Chapter 6 - The Dinner of Lies
The tension in the dining room was thick enough to cut with a knife.
Don Silvano sat at the head of the table, his sharp eyes darting between Dante and Emma as the servants served a multi-course Italian meal. Two of his personal bodyguards stood like statues behind his chair, their hands resting near their jackets.
"So," the old man spoke, his voice a raspy growl, his Italian accent thick. "This is the American girl who has made my grandson forget his duties to his family."
Emma felt a spike of panic, but she remembered Dante's instructions. She reached out under the table and found Dante’s hand, squeezing it tightly. Dante immediately laced his fingers through hers, his grip steady and unyielding.
"Her name is Emma, Nonno," Dante said, his voice calm and respectful. "And she did not make me forget my duty. She became my duty."
Don Silvano snorted, taking a sip of red wine. "A divorced woman. The daughter of a bankrupt accountant. Marcus Whitman’s leftovers. You think I do not read the reports, Dante? You think I am an old fool who can be blinded by a pretty face?"
Emma’s blood ran cold. The old man knew everything.
Dante’s grip on her hand tightened until it was almost painful. "Marcus Whitman is a dead man walking who didn't know what he had. Emma is the only woman I have ever encountered who doesn't fear my name, only my monsters. She is the woman I choose."
Don Silvano leaned forward, slamming his hand on the table. The crystal glasses rang. "You choose? You do not choose, Dante! The Moretti family is moving into our territory in the West Side. A marriage with Gianna Moretti would seal a truce. This... this waitress brings nothing but trouble!"
Emma felt a surge of anger drown out her fear. Marcus had called her worthless. Her supervisor had discarded her. Now, this old man was talking about her like she was a piece of bad real estate.
She pulled her hand from Dante's and looked Don Silvano directly in the eye.
"I may not have a family crest or a million-dollar dowry, Don Silvano," Emma said, her voice clear and resonant, surprising even herself. "But I know what it means to lose everything and keep standing. I know what it means to be loyal when it costs you your life. Can your Gianna Moretti say the same? Or will she run the moment the police start asking questions?"
The room went dead silent. Marco, standing by the door, looked like he was about to faint. Dante turned his head to look at her, a look of pure, unadulterated shock in his gray eyes—followed quickly by a slow, burning pride.
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Don Silvano stared at Emma for five long seconds. Then, slowly, the old man’s face cracked into a deep, booming laugh.
"Ah! She has teeth, Dante! You did not tell me the little bird has claws!" The Don raised his glass toward Emma. "To loyalty, Miss Hart. Let us see if your actions match your tongue."
