Salvatore seems different. Franco and Roman outright terrify me.

Franco rings a bell and I’m startled to see a line of servants appear carrying dish after dish, and, beginning with Franco, serving him, then moving around the table.

Sergio gives me a wink when I glance at him, my eyebrows raised at this formality.

“My father can be elaborate. This is the first course so pace yourself,” he whispers in my ear.

I suddenly look at the place settings, wonder if I’m going to be expected to know which fork goes with which dish. When it’s my turn, I lean away as the servers fill my plate with a pasta dish that makes my mouth water.

It seems they all start talking at once then, Franco with Roman, Dominic with his mom, Salvatore and Sergio with each other as I sink backward in my seat. My stomach growls as I pick up my fork and am grateful for the fact that they’re so loud that no one would have heard.

I’m trying to participate but I’m engrossed just watching them so when Mrs. Benedetti asks me a question, the table goes quiet before I realize she’s talking to me.

“I’m sorry?” I set my fork down and wipe my mouth.

“Sergio tells me you’re studying architecture.”

“Oh. Yes. I’m at the University of Pennsylvania.”

“I majored in architecture way back when,” she says and smiles. I notice she’s barely eaten a bite of her food.

I smile back. “I love it, love houses, especially older homes like Sergio’s or this one.”

“You know, the family has some contacts, if you need help finding work,” Dominic says, shoving a huge mouthful of pasta into his mouth and watching me as he chews.

I feel like this is a test.

My gaze shifts to Franco, who’s also watching me.

Sergio clears his throat. “I’m sure Natalie will have no problem finding a job on her own,” he says, wrapping his hand around the back of my neck. He did it earlier too, when I first met Dominic. “If she needs anything, I’ll take care of it.”

He’ll take care of it. He takes care of everything.

“I’m sure you will. Just want her to know her options, if she’s becoming part of the family, I mean.”

Mrs. Benedetti gives him a sideways glance and Dominic looks back innocently, raising his eyebrows, grinning, shoving more pasta into his big mouth.

Franco, who’s now leaning in his seat, drops his fork on his plate and rings the bell. Servers return to the dining room and clear the table, pour a different wine into a second glass, even though mine is still full. Although a drink would calm my nerves, I feel like I should stay alert.

“Ignore him,” Sergio says.

“Dominic, thought you were bringing a girlfriend,” Salvatore goads his brother.

Dominic’s face hardens. “We can’t all be as lucky as Sergio, can we, Salvatore?”

The rivalry between the brothers is palpable.

Franco says something in Italian. Whatever it is has Dominic snort and Sergio tense. When Roman picks up the conversation, Sergio clears his throat. “Natalie doesn’t understand Italian. Why don’t we keep to English tonight?”

“It’s rude, Franco,” Mrs. Benedetti admonishes in a whisper.

I wish Sergio hadn’t said anything because it feels like everyone is staring at me.

The awkward silence drags on until I clear my throat and speak.

“So that wallpaper is interesting,” I say. It’s strange, actually. Alice in Wonderland. Not a version you’d find in a child’s room either. It’s too dark for that.

Mrs. Benedetti glances behind her then she and Franco look at each other. “Franco had that done for me. And he absolutely hates it.” She pats his back. He smiles and for the first time, there’s a glimmer of tenderness in his eyes.

But I don’t dwell on that because the smell of what the servers bring out next has me holding my breath. It’s fish. Salmon. I love salmon, but tonight, I feel like I’m going to be sick.

“You okay?” Sergio whispers. “You’re a little pale.”

The server comes to my side then, and the large serving dish is practically under my nose. “Oh, just a little. Please.” I don’t think I can refuse it. I’ll have to force it down.

“Hey,” Sergio presses.

I turn to him. I wonder if I’m coming down with a bug or something. This isn’t like me. “I’m fine.” I force a smile. “Excuse me for a moment,” I say, standing the instant the server steps away, touching my napkin to my mouth. “Where’s the bathroom?” I ask Sergio, who’s instantly on his feet.

He puts his hand on my low back. “Just go ahead,” he tells his family and walks me quickly away. Instead of taking me to a bathroom downstairs, he practically carries me to his room, and the moment I’m in the bathroom, I just make it to the toilet and drop to my knees to throw up.

Sergio’s beside me in a flash. I push my hair away as another wave comes. Sergio’s hands pull the thick braid back.

“Go away,” I groan, humiliated, sick to my stomach. “You don’t need to see this.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Another wave and I think I’d rather die than puke. “I’m so sorry,” I say, reaching up to flush the toilet, sitting back. “I think it’s over.”

“You don’t need to be sorry.”

“I must be coming down with something. I’ve been feeling funny for a couple of days.”

“Come on, I’ll get you in bed.”

He’s about to pick me up but I wave him away, stumble out of my shoes. I go to the sink to splash water on my face and brush my teeth. I don’t do more than glance at my reflection.

Sergio hands me a towel. I take it, wipe my face. “Go back to your dinner. I don’t want to ruin it.”

“You’re not ruining anything.” He ignores my protests and picks me up, carries me to the bed where he strips off the dress, slides the T-shirt he discarded earlier when he changed over my head and lays me beneath the covers.

The nausea is gone, but I let him take care of me.

“If it’s a bug or flu, I probably shouldn’t be around your mom.”

From the look on his face, he’s already thought about this. “We’ll figure it out.” He tucks me in and sits on the bed. “Why don’t you get some sleep.”

“Please tell them I’m sorry. I’m so embarrassed.”

He kisses my forehead. “Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Go back to dinner, Sergio. I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. I’m just going lie here.”

“Okay. I’ll be back to check on you.”

I watch him go, and shut my eyes, feeling so tired suddenly that all I can do is sleep.

When I wake up, the room is bathed in bright sunlight. I remember where I am, remember the embarrassment of last night, and although the other side of the bed is empty, I can see that Sergio had slept there. I don’t even remember him coming back into the room.

It’s almost ten in the morning and I get up. I feel better. Maybe it was a twenty-four-hour thing. But when I stand up, that nausea returns and I run to the bathroom, but nothing comes. It’s just a dry heave, and it’s gone. I splash cold water on my face and look at my reflection. I’m pale as a ghost.

With a groan, I turn away, and switch on the shower, strip off the T-shirt and panties and step under the flow. I shampoo and condition my hair, but don’t spend too long in the shower. I feel better again, hungry even, so I get dressed in a pair of jeans and a sweater and step out into the hallway.

At the same moment, Dominic comes out of the room next door.

“Well, good morning,” he says. His hair is wet from a shower and I find it strange how different he looks than his brothers. He’s blond where they’re dark, and although he’s powerfully built, he’s leaner than they are.

“Good morning,” I say, knowing there’s no way to avoid talking to him.

“You feel better? You look better,” he gives me a smile.

“Yeah, it must have been a twenty-four-hour thing. I hope I didn’t ruin your birthday dinner,” I add on.

He shrugs a shoulder. “We’re not really here for my birthday. We’re here for mom and I know she’s glad she met you.”

I nod, thinking maybe I misjudged him. He’s going to lose his mother soon. I open my mouth to say something, but he goes first.

“You know, a friend of mine had the same thing you had last night. The second she smelled fish, she turned green.”

“What?”

“Turned out it wasn’t a bug.”

I’m confused, and I’m about to ask what he means but his cell phone rings and he fishes it out of his pocket, looks at the screen.

“What do you mean?” I ask as he swipes his finger across the screen and is about to walk away to answer the call.

He gives me a grin, starts talking in Italian into the phone, and pokes a finger in my belly. I feel my mouth fall open. Dominic’s grin widens, he gives me a wink, turns and walks away, laughing at what the person on the other end is saying.

For a long minute, I stand in the empty hallway dumbfounded.

It’s a bug. Just a bug.

I walk back into Sergio’s room. I don’t even close the door behind me but sit on the bed and I’m counting. But it’s not possible. We’ve had unprotected sex once. We’ve been really careful. So careful.

No. Of course that’s not it. I feel fine now. Dominic is just fucking with me. Sergio said he would.

I go back out into the hallway. I want to find Sergio. And get some coffee. Apologize to his mom for last night. I hear Dominic talking from what I assume is his bedroom. He must still be on the phone. Apart from that, the house is quiet as I soundlessly make my way down the stairs. I can’t help feeling like a trespasser.

The large living room is empty, although soft music is playing from an ancient looking record player. Across the way is the dining room where we ate last night. It looks like there’s a breakfast buffet arranged on the sideboard, but I bypass it.

I hear noise behind the swinging door on the opposite side of the dining room. It’s the sound of pots and pans, of a woman giving the order to take a sauce off the heat before it’s burnt. I turn and walk down the hallway toward rooms with closed doors. I wonder if Sergio’s behind one of them and suddenly panic that he’s not. That something happened and he left. I don’t want to be in this house without him.

The thought makes me shudder, but then as I approach the farthest door, I hear him. Something tells me not to linger, but I do. It’s not on purpose. I don’t mean to eavesdrop. But when I hear Franco’s raised voice, make out what he’s saying, I freeze.

“I told you. I don’t want the girl,” Sergio says. “I have never agreed with what you’re doing to her.”

“The DeMarco’s lost the war. This is their punishment. Consequences, son. Better get used to dishing them out, or they’ll walk all over you when you’re head of the family.”

“Punishing an innocent girl doesn’t sit right with me.”

“It’s a school. I’ll educate her, at least,” he says, leaning back. “She belongs to you. I don’t care what you do with her. You know what’s expected of you. You’re first born.”

“It’s not the fucking middle ages. Give her to Salvatore. Or hell, don’t give her to anyone!”

“No,” Franco says a little more quietly, and I swear I can almost see the tight line of his mouth.

“Salvatore already signed the contract.”

“I don’t care who signed the goddamned contract."

“For the last time,” Sergio starts, pauses. I know this tone of his voice. It’s the one that says this is the end of the discussion. “I wash my hands of this. Of this contract. Of these particular consequences. Of Lucia DeMarco. This is finished.”

Lucia DeMarco. She belongs to Sergio—according to Franco Benedetti. The jealousy I feel shames me. Lucia is a victim, she doesn’t want anything to do with any of the Benedetti brothers, I am sure. She’s a pawn. Like I am to Sergio’s enemies.

So she and I, maybe we’re more alike than I think.

Someone slams a fist on what I assume is a desk and I jump. I know it’s Franco when I hear what he says.

“And for the last time,” Franco begins, his words and tone similar to Sergio’s and I imagine the two nose to nose, two powerful men doing battle. “Lucia DeMarco belongs to you. You’ll be the one to collect her when the time comes. It doesn’t matter who signed what and I don’t give a fuck if you have that whore lick your floors clean day in and day fucking out. You do what you need to do with Natalie, but this is my final word. Am I fucking clear?” Franco demands.

I close my hand over my belly. I’m trying to process, to understand what the hell is going on. I mean, I do understand. But it’s too impossible.

I step backward, stumble over something that wasn’t there a moment ago. I spin as I begin to fall, see him standing there as tall as Sergio. As big as him. As menacing as Sergio can sometimes look.

Salvatore Benedetti.

He’s right behind me.

It was his foot I tripped over.

He catches me, keeps his hands wrapped around my arms even once I’m steady on my feet. My mouth falls open and I can’t look away.

He knows what I heard because he heard it too.

“Natalie,” he starts, then stops and all I can do is stand there, mute and caught. “You shouldn’t listen at closed doors. Especially with this family.”

“I wasn’t…I,” I’m stuttering. "I didn’t mean to.” I realize how big he is, how that kindness I’d perceived earlier is gone. Did I imagine it? Because something else has taken its place. Something harder. Something darker.

He studies me. His eyes are different than Sergio’s. Where Sergio’s are midnight, Salvatore’s are a cobalt blue. It’s a striking contrast to his olive skin and dark hair, and I feel like, just as his brother can, he, too, can see right through me.

“Don’t tell him,” I whisper. “Please.”

He doesn’t react, not for a long time, but then he nods once. “Go back to Sergio’s room and wait for him there.”

“I really wasn’t—”

“Natalie.” He squeezes my arms, dips his head low, eyes bore into mine from behind thick lashes. “You shouldn’t be here. You need to go. Now.”

I blink, but as much as I want to run right away from here, I’m unable to move. I’m on the verge of tears, and I don’t want to cry in front of him. But I don’t move. I can’t. Not until the study door opens behind me. Not until Salvatore has looked away, freeing me from the trap of his gaze. And the instant he releases me, I slip away, as fast as I can, back the way I came, my heels clicking as I go, as I miraculously don’t trip and fall, and stumble back into Sergio’s bedroom, like I was told.

Because I don’t want to see Sergio. I don’t want to see his father. I don’t want them to know I’ve heard. To know I know. Because if I had any doubt, any delusions about anything related to the Benedetti mafia family, Franco Benedetti’s brutal words obliterated them.

They showed me exactly the life I’ll be walking into by being with Sergio.