Chapter 11 The Table of Armed Wolves
Jasmine's POV:
If hell had a coastline, it would look like this.
As the helicopter descended over the private island, the ocean below shimmered in the moonlight. The water was crystal clear. Ahead, warm golden lights elegantly washed over a marble dock reaching into the ocean.
Luxury wasn’t quiet here. It was loud.
In the middle of the island, a huge mansion stood like a modern palace. It was made of white stone and tall glass walls, with wide terraces and fountains carved from Italian marble. Palm trees lined the path in perfect rows, and small lights wrapped around their trunks made the whole island glow, like something straight out of a billionaire’s fantasy.
As the helicopter blades slowed, armed men in tailored black suits stood waiting below.
Nikolai stepped down first, then turned and offered me his hand.
This time, I didn’t hesitate.
The helicopter blades faded as we stepped onto the marble path. The night felt quiet again. Matthew stayed close, not exactly next to me, but close enough to remind me I wasn’t alone.
Up ahead, the mansion doors waited, tall, smooth, and brightly lit, and when they opened, everything shifted. The warm night air disappeared, replaced by cool, clean air inside that raised goosebumps along my neck.
Then I saw the dining hall, and it stopped me.
Huge windows surrounded the room on three sides, showing the ocean. Sparkling chandeliers hung from the ceiling. In the middle, there was a table that seemed far too long, like it was meant for royalty.
Its surface was a glossy black stone, shining like a mirror. The plates and cutlery were trimmed in gold. The wine glasses were so thin they looked like they’d break if you touched them too hard.
And seated around this table were wolves— capos, lieutenants, men who commanded armies without uniforms. Their suits were custom-tailored, watches worth more than small companies. Each one had armed men stationed discreetly behind them.
Conversations quieted as we entered. While Matthew stayed back near the wall, quiet and watchful like he was part of security, Nikolai did not announce me. He simply walked to the head of the table. And pulled out the chair at his right.
It was a statement louder than words.
My pulse quickened as I took the seat beside him.
The message was clear: not behind him, not apart from him, but at his right hand.
It screamed possession, power, and protection. Or perhaps all three.
Dinner began as courses arrived. Caviar, truffle-infused pasta, Wagyu steak that practically melted beneath the knife. The wine was rich, aged, probably older than some of the men seated here.
But no one cared about the food. They cared about me. I felt it in the weight of their stares. The curiosity, the judgement.
One of the older capos with silver hair slicked back and deep lines carved into his face, cleared his throat.
“Don Moretti,” he began smoothly, though his eyes were fixed on me. “You bring… company tonight.”
The room stilled.
Nikolai lifted his glass but did not drink. “I do.”
The man’s gaze sharpened. “And what position does she hold?”
There it was. The test.
I could have stayed silent. I could have waited for Nikolai to speak. Instead, I placed my fork down gently.
“I hold the position he chose for me,” I said calmly.
The man’s brow lifted slightly. “And what would that be?”
I met his gaze evenly. “Important enough to sit here, by his side.”
A murmur rippled faintly down the table.
The capo’s lips twitched, he was not amused.
“And what qualifies you to dine among us?”
I felt the trap beneath the question. Defiance without intelligence would be dismissed, and so was being vulnerable.
So I chose balance.
“I don’t claim qualification,” I replied smoothly. “But I understand proximity.”
His eyes narrowed. “Explain.”
“I understand that proximity to power demands discipline, observation and silence, when necessary.” I paused, letting the words settle. “And precision when speaking.”
A few heads tilted.
He leaned back slightly. “I like the way you think, Signorina,”
Nikolai just remained silent. Watching.
Just then, another man farther down the table laughed under his breath. He was younger and appeared more arrogant.
“I beg your pardon, but she’s a woman.” He scoffed. “Women don’t think.”
His gaze then dragged over me in open assessment. “They do think, however, that being pretty can make them get away with anything they want. But pretty things don’t survive here long.”
I turned toward him slowly.
“Excuse me?”
A few capos shifted.
He smirked. “Beauty fades.”
“So does arrogance,” I replied sweetly. “But arrogance tends to fall faster.”
Everyone on the table began murmuring, except Nikolai.
The man’s jaw tightened. “You think your silly words make you dangerous?”
“No,” I said evenly. “Understanding makes me dangerous.”
He leaned forward. “And what do you understand?”
“That underestimating someone in this room is a mistake.” I held his stare. “Especially if she’s seated at the Don’s right hand.”
In that instant, he became silent. And for a long second, no one spoke.
Then, the silver-haired capo gave a slow nod.
“Confidence,” he murmured. “Interesting.”
The energy shifted. It was subtle, but it was undeniable.
Their dismissive glances then softened into consideration. They were now recalculating.
Dinner went on, but the mood was different now. The questions stopped feeling like traps and started sounding like normal conversation. No one threw out any more crude remarks, and the tension at the table eased, little by little.
I had not raised my voice. I had not relied on Nikolai. I had stood alone, and survived.
When the night was over, the men drifted off in small groups, talking under their breath. Their armed guards followed suit.
I stayed where I was, beside Nikolai, while the dining hall emptied.
Then Nikolai turned to face me.
“You surprised me,” he said quietly.
I tipped my head. “Disappointed?”
He let out a short breath, almost like a laugh. “No.”
He moved closer. He didn’t touch me, but he was near enough that I felt him there, like a weight in the air.
“They were ready to write you off.”
“I could tell.”
“And you didn’t let them.”
“I answered what they asked.”
“You did more than that,” he said. “You made your place clear.”
I held his gaze. “You put me at your right hand.”
“Yes.”
“Then I figured you wanted me to earn that seat.”
It was as if something shifted in his expression. Maybe it was approval, or respect.
“You really surprised me. I’m impressed.” he said.
“Get used to it,” I said, softer.
One corner of his mouth lifted, barely.
“Oh,” he murmured, low and hard to read. “I plan to.”