Chapter 32. The Infamous Trio

Chapter 32. The Infamous Trio

NOLIE POV
“I recognize you,” I said.
The words hung sharp, cutting through the air.
Dua tilted her head, still smirking like I’d just handed her a glass of wine. “Do you?” she asked, her voice sugar-laced, dangerous.
“Yes.” My throat dried as the memory slammed into me. “The funeral. My husband’s funeral. You were there. You’re the one who found me and Zorak in the corner. You came to drag him out just before they announced I was being married off to Reggio Averso.”
Her lips parted in a mock gasp, then curled into that smug grin. “Well, well. What a smart little brain you have. You remembered me.” She leaned forward, her perfume heavy, pressing in on my lungs. “Funny. I don’t remember you.”
The knife in her tone dug under my ribs.
My nails pressed half-moons into my palms.
She let the silence stretch, milking it, her eyes sliding to Zorak as if I wasn’t even standing there. “Of course, I remember you. Who wouldn’t? Zorak Padrelli doesn’t exactly blend in.”
Zorak’s hand at my waist tightened. “Dua,” he warned.
But she ignored him, her voice dipping silkier. “And yet you, Nolie Hartley… you fade. Don’t take it too hard. Some women just do.”
A dangerous light flickered in Dua’s eyes. 
The tension snapped like a whip in the air. I could feel it in my bones, hot and crackling.
“Enough.”
Zorak’s voice cut through the standoff, deep and final.
.Dua let out a small laugh, fluttery and false. “Relax. Of course I remember you, Nolie.” Her eyes glinted as they locked on mine. “The mad Don’s wife. Syvesso’s widow.” She tilted her head like she was studying me under glass. “How could I forget?”
The way she said it — mocking, playful, cruel — made bile rise in my throat.
Before I could spit back, Vanya slipped her arm through mine. “Enough of this.” She yanked gently, her eyes sharp. “Let’s go inside. I’m sure Mr. Chuck has cornbread, roasted turkey, and sweet potatoes ready.” Her grip tightened like iron. “And Nolie and I are famished. Especially after the intense morning we had.”
Heat shot up my neck. I whipped my head toward her, wide-eyed. Vanya just smirked knowingly, squeezing my hand.
The dirty, smug grin that crept onto my face told her I clocked it — her little reference to my fingering session that morning. I bit back a laugh, pressing my lips tight, but it spilled out anyway. The two of us snorted like idiots as she dragged me past Dua.
Dua’s eyes flicked between us, narrowing, but her smile didn’t slip.
We hadn’t even made it through the door before Dua’s voice trailed after us, slick as oil.
“Anyway,” she called, stepping lightly behind us, her heels echoing in the hall, “what of the third Red Knuckle? Our infamous trio? Verlin.”
Her smile widened. “Is he out there knocking teeth out on the border, scaring the life out of whatever poor faction thought they could disrupt Padrelli business?”
Her tone was casual, teasing, but it dripped with possession. Every word seemed designed to remind me she’d grown up in this world with them — Zorak, Verlin, the mafia. While I was just the outsider.
Before I could answer, a voice boomed from the entryway.
“I don’t use my knuckles anymore,” Verlin’s thick accent rolled through the hall like thunder. “The Dusters family can testify to that when they tried to move against Zorak.”
We all turned.
Verlin stepped in, his shoulders broad enough to block the doorway. His dark coat hung open, his shirt rolled at the sleeves, and his fists flexed like they still remembered blood.
Dua’s eyes lit up as if someone had flipped a switch. “Verlin!” She crossed the space in a glide, smiling too brightly. “Still breaking bones, I see?”
He chuckled, lifting a brow. “You’re still nosy, I see.”
She touched his arm briefly, her fingers lingering, but it wasn’t the same softness she poured over Zorak. A fraction colder.
Vanya was already on him before I blinked. She shoved past Dua, launched herself into Verlin’s chest, and he caught her like she belonged there. Their kiss was long, deep, enough to make Dua’s smile twitch.
“Missed me?” Verlin murmured.
Vanya smirked, her lips still grazing his. “Depends. Did you bring me something bloody?”
“I brought myself,” he said, kissing her again until she laughed into his mouth.
Zorak moved us further into the house, his hand tight on my waist. The whole room seemed to bend around him, even Verlin’s presence couldn’t drag focus off him.
Dua was right at our heels. Every few steps she found a way to slip in some line about the old days.
“Remember when you two got caught sneaking into the bishop’s wine cellar?” she teased, her eyes sliding to Zorak. “You couldn’t even hold the bottle, you were so drunk. I was the one who pulled you out before the guards saw.”
Her laugh tinkled. My jaw clenched.
It was like every story she told put her deeper into his past, while I stood silent, burning.
We reached the dining hall.
The table was already set — table mats perfectly placed, napkins folded with military precision. Silver gleamed. Platters of roasted turkey, bowls of sweet potatoes, cornbread steaming fresh. Mr. Chuck had outdone himself.
He gave a small bow as we entered, then slipped out, leaving us to our strange company.
Verlin and Vanya dropped into seats side by side, already whispering, their knees brushing under the table. Zorak pulled me to his side, lowering me into the chair like I’d break if he didn’t handle me himself.
Dua slid into the seat opposite me, her eyes never leaving my face.
The scrape of chairs against wood filled the silence.
For a moment, the only sound was cutlery clinking as food was served. My stomach twisted, but I forced myself to reach for my fork. If I kept busy, I could avoid Dua’s stares drilling into my skin.
But before I could slice into the turkey, Zorak’s hand shot out, closing over my wrist.
“Don’t you dare.”
I blinked. “What?”
He leaned close, his voice low enough for only me to hear — but his tone was commanding, dangerous. “Don’t use those hands. I need them later.”
Heat blazed across my face.