Unspoken Rules

Dario did not wait for permission to join them. Without breaking his stride, he dragged back the chair across from Camilla, dropping into the seat with the easy insolence of a man who owned the deed to the property.

“Please, keep eating,” he said, reaching past the silver platter to seize the crystal decanter and tip a generous measure of dark red into an empty glass. “The last thing I’d want is to interrupt such a private family meal.”

Massimo remained motionless at the head of the table, his stare fixed on his brother like a bead of lead. “You have no business here this morning, Dario.”

“Is that so?” Dario chuckled, taking a slow mouthful of the wine despite the morning glare outside. “I could raise the exact same point about your guest.” His gaze traveled across the tabletop, settling deliberately on Camilla until she drew back against the tall timber slats of her chair. “Though it looks like you’ve taken quite a fancy to her.”

The blood rose warm beneath Camilla’s collar. “A fancy?” she repeated, the question slipping past her teeth before she could stop it.

Dario tilted his chin, his mouth curving in quiet delight. “Look at that. She hasn’t been briefed yet. That’s pure Massimo—dragging fresh blood across the perimeter without handing them the rulebook.”

Massimo spoke with an even, cutting edge. “Are your crews running themselves today?”

“Come off it, Massimo. You don’t seat women at this table. It sparks natural curiosity.” Dario turned his full attention back toward Camilla, his voice dropping into smooth cordiality. “Give me a name, sweetheart.”

Camilla hesitated, her mouth going dry. “Camilla.”

“Camilla,” Dario murmured, testing the cadence on his tongue. “It’s a striking name. Doesn’t really belong inside an iron cage, does it?” He caught the sudden stiffening in her shoulders and let his grin widen.

Massimo brought his fork down onto the porcelain with a sharp, ringing snap. “Dario.”

“Easy, brother. I’m only minding my manners. Common courtesy, right?” He leaned forward over his elbows, pinning Camilla with a level, probing stare. “Tell me how someone lands in a place like this. Beside him?” He flicked a dismissive hand toward the head of the table. “Was it your choice? Or did he choose for you?”

Her lips parted, but nothing came out. The weight of Massimo’s attention pressed against her profile, cold and unmistakable in its warning.

Dario settled back into his cushions, watching the silence thicken between them. “Right. Kept quiet. That’s how he prefers his company.”

Massimo’s palm struck the solid wood with a concussive crack that made the china jump. “Enough.”

Dario did not flinch. His expression only tightened with amusement. “Already staking your claim. Fascinating.” He shifted his attention back and forth between the two of them, sizing up the rift.

A dull throb began behind Camilla’s temples. She looked toward Massimo, but his features were set like dry cement. Dario’s easy grin was unnerving, yet under the surface of his mocking chatter lay something else—a silent, calculated warning.

Camilla pushed her chair backward, the wooden legs grating against the floor. “Thank you for the meal. If it’s all the same, I’ll take my leave upstairs.”

She stood up immediately, putting her back to both men, desperate to slip out before Dario could offer another comment.

She had barely crossed two paces when Massimo’s voice caught her from behind, heavy and absolute.

“Hold on.”

Camilla stopped, her shoulders locking. She turned back to find him already watching her.

“Clear your evening later,” he said evenly. He picked up his linen napkin, touched it to his mouth, and laid it flat beside his plate. “You are accompanying me tonight.”

Her forehead creased. “Accompanying you? Where?”

“An exclusive function,” Massimo said, keeping his eyes on hers. “Formal dress. Midnight.”

“A party?” The word felt absurd against the cold stone walls and the threat that had preceded it.

Massimo stood up from the head of the table, his tall frame cutting off the light from the tall windows. “Not the sort of party you are used to. You will understand when we arrive.”

Camilla drew in a slow breath, keeping her voice as steady as she could manage. “And if I refuse to go?”

“You won’t,” Massimo replied, his tone entirely flat.

“Excuse me.” Camilla turned on her heel and walked out of the dining room.

The space grew colder the instant her footfalls faded down the long hall. Her departure left a hollow quiet in the room.

Massimo remained standing, his gaze lingering on the vacant doorway. His face showed nothing, though the cords of his neck stayed rigid.

Behind him, Dario broke the silence with a soft scoff, swirling the remaining wine in his glass. “Well,” he murmured, “that was quite a show.”

Massimo didn't move.

Dario reclined in his seat, spreading his arms across the top of the adjacent chairs. “You’re losing your edge, brother. There was a time you would’ve put a blade across Alessio’s windpipe the second the payment lapsed. You would’ve pulled his relatives onto the pavement for the neighborhood to see. Instead—” He tossed a hand toward the empty corridor. “You bring his sister inside. Put her at our table. Maybe in your quarters, too?” His tone turned razor-thin. “Don’t tell me Massimo Vanzetti has gone soft on me.”

Massimo turned back toward the table, his eyes dead and unreadable. “State your business, Dario.”

“My business?” Dario let out a harsh laugh. “I want an accounting. The debt belonged to my ledger. The operation was mine. And then you stepped across the line and took my leverage.”

Massimo’s voice fell below room temperature. “Leverage? She isn’t a crate of rifles, Dario. She’s a human being.”

“Spare me.” Dario pushed his chair out with a violent scrape and stepped clear of the table. He closed the distance between them, his voice dropping low. “Don’t start playing the man with morals. You took her off the board for a reason, and you’re going to explain it to me.”

Massimo did not answer right away. He turned his back on his brother, walking slowly toward the towering glass panes overlooking the terrace, his reflection hovering over the daylight.

Dario followed his stride. “You want to settle a score with me? Do it. But stop pretending this girl is about shelter. You’re holding her to twist my arm.”

Massimo stopped, his broad shoulders squared. “Perhaps I am keeping her out of your clumsy hands.”

Dario’s expression sharpened. “Clumsy?”

“You handed Alessio capital you were fully aware he could never clear,” Massimo said, still looking out across the grounds. “That was never a business loan. It was bait. And bait brings predators into the open.”

Dario narrowed his eyes. “And you think you run the water?”

“I know,” Massimo said without raising his voice, “that you are way out of your depth.”

The room went dead still. Neither man moved for several seconds.

Then Dario let out a quiet, mocking breath. “Always the speechmaker. But answer me this, Massimo—if I’m the one being reckless, why do you look like a man cornered?”

Before Massimo could reply, a firm knock hit the doorway.

“Boss, we have a problem.”

Both brothers turned as Arturo stepped over the threshold. His posture was rigid, his pace deliberate, and the look in his eyes carried real weight. He cast a single brief glance at Dario before locking his attention onto Massimo.