They only remembered that I used to shadow Lorenzo through those years.
They assumed I was the one chasing him. A nobody with no name and no rank, reaching for a man far above her station, desperate to bind herself to the golden son of the table.
But they didn't know the truth.
From the very beginning, Lorenzo was the one who pursued me.
He was reserved by nature, never one for a public claim. He'd never once let the other families see us together, never breathed a word of me across any table. Every step forward between us had been his doing, his initiative. Yet somehow, he always came out looking like the innocent party.
He was the prodigy of the whole network, the gutter-born boy who'd clawed his way toward the head of a rising Family, turning heads in every room he entered, impossible to ignore. And me? In everyone's eyes, I was never worthy of a man like him.
But that was no reason for me to be mocked. To be dishonored before witnesses.
I turned to face the family son who'd spoken, my expression flat.
"If your tongue's that useless, you could always cut it out."
The words landed without an ounce of mercy. A man two seats down slammed his fist on the table and pointed at me, voice dripping with contempt.
"Seriously, Adriana? What do you have to be so arrogant about?"
"If you actually had what it takes, you wouldn't have chased Lorenzo for eight straight years with nothing to show for it."
"Do you even know how the whole network laughs at you behind your back?"
"A delusional ugly duckling who actually thought she could land a man like him."
Snickers rippled around the table, hushed but deliberate, the way men laugh when they're certain no one at the head chair will stop them.
Heat stung my eyes. My face burned.
I turned to look at Lorenzo.
He glanced at me once, then deliberately looked away.
In that moment, the ring of the blood oath on my finger felt like a weight pressing down on my chest.
Aside from Lorenzo's underboss, Marco Rizzo, not a single made man at that table knew.
Lorenzo and I were already bound. Blood to blood, oath to oath.
Tonight wasn't just a sit-down of the old associates. It was the fifth anniversary of our union.
I'd never had the stomach for crowded rooms full of men measuring each other's rank. The only reason I'd come tonight was because Lorenzo had asked me, over and over.
"Adriana, it's been so many years since you've shown your face at one of these. People will talk. Men notice absence."
"Besides, they're all old associates. We should sit, break bread, remind them who we are."
I hadn't said anything.
Lorenzo wasn't the type to crave a room full of company either. The real reason he'd pushed so hard was simple. He'd heard that Bianca Falcone would be there. The ruined beauty of a fading family, the one they'd all once crowned the most desirable girl in the circle.
When I stayed silent, Lorenzo drew me into his arms, his voice low and coaxing.
"Adriana, you're always saying I never acknowledge you, never let the other families see what you are to me."
"I promise. Tonight, at the sit-down, I'll tell them. All of them. About us."
I couldn't hold out against his relentless persuasion, so I agreed.
And now, with all these old associates laughing at me for being a delusional fool who'd chased Lorenzo for eight years with nothing to show for it, Lorenzo sat there in silence. Not a single word from the man who could silence any room by lifting one finger.
The room plunged into a dead, awkward quiet. A glass touched the linen too carefully somewhere down the table.
I set down my knife and fork and let a cold smile curl across my lips.
"Who said I never caught him?"
The men exchanged glances, some leaning forward with barely contained hunger for the story.
"Wait, are they actually bound?"
The only one who knew the truth was Marco. He knew I'd been Lorenzo's woman for eight years and was now his blood-bound wife.
But Marco had never liked me. He'd always gone out of his way to test me, convinced I was some shameless climber who'd worked her way into a rising Don's bed for the tribute his name could bring.
Hearing what the others were saying, he let out a scoff and drained his glass in one go.
He muttered under his breath.
"Some people just can't see themselves clearly. Don't know their own weight."
"Pure shamelessness."
His voice was low enough that no one else caught it. His thumb knuckle cracked once, slow, the only motion in a man who never fidgeted.
I narrowed my eyes and looked at Lorenzo.
The instant my words landed, his hand froze mid-air, his entire body going rigid.
