Chapter 3 - The Dinner of the CondemnedVanessa’s knees seemed to buckle, but she caught herself against the edge of a mahogany bookshelf, her breath coming in shallow, panicked gasps. Her eyes darted frantically from Dante to me, sitting quietly by the fire.
Recognition—and a sudden, venomous realization—flashed across her pale features.
“The... the waitress,” Vanessa whispered, her voice tightening into a hiss. “You brought the kitchen help into your study?”
“She is not kitchen help,” Dante said, standing up slowly from his desk. His tall, imposing frame cast a long shadow across the room as he walked around the barrier of wood and leather, stopping just a few feet from his wife. “She is the reason I am standing here right now. Unlike you, Vanessa, who apparently preferred me at the bottom of a ravine.”
“Dante, you’re confused—you hit your head, you don’t know what you’re saying—” Vanessa stammered, stepping back, her hands shaking as she tried to reconstruct her mask of innocence. “Some rival family must have ambushed you—!”
“Stop talking,” Dante interrupted quietly.
Two armed guards—Rocco and another man named Marcus—stepped silently into the study through the double doors, blocking any exit.
“I found the mechanic's report two hours ago,” Dante continued, his voice dropping an octave lower, vibrating with suppressed fury. “The hydraulic line on the driver’s side wasn't just snapped; it was cleanly severed with a professional-grade micro-cutter. The same kind used by the security detail belonging to your father’s estate in Philadelphia.”
Vanessa’s facade finally shattered completely. Her mouth twisted into an ugly, desperate snarl.
“You arrogant bastard!” she spat, dropping the innocent-wife act like a discarded coat. “You locked me in this gilded cage for three years! You treat me like a trophy wife while you run your empire and treat your men like sons! I was suffocating! I wanted out!”
“Then you should have asked for a divorce,” Dante replied coldly.
“A divorce? From a Moretti?” Vanessa laughed hysterically. “You would have tied up every penny, locked me away in a convent, or had me buried under the patio before you let me walk away with half your fortune! Death was the only way out!”
“And Julian?” Dante asked, his eyes narrowing. “Did your little lover plan on sharing the fortune with you, or was he going to put a bullet in your head the moment the estate cleared probate?”
Vanessa froze. Her eyes darted sideways, confirming everything Dante had implied.
Dante didn't raise his voice. He didn't scream. He simply looked at Rocco.
“Lock her in the east guest suite. Confine her to quarters. Take her phone, her jewelry, and every credit card she owns. She doesn't leave that room until I decide what to do with her.”
“Dante, you can’t do this! My father will hear about this! The Luciano family will level this entire city!” Vanessa screamed as Rocco and Marcus grabbed her arms, dragging her kicking and swearing out of the study.
The heavy oak doors slammed shut, cutting off her shrieks.
Silence descended upon the study once more, heavier and darker than before.
I sat frozen in the armchair, my fingers clutching the arms of the chair so tightly my knuckles turned white. I had just witnessed a mafia boss dismantle his wife’s murder plot and sentence her to imprisonment within the span of five minutes.
Dante turned around, walking slowly back toward the desk. He poured another finger of whiskey, paused, and then poured a second glass, walking over and holding it out toward me.
“Drink it,” he said quietly. “You need it.”
I took the glass, my fingers brushing against his. His skin was warm, a sharp contrast to the ice in his eyes. I took a small sip; the burning liquid scorched my throat, but it steadied my racing pulse.
“What are you going to do to her?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Nothing tonight,” Dante said, staring into the fire. “Her father is Don Salvatore Luciano of Philadelphia. If I execute her outright without proof airtight enough to satisfy the Commission, it triggers an all-out gang war that will leave half of Manhattan burning. She’s going to stay locked in that room until I dismantle her father’s network piece by piece.”
He turned his head, his gray eyes locking onto mine once more.
“Which brings us to you, Cara.”
My stomach plummeted. “Me?”
“You heard what she said. You heard her lover’s voice. You saw his face in the restaurant,” Dante said, taking a slow step closer. “To the Luciano family, you are the only living witness to a conspiracy against a boss. If they find out you pulled me out of that car, they will hunt you to the ends of the earth.”
“I—I can quit my job,” I stammered, panic rising in my chest. “I can leave the city! I’ll go to Chicago, or—or Florida—”
“There is no Chicago. There is no Florida,” Dante interrupted flatly. “The moment you used your car keys to follow my tail lights, your name was flagged on every toll camera, every traffic light, and every police database between here and the coast. If you walk out those front gates tonight, you won't survive twenty-four hours.”
May you like
“Then what am I supposed to do? Live here? As your prisoner?”
“Not a prisoner,” Dante said softly, leaning against the edge of his desk, towering over me. “A guest. Under my direct protection. For as long as it takes.”
