I watched, fascinated, as Elena’s entire demeanor changed. Her bristling, hostile energy cooled, her features relaxed into an expression of polite interest and even her stance shifted, weight distributed evenly, and shoulders rolled stiffly back.
She smiled slightly at the only man I considered my father and offered her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you officially, Mr. Salvatore. I am Elena Lombardi, one of Edward’s lawyers.”
I rolled my eyes at her deliberate use of my old name, but Tore only laughed and accepted her slim hand between both of his, turning on his mega-watt charm.
The same charm that had seduced Elena’s mama into an affair. Based on Elena’s placid greeting, it was safe to assume she had no idea she was talking to the father of her two youngest siblings.
“You are many more things than Dante’s lawyer,” Tore was saying as he patted her hand in his. “One might say we are old family friends. Please, call me Tore.”
Something dark flickered in her eyes, but her lips were plastic molded around the shape of a stock smile. “If you’d like. Of course, I heard of you in my childhood.”
There was an underlying sentence that seemed to echo as boldly as if it had been spoken.
You were the orchestrator of the nightmares in my youth.
Of course, she didn’t know that when Tore had arrived in Napoli years after his affair with Caprice, he was as shocked as anyone to discover the twin children with his golden eyes in her home. He’d done everything in his power short of losing that power to shield the Lombardis from Seamus’s dangerous dealings with the Camorra.
But he didn’t say anything about it.
Instead, he took the silent hit she doled out like he deserved it.
Anger sparked in my blood.
It was one thing for her to judge me but quite another for her to skewer Tore with her misplaced hatred.
“He did more for your family than you know,” I cut in, glowering down at her from my advanced height. “Do not cast stones when you are blind to your surroundings.”
Elena ignored me, those gray eyes thunderous as they stared at Tore. “You might not remember this, but I was there the day you dragged Cosima from my mother’s house in Naples.”
I remembered that day too. Alexander had sent Cosima back home to Italy in order to get information on Tore and me, information about our mother’s death. It was that evening that Cosima learned the truth about what happened to Chiara and the truth about her paternity.
Elena didn’t know anything about it, about Tore and Cosima’s father-daughter relationship or that Cosima had been sold to Alexander at the tender age of eighteen as his sex slave to satisfy his role in an ancient secret society, the Order of Dionysus.
Truly, she didn’t know a thing about her own sister.
Either of them, probably.
And even though that wasn’t exactly her fault, I wouldn’t have her berating the only man who had taught me what it meant to be loved.
“You should ask your sister about that day,” I suggested, my mouth a cruel sneer as I glared at her. “For a woman who values knowledge, you do not ask questions when you should.”
“Dante.” Tore tried to soothe the tension with a chuckle. “Please excuse him, Elena, as he is fiercely protective. Figlio, have some of Caprice’s tiramisu to sweeten your disposition, si?”
I shook my head at him, but I did take one of the bowls filled with sweet cream and cake from the counter. Elena’s eyes tracked me as I brought the spoon to my mouth, as I hummed a little louder than necessary at the explosion of the flavors on my tongue.
“Perfetto,” I praised, then offered a spoonful to Elena with a brow raised in a silent dare. “You could use some sweetening too.”
“Boss,” Frankie interrupted, his face pinched with concern as he stopped in front of him. “Gotta talk to you.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but Tore got there first.
“Enough talk,” he decided, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he took Elena’s hand and pressed it into my own. “This is the feast of San Gennaro! We must be dancing.”
He shot me a hard look before I could argue with him, and I knew he wanted me to get her away from whatever grim news Frankie was carrying before her curiosity got the better of her. So I tucked Elena’s stiff arm through mine and tugged her into the living room, where a number of people were dancing between it and the terrace.
When I pulled her close, she went as stiff as a board in my arms.
“Dancing typically requires coordination,” I drawled. “Are you capable of that?”
She blinked at me blandly and rolled her shoulders back as she adjusted her hands on my shoulders. “I was concerned about you. It can’t be easy to move all that weight around.”