The mountain morning was gray and suffocatingly quiet. Inside the stone dining hall of the estate, the only sound was the rhythmic clink of silverware. Anita sat in her usual spot beside Nero, her movements mechanical as she focused entirely on the boy's plate. She kept her eyes down, her raven hair acting as a curtain to shield her from the man at the head of the table.
Gotti looked lethal even in his recovery. His shoulder was bandaged beneath a crisp black shirt, and his presence was heavy, a dark cloud that seemed to suck the oxygen out of the room.
"Serve her here," Gotti commanded, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that vibrated through Anita's chair.
"I'm not hungry, Alpha," Anita murmured, finally speaking but still refusing to look up.
"Eat," he countered, the single word sounding more like a caress than an order.
