Chapter 3 - The Gathering Storm
The lead man in the grey suit stepped forward, his leather shoes clicking loudly against the hardwood floor. He had a scarred jaw and cold, reptilian eyes.
"Nathaniel," the man said, stopping five feet from the table. "Your uncle wants to know why you're dining with the waitstaff when the council is waiting at the docks."
Wren felt her heart leap into her throat. His uncle. The legendary Dominick Moretti, a man whose name was spoken in whispered warnings across Rhode Island.
Nathaniel didn't turn to face the intruder. He casually picked up his glass, took a sip of water, and wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Tell my uncle that my personal schedule is not subject to council approval, Julian. And tell him that interrupting my dinner is a grave breach of etiquette."
Julian’s eyes flicked to Wren, scanning her faded uniform and glued shoes with disgust. "You're risking the family's truce for a kitchen girl? Dominick thinks you're losing your edge, Nathaniel. Ever since your father died, you've been playing at being a civilized businessman."
Brutus took a step forward, his ears pinned back, his lethal jaws exposed in a silent, terrifying warning. Julian reflexively reached inside his coat, his hand hovering over his waistband.
Instantly, two men seated at a corner table—men Wren had assumed were ordinary patrons—stood up in unison, their hands tucked smoothly inside their tailored jackets. The entire restaurant held its collective breath.
"I suggest you remove your hand from your jacket, Julian," Nathaniel said softly, his voice dropping an octave. "Unless you want Brutus to tear your throat out before my men can even draw their weapons."
Julian froze. He looked at the massive dog, then at the two armed guards closing in from the flanks. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Slowly, he withdrew his hand and raised his palms in surrender.
"Dominick won't wait forever, Nathaniel," Julian sneered, backing away toward the door. "The Valenti family is pushing the borders. If you won't take charge, your uncle will."
With a final, sharp glance at Wren, Julian and his two enforcers exited the restaurant, letting the heavy doors slam shut behind them.
The restaurant remained dead silent. The general manager was pale as a sheet, clinging to the host stand for support.
Nathaniel turned back to Wren, his expression unreadable. "I apologize. That was unacceptable."
Wren was trembling, but she forced herself to take a deep breath. "Who was that?"
"My uncle's right hand," Nathaniel replied. "My father passed away six months ago, leaving me control of the family estate and operations. My uncle believes he is better suited to lead. He is trying to provoke a war with the Valenti syndicate to consolidate power."
Nathaniel stood up, placing a stack of hundred-dollar bills on the table to cover the meal and the disruption. He offered his hand to Wren.
May you like
"Where are we going?" Wren asked, staring at his outstretched hand.
"I am taking you home," Nathaniel said firmly. "Julian saw your face. You are no longer safe here, Wren. Whether you want my help or not, you are now involved."
