Page 41 of His Enemy's Daughter
But now I have something I didn’t have before: someone who sees me as worth fighting for, not just using. Someone who looks at me like I’m the answer instead of the problem.
It might not change the outcome.
But it changes everything about how I face it.
12
Regina
“Tell me,cara mia, do you bleed easily?”
Lorenzo Di Noto’s question cuts through the dinner conversation like a blade, and my fork freezes halfway to my mouth. Across the table, Father continues his discussion about shipping routes with Lorenzo’s father, as if his future son-in-law hadn’t just asked me about bleeding.
“I’m sorry?” I force my voice to stay level, that perfect blend of confusion and polite interest I’ve perfected over twenty-eight years.
“Your skin.” Lorenzo’s eyes trace over me with proprietary interest that makes my stomach turn. “It’s so pale, so delicate.I’m wondering if it bruises easily. Marks are so much more satisfying when they show clearly, don’t you think?”
The implication lands like ice water. Giordano, standing near the door in his usual position, goes rigid—tension rippling through his shoulders in a way only I would notice after years of reading his micro-expressions.
“I’m not particularly prone to bruising,” I manage, reaching for my wine glass with a hand that trembles slightly. “Though I suppose everyone has different thresholds.”
“We’ll find out soon enough.” Lorenzo’s smile doesn’t reach his cold eyes. “Three weeks until the wedding. Then I’ll have plenty of time to explore exactly what your thresholds are.”
Father laughs—actually laughs—like his future son-in-law discussing how to hurt me is a charming part of dinner conversation. “My daughter is tougher than she looks, Lorenzo. You may be surprised.”
“I certainly hope so.” Lorenzo leans back in his chair, swirling his wine with deliberate leisure. “My previous wives were disappointingly fragile. Car accidents, both of them. Such a shame when women can’t handle the pressures of being married to powerful men.”
The words are casual, throwaway, designed to sound like an unfortunate coincidence. But the gleam in his eyes when he watches my reaction tells me everything I need to know—he’s warning me and bragging, even.
Two dead wives. Both accidents.
My mouth goes dry.
“Tragic losses,” Father says, and he actually sounds sympathetic. “But Regina is different. Strong. She understands what’s expected.”
“Does she?” Lorenzo’s gaze pins me like a butterfly to a board. “Tell me, Regina—do you understand what’s expected of a Di Noto wife?”
Every instinct screams to throw my wine in his face, to tell him exactly where he can shove his expectations. Instead, I arrange my expression into something demure and compliant.
“I understand that marriage is about partnership and respect.” The lie tastes like ash. “About building something together.”
“How sweet.” But his tone drips condescension. “Sabino, you’ve raised her to be charmingly naive. Don’t worry—I’ll educate her properly after the wedding.”
Giordano takes a step forward before catching himself, jaw so tight I’m surprised his teeth don’t crack. Our eyes meet across the room, and I see murder written in his gray gaze.
“If you’ll excuse me.” I stand with practiced grace, needing to escape before I do something that gets us both killed. “I need to use the powder room.”
“Don’t be long,cara.” Lorenzo’s hand catches my wrist as I pass, grip just slightly too tight to be casual. “I don’t like it when my possessions wander.”
I’m not your possession yet, I want to scream. Instead, I smile that hollow smile I’ve perfected and extract myself with the kind of careful politeness that hides how badly I want to claw his eyes out.
The hallway is blessedly empty. I make it three steps before Giordano materializes beside me, his presence a comfort and a danger simultaneously.
“Don’t.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “Whatever you’re thinking—don’t. We’re being watched.”
“He killed his previous wives.” The words come out strangled. “That’s what he was telling me, wasn’t he? That marriage won’t be imprisonment—it will be a death sentence.”
“Regina—”
