a hold of it. She picked it up, brought it home with her. Thought she could help it. Most of my grandchildren were born with brutality in their blood, but Gabriella? She was just so good. Which is why I was so surprised to see her with you, but I guess I shouldn't have been. She picked up another wounded animal and brought it home."
Those words were like a punch to the gut. Dante clenched his hands into fists, stopping himself from reacting.
Victor walked around the desk, pausing beside Dante. "She can't save the world, but you know, maybe she can help bring an end to this senseless war. My kids—my daughters, especially—married into a few different families, so if my granddaughter wants to be with a Galante, I'll welcome one in. Call it a clean slate for the New Year. Merry Christmas, Dante."
"Thank you," Dante said.
"But you better treat her right," Victor said. "Because that squirrel she brought home? It bit her, you know. It got scared, and it bit her, so I snapped it's fucking neck, because no one and nothing hurts my family. Remember that."
Music played through the ballroom from the small orchestra. Tables took up a significant portion of the vast room, while the wedding party was propped up on a stage near the front, along a wall of spacious windows, soft sunlight streaming in on them, making the bride glow. The rest of the space was made up of a dance floor, empty at the moment, as everyone ate.
Gabriella pushed the food around on her plate, not taking any bites of the veal they'd forced upon her. The plate beside hers remained untouched, growing cold, the chair empty. Her plus-one.
Across from her sat her parents, also not eating. No, they were too busy staring. Staring at her, although neither had spoken a single word since she'd plopped down at the table. Their silence, though, said enough.
They were surprised, also not of the pleasant variety.
How long had it been? Ten minutes? A friggin year? She was growing antsy, tapping her foot, eyes scanning the room at the dozens—maybe hundreds—of faces, some of them familiar but none of them the one she hoped to see.
They wouldn't actually kill him, would they?
She grew impatient, about to go hunt Dante down, when she caught sight of her grandfather. Victor strolled into the room, smiling wide, his typical chipper self. He headed to the front of the ballroom and picked up a microphone.
Gabriella studied him, searching for some clue about what might've gone down, and startled when the chair beside her moved. She jumped, coming face-to-face with Dante.
He'd aged ten years in the blink of an eye. His suit was unkempt, the tie barely knotted. But the rest of him… well, he wasn't bleeding. There was no bruising that she could see, so he wasn't physically wounded. They'd just torn apart his soul, it seemed.
The moment his rear end hit the seat, Gabriella's father dropped his fork, the metal clanking against the plate as he gave up the pretense of attempting to eat.
Gabriella cringed.
"I'd like a word," Alfie said, finding his voice. "Now."
Dante stood back up.
"Wait," Gabriella interjected.
Dante placed his hand on her shoulder, rubbing it. "It's fine."
Alfie stalked through the ballroom, heading for the door, as Dante followed. Gabriella watched them as they stopped outside, well out of earshot but still within view. Right away, Alfie laid into him, going on and on, while Dante just stood there, listening.
In the ballroom, Victor spoke, giving some speech about love and loyalty, but Gabriella wasn't paying attention. Ugh, what the heck is my father saying? She started to stand up, to go out there, her father's expression murderous as he got right in Dante's face, spewing words Gabriella suspected she didn't even have in her vocabulary, when a hand darted across the table, catching her wrist.
"Don't dare, Gabriella Michele!" Her mother glared at her from across the table. "What are you thinking?"
Gabriella turned as she was forced back into her chair, looking at her mother. Victoria looked quite a bit like her father, those Brazzi genes strong. She also inherited the notorious temper.
"I don't know," Gabriella said. "Maybe that you guys are overreacting like I knew you would."
"Overreacting?" Victoria raised her eyebrows, still gripping her wrist, manicured fingernails pressing into the skin. "Overreacting, Gabriella? Do you know who that boy is?"
"Of course I know who he is."
"He's a Galante."
"So?" Gabriella pulled on her arm, but her mother wasn't letting go, acting