Page 14 of Crimson Reign

I pause mid-roll. “Me too?”

“Yes.”

The idea of sitting at a table with his entire family makes my stomach tighten.

I've heard stories about Luca Bellanti. Both good and bad. And honestly, although Isabella and Matteo have been kind so far, I know I don’t belong.

Isabella nudges me. “It won’t be that bad. Just a meal with a bunch of overbearing men who think they run the world.”

“Sounds delightful.”

She laughs, but Matteo just watches me. “Be ready by seven.”

By the time we arrive at the Bellanti estate, my nerves are a tangled mess.

The dining room is warm, brighter than I expected, filled with the sound of conversation and laughter. It’s not what I imagined from a mafia family.

There’s no tension, no cold calculation. Just people who seem… happy.

Luca Bellanti greets me first. He’s an older man, commanding, but with a presence that doesn’t feel oppressive.

“I’m sorry for what happened to your husband,” he says, voice sincere. “And I want you to know—you and your daughter will be safe with my son.”

I nod, unable to find the right words.

Throughout the meal, I’m introduced to the rest of the family. Olivia is warm, effortlessly charming, and within minutes, she’s got Fiona giggling in her lap.

Lorenzo, on the other hand, is harder to read. He’s not unkind, but there’s something distant in his gaze, like he’s evaluating whether I belong here.

Then there’s Angelo.

He’s handsome, in the way men who know they’re handsome usually are, and his smirk is the kind that suggests he’s used to getting what he wants.

“If Matteo’s going to hoard all the interesting women, he should at least share,” Angelo remarks, leaning toward me. “What do you say, bella? Need a tour of the estate?”

I open my mouth to respond, but Matteo speaks first.

“Back off.” His voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it. A warning.

Angelo raises his hands in mock surrender. “Relax, brother. Just being friendly.”

Matteo’s stare doesn’t waver.

Angelo smirks but leans back in his chair, turning his attention elsewhere.

The rest of dinner passes smoothly.

After the meal, I slip outside for some air. The night is cool, and the stars are so bright. I wrap my arms around myself, exhaling slowly.

“Cold?”

I turn to see Matteo watching me from the doorway.

“No,” I whisper, shuddering.

He steps closer anyway, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over my shoulders. His scent clings to the fabric—clean, crisp, with a hint of something darker.

“Thank you for protecting me and my daughter,” I say quietly.

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