Chapter 3

"I invited Serena to dinner," Luca said while Natalie sliced bread.

Earlier, Mia had drawn a small gold crown on Natalie's place card because she believed her mother was the queen of the house.

By seven, twenty relatives and capos were waiting to see whether Natalie still owned her chair.

"Michael died wearing my colors," Luca said, his voice hard and uncompromising. "His sister eats at my table tonight. Just... be civil, okay? Don't make a scene in front of the family."

Natalie turned, offering a placid smile. "When have I ever made a scene, Luca?"

Ten minutes later, the dining room was buzzing with wine glasses and laughter. Dom stood silently behind Natalie's empty chair at the head of the table.

At the far end, Benny remained standing beside the door, arms crossed. None of Natalie's father's old men touched their wine.

Natalie entered with a platter of vegetables and stopped.

Serena Vale was sitting right in the middle seat-Natalie's seat. Natalie's place card, handmade by Mia, had been pushed beneath Serena's plate, the little gold crown still visible at the edge.

Serena wore a cream-colored dress, chatting smoothly with Luca's second-in-command. Conversation stopped.

Several capos stopped mid-sentence. Uncle Matteo cleared his throat nervously.

Luca stiffened at the end of the table, casting a warning glance at Serena, but Serena didn't move. She looked up at Natalie with a thin, challenging smirk behind her glass.

Natalie didn't drop the platter. With quiet grace, she walked over and set the food down right in front of Serena.

Then she picked up the crystal water pitcher, pouring a steady stream of ice water directly into Serena's goblet until it nearly overflowed.

"Excuse me, dear," Natalie said, her voice sweet and melodic. "You must be confused. That's the wife's seat."

Serena's smile faltered, color rushing to her cheeks. "Oh. Luca didn't mention a strict seating chart."

"My husband knows the chart by heart," Natalie replied smoothly, leaning down just enough so only Serena could hear. "As for where mistresses usually sit... you'll have to ask him."

A sharp intake of breath echoed around the table.

Serena straightened her posture, lifting her chin. "Well, if a wife's seat was actually secure, Natalie, you wouldn't feel so threatened by someone borrowing it for an hour."

Every eye in the room shifted to the head of the table. All heads turned to Luca.

Luca's jaw tightened. He couldn't ignore it; letting Serena keep the seat meant openly breaking family tradition and signaling to the capos that his household was unraveling.

The ash at the end of his cigar had grown nearly an inch in the ashtray. No one at the table reminded him.

"Serena," Luca said, his voice low. "Move."

Serena looked at Natalie, then at the twenty people watching her. She picked up her plate and moved three seats down.

Natalie calmly reclaimed her seat beside her husband, smoothing out the crumpled place card Mia had made. She had won the chair, but looking at Luca's stormy, resentful expression, she knew she hadn't won him.

Just then, eleven-year-old Mia walked into the dining room, carrying a stack of remaining place cards to distribute. She stopped behind Serena, holding out a card with innocent diligence.

"Excuse me, Miss Vale," Mia said politely. "You're sitting in Uncle Matteo's seat."

Mia held up the purple place card.

"Yours is down there. I wrote it in purple because Mom said you work with paintings."

Serena looked at Mia. Then at Uncle Matteo, who was waiting for his chair.

"Purple was very thoughtful," she said.

She picked up her plate and walked to the far end.

The capos around the table muffled sudden coughs. Uncle Matteo chuckled openly into his napkin.

Serena's face froze into an agonizing, mask-like smile. She had no choice but to sit down at the lonely seat at the very end of the table.

Later that evening, after the guests had cleared out, Serena intercepted Natalie near the back patio doors.

"You needed an eleven-year-old to defend your chair?" Serena hissed, her facade cracking.

Natalie folded Mia's place card and slipped it into her pocket. "No. She noticed you were in the wrong seat."

Serena stepped close enough that Natalie could smell her perfume. "Enjoy the chair, Natalie. Let's see where Luca is sitting Saturday."

Serena held Natalie's gaze. Her hand remained over her stomach.

Before Natalie could ask what Serena meant, footsteps came down the hall.

Eleven-year-old Mia ran over, holding up a small, folded pink paper toward her father.

"Saturday. Two o'clock," Mia said, her face lighting up with hopeful anticipation. "You promised you'd come to my playoff game, Dad."

Luca glanced awkwardly from Mia toward the far end of the hall, where Serena stood watching, resting a deliberate hand over her flat stomach.

Mia gently shook her father's sleeve. "You're coming, right, Dad?"

Luca forced an uneasy, strained smile. "I'll be there, peanut. Wouldn't miss it."

Across the room, Serena rested a hand over her stomach and smiled at Natalie.