Chapter 5 - The Snake at the Table
Within three weeks, the atmosphere inside the Moretti estate had drastically shifted.
The cold, silent halls now echoed with the sounds of Sicilian folk music playing from a small radio Penelope had placed in the kitchen. Salvatore had gained four pounds, his cheeks had recovered their healthy color, and he spent his afternoons sitting in the kitchen garden, telling Penelope stories about his youth while helping her pod fresh fava beans.
Dominic, who used to spend eighteen hours a day in his Manhattan offices, had mysteriously begun returning to the estate by six o'clock every evening.
He claimed it was to review documents in his home study, but Penelope noticed that his study window looked directly down into the kitchen garden. And every night at seven, Dominic would join his father at the dining table, eating whatever rustic, soulful meal Penelope had prepared.
He watched her.
He watched the way her soft, full waist moved as she carried heavy iron pots. He watched the way she laughed at his father's terrible jokes. He watched the deep intelligence in her eyes when she spoke about literature, history, or the complexities of running a small business.
He treated her with a quiet, fierce respect that confused and thrilled her.
Then came the night of the family dinner.
It was a rainy Thursday. Dominic had requested a formal dinner for four in the estate’s private dining room. Joining Dominic and Salvatore was Julian, and a guest—a sharp-featured man named Leo Vance, a high-ranking executive from a rival real estate syndicate.
Penelope prepared a traditional feast: Arancini stuffed with ragù and peas, fresh caponata, and a main course of Spada alla Ghiotta—swordfish braised with capers, olives, and tomatoes.
As Penelope entered the dining room carrying the fish platter, she felt the atmosphere in the room instantly freeze.
Leo Vance was leaning back in his chair, smoking a cigar despite Salvatore’s clear irritation. Julian was pouring heavy glasses of whiskey, looking agitated.
"So, Dominic," Vance sneered, resting his elbows on the polished mahogany table. "Word on the street is you're getting soft. You spent thirty million to buy out the waterfront docks, but you haven't moved a single crane in three weeks. People are saying the Moretti family is running out of steam."
"People talk too much," Dominic said coldly, cutting his fish with surgical precision. "And those who talk to you are usually lying."
Vance’s eyes drifted toward Penelope as she set a bowl of roasted potatoes near the center of the table. His gaze slid over her hips, lingering on her full chest with an oily, degrading smile.
"Well, well," Vance drawled, flicking an ash onto the tablecloth. "Where did you find this one, Dominic? I didn't know you were hiring housekeepers by the pound these days."
Penelope went dead still, her hands gripping the silver serving tray tightly.
Salvatore’s fork slammed onto his plate. "Watch your mouth, Vance!"
Julian let out a cruel, brief chuckle. "Relax, Papa. Leo’s just making a joke. She's just the cook."
Before Vance could say another word, Dominic stood up.
The movement was so fast, so smooth, that it startled everyone at the table. Dominic reached across the table, grabbed Leo Vance by his expensive silk tie, and slammed his head down onto the mahogany surface with a sickening thud.
Glasses shattered. Wine spilled across the linen.
Vance gasped in pain, his face pressed flat against the wood, Dominic’s massive hand pinning his neck with crushing force.
"You are a guest in my house, Leo," Dominic said, his voice terrifyingly quiet, devoid of all emotion. "You disrespect my father's table. You disrespect the woman who feeds my family. If you ever open your mouth to look at her—or speak to her—like that again, I will have Marco drag you down to the docks and drop you into the Atlantic."
Vance choked out a desperate, nodding assent.
Dominic released his grip, stepping back and smoothing the lapels of his suit jacket as if nothing had happened.
"Get out," Dominic commanded flatly.
Vance scrambled out of his chair, bleeding slightly from a cut on his lip, and hurried out of the dining room, followed closely by a nervous Julian.
The room fell into silence, save for the sound of rain beating against the high glass windows.
Salvatore looked at his eldest son, a proud, quiet nod passing between them. Then the old man stood up, patted Penelope’s shoulder, and walked out to give them privacy.
Penelope stood by the sideboard, her heart pounding in her throat. She looked at Dominic, who was breathing heavily, his dark hair slightly rumpled, his knuckles white.
"You didn't have to do that," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I'm used to men like him."
Dominic turned to her. He walked across the room until he was standing directly in front of her, so close she could feel the radiating heat of his body.
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He reached out, his broad, calloused hand gently cupping the side of her soft face. His thumb brushed over her cheekbone with unbelievable tenderness.
"You will never have to be used to it again, Penelope," Dominic murmured, his grey-green eyes burning into hers with a raw, undeniable passion. "Not while I am breathing."
