đź’śNicole
"Don't fidget, Nikolayushka. I swear, if you embarrass your father tonight, I will ensure you spend the rest of the year locked in that pink disaster of Grace's room."
I sighed internally, leaning against the cold marble of the wall. Mama, was standing opposite me, stiff and immaculate in a deep emerald velvet gown that emphasized her sharp angles.
"You will smile. You will speak only when spoken to. You will remember that everything you do reflects on the alliance. Do not bring up any of your nonsense. Do not make jokes. Do not forget that these are the Greco family. They are traditional. They are stiff. You need to maintain your composure."
I was bored to death. I wondered if these were even necessary instructions, or if Mama just enjoyed the sound of her own voice telling me off. I was wearing a navy blue sheath dress, the most boring, Grace-approved piece in my closet and my hair was pulled back tightly. I felt like a brightly wrapped package of utter discomfort.
Smile, don't talk, no jokes, be stiff. Got it. Basically, be Grace.
"Your dress is appropriate, finally. Keep the attitude in check. Now, where is Grace?"
Just then, the sound of measured footsteps arrived. Papa came down the stairs, looking imposing in a perfectly tailored dark suit, with Grace walking elegantly by his side. Grace was a vision in pale gold silk, looking every bit the poised Mafia princess intended for alliance.
I rushed up from the chair in relief. Thank God, lecture over.
"Stoy!" Mama hissed in Russian, making me freeze mid-step. "The attitude check starts now. Stay away from Grace so you don't rub off on her."
(Stoy: Stop)
"Mama!" Grace actually snapped, a flicker of genuine irritation crossing her face.
Papa gently took Grace's arm, ignoring Mama's frantic energy. "Let's go. We can't keep the Greco family waiting."
♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣
The restaurant wasn't just private; it was a mausoleum of wealth. We were escorted into a separate part, where a massive table was already set.
The tension hit me the second we walked in. It was a suffocating pressure of power and expectation.
At the head of the table sat a man who could only be Leonardo's father. He had Leonardo's striking grey eyes and sharp features, but time had softened the angles into a look of formidable authority, not dangerous youth. Not nearly as hot as Leonardo tho, of course.
Marco, Leonardo's cousin, was there too, giving me a quick, amused nod.
Then there was Leonardo. He was seated close to his father, looking impossibly cold and handsome in a dark suit. I quickly looked away, my heart doing that stupid, frantic drum routine it suddenly always did around him recently.
A woman, stunning and young, was seated next to the older Greco. She was definitely too young to be Leonardo's mother; she looked closer to our age. I didn't know her yet but i named her mistress in my head because she was seated possessively close to the man. Two other stony-faced men sat nearby, probably relations.
Before we even sat down, a cheerful voice cut through the strained silence.
"You must be Nicole!"
How am i this popular?
A guy, somehow looking more relaxed and cheerful than anyone at the table, smiled widely. He looked vaguely like Leonardo but with softer features.
Papa, who was still standing, introduced us. "This is my family."
"My family," The guy who looked like Leonardo repeated, his eyes twinkling. "So you have two daughters? I get it. I'm also the other brother. Luca, The step-brother no one talks about." He winked at me conspiratorially.
"Basta," the older Greco snapped in sharp, lethal Italian.
(Basta: Enough)
The step-brother, surprisingly, snapped his mouth shut. Unlike me, he actually listened. It was odd, seeing that immediate, cold obedience. It showed the difference in the harshness of our respective parental styles.
I slipped more into my seat next to Papa. I squeezed closer to him under the table; I didn't understand this family dynamic, it made me uncomfortable, and for the first time that i thought about it, I was glad it was Papa who adopted me, not another mafia family. Papa subtly rubbed my hand under the table, a familiar comfort. Grace, on the other hand, was seated next to Leonardo, perfectly poised, looking completely unbothered, a programmed robot in a golden dress. This was the attitude Mama wanted.
The dinner commenced in a paralyzing silence. I risked a glance at Leonardo. He was quiet, perfectly still, and hadn't looked my way once.
Was he avoiding me?
The woman seated next to Leonardo's father finally broke the strained silence, turning to Grace.
"So, Darling," the woman said sweetly, "we heard you are very keen on charity work. Do you find that helping the less fortunate offers a satisfying substitute for, well, real life?"
The question was loaded, low-key insulting Grace's usefulness. Grace looked startled, her poise slipping for a second. She clearly wasn't prepared for a word war.
My mouth opened before my brain could catch up to Mama's rules.
"Oh, it's not a substitute, madam," I said, my voice dripping with honeyed sarcasm. Every head at the table snapped toward me. "It's actually the only way we can remind ourselves that not everyone is born into wealth and not all of us wants to marry our grandpas for money."
I realized what I'd done only after the words left my mouth. Silence.
"Watch your mouth, ragazza," the older Greco ordered, his voice dangerously low.
(ragazza: girl)
Papa's foot kicked my shin sharply under the table.
I was burning, but I risked a look up. Leonardo's eyes, cold grey and sharp, met mine for the first time since we sat down. But only for a fraction of a second. He looked away instantly like it was a mistake.
Marco let out a soft chuckle. The two men next to him just stared.
The young woman scoffed in open mockery. "I was talking to the daughter. Not... the other one." She paused, the implication of irrelevant or unknown hanging in the air.
That was it. Mama, suddenly felt the need to enter the fray. She sat up straighter, her expression dangerously controlled.
"She is not the other daughter," Mama stated, her voice icy, directed at the entire Greco side. "You mistake, madam. Nicole is our daughter, even if she is adopted. She has every right to reply." Mama actually reached over and rubbed my hair, a swift, surprising gesture of possessive affection.
Even I was stunned. Mama would actually defend me??? the adopted, irrelevant daughter just to prove the Ferraros were superior in family ties to the Grecos.
Grace gave me a quick, knowing look across the table. The first real, non-robotic emotion I'd seen from her all night.
Business discussion started immediately after Mama's unexpected defense. I seized my chance.
"Excuse me," I muttered, pushing back my chair. "Restroom."
On my way back from the restroom, I rounded a corner and nearly collided with a body.
Leonardo.
Why was I always running into this man? Not like I mind anymore tho. I was actually starting to look forward to running into him.
He was walking toward the restroom, his expression blank. I braced myself for the usual teasing, the possessive intensity or maybe flirting but then he walked past me. He didn't speak. He didn't smirk. He didn't even look at me. He completely ignored my existence.
So yes he was avoiding me. How classy of him.
It wasn't just annoying; it was genuinely bothersome. Just days ago, he was whispering dirty things and shooting men for me. Now, nothing? Was he toying with me?
I walked back to the table, confused and irritated and I really didn't even know why I was feeling that way either. It wasn't like he had any reason to talk to me. I wasn't the one he was getting married to. Even with knowing I had no right to be concerned , I still couldn't just help but be pissed.
Few minutes later Leonardo eventually returned, he paused at the table and looked directly at Grace.
"Grace. Come outside with me. There is something I need to discuss."
Grace's face lit up instantly. Her eyes shone with naked excitement. I knew it, she had a major crush on him now. This was her perfect, romantic, Mafia movie moment in her head.
Leonardo held the chair out for her, and Grace somehow winked at me from across the table as Leonardo supported her with his hands as she stood. I smiled at her as if cheering her on but my heart hammered faster, an odd pang of… something… hitting me.
It was then he finally looked up, his eyes meeting mine across the table and for a split second, I saw amusement in those stormy gray eyes of his.
Then he was gone, walking out of the room with Grace on his arm.
Why the hell would he be amused? Did he think I was staring at him? I was definitely just cheering my sister on.