No one here would believe me.
No one ever had.
I straightened, meeting Dante's gaze directly.
"I'm sorry," I said calmly. "It was my fault."
My voice didn't waver.
Then I looked around at all of them.
"Well?" I added, almost lightly. "Are you all satisfied now?"
No one spoke.
I didn't wait for an answer.
I turned and walked away.
Behind me, Dante's expression faltered for a brief second. His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but the words never came.
I didn't look back.
I made my way through the courtyard alone, past the guests in their dark suits and jewels, past the whispers that had already begun to rise again, until I finally reached the front gate where a soldier stepped aside without meeting my eyes.
The moment I stepped toward the exit, a car pulled up abruptly in front of me, cutting off my path.
I stopped.
The tinted back window slowly rolled down.
Luca.
He was sitting inside, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp, fixed directly on me. His glasses rested folded in one hand.
"Get in," he said, his voice low, leaving no room for argument.
For a moment, I didn't move.
Before I could respond, a familiar voice called out from behind me.
"Adriana."
I turned.
Dante stood a few feet away, the compound's iron gate framing him, his face shadowed, his expression darker than I had ever seen it.
His eyes flicked briefly toward the car, then back to me.
"I dare you," he said slowly, each word heavy with warning, "to get in that car."
I hesitated at first, my thumb pressing hard against the silver rosary bracelet at my wrist. Then I opened the door and slid into the leather seat.
Behind me, Dante's voice cut through the night air like something edged. "Adriana! Get out of that car right now!"
I didn't move.
Luca leaned in close. He turned my face toward the glow of the dashboard with careful fingers, tilting my chin so the light caught the side of my cheek.
His brows drew together the moment he saw the mark. "He hit you?" His voice was quiet, but full of restrained anger. The kind that sat low in a man's chest and didn't need volume to be dangerous.
He unbuckled his seatbelt in one sharp motion, clearly ready to get out of the car.
I grabbed his arm. "What are you doing?"
He turned back to look at me, his face tense, the lines of his jaw set hard enough to cut. "What do you think?"
God. Was he really going to confront Dante? The heir to the Falcone Family? For me?