Chapter 3 - The King’s TableThe private dining room on the third floor of Casaro Manor was lit by a crystal chandelier that cast long, sharp shadows across the mahogany table.
At 7:00 PM, my father, Frank Miller, walked into the room leaning on a polished wooden cane.
He looked older, his face lined with the pain of surviving a bullet wound to his lung, but his shoulders were straight. When he saw me, his tired eyes lit up with genuine warmth.
"Myra, sweetheart," Dad said, pulling me into a gentle hug.
"Dad," I whispered, holding him tight, smelling the familiar scent of pipe tobacco and peppermint. "How are you feeling? How was the drive from Brooklyn?"
"Mr. Casaro sent his private driver for me," Dad said, shaking his head in quiet awe. "I still don't understand why I was invited tonight, Myra. I'm just an old mechanic."
"You are a man who stood in front of lead for my family, Frank," Leo’s voice rang out as he entered the room.
Leo walked over to my father, extending a large hand. My father took it, shaking it with deep, profound respect.
"Leo," Dad said quietly. "I never got to properly thank you for the hospital bills..."
Nico, who had just walked into the room wearing a sleek navy suit, immediately cleared his throat loudly, stepping between my father and Leo with an annoying smirk.
"Well, Frank, you know how it is!" Nico interrupted smoothly, putting a fake, heavy arm around my father’s fragile shoulders. "Family takes care of family. I told my dad from day one that we weren't going to let your medical bills ruin Myra’s life. I personally made sure the Vermont clinic was booked for you."
I watched Nico’s performance with absolute, chilling detachment. The shameless audacity of this twenty-four-year-old boy taking credit for his father's charity in front of the very man who wrote the checks was breathtaking.
I looked at Leo.
Leo didn't explode. He didn't raise his voice. He simply poured himself a glass of red wine, his gray eyes fixed on his son with a quiet, lethal disgust.
"Sit," Leo commanded flatly.
We took our seats around the grand table. Nico sat next to me, taking my hand above the table, squeezing it with possessive force. My father sat across from us, looking between Leo and Nico with quiet observation.
"So, Dad," Nico began as the butler served roasted lamb and aged wine. "Have you reviewed the trust documents for the Winter Gala next month? The board needs your signature by Friday so we can finalize the transfer of the Brooklyn docks to my LLC."
Leo cut a piece of lamb, chewed slowly, and swallowed before speaking.
"The board has reviewed the documents, Nico," Leo said smoothly. "However, there has been a slight alteration to the stipulations."
Nico’s smile faltered slightly. "Alteration? What kind of alteration? The trust was set up by my mother. It transfers automatically on my twenty-fifth birthday."
"Your mother’s trust contained a moral clause," Leo said, setting his knife down with a soft clink. "It states that the heir must demonstrate stability, honor, and a legally binding commitment to a woman of respectable character before the assets can be unlocked."
Nico chuckled nervously, tightening his grip on my hand until my knuckles turned white. "Well... that’s no problem! Myra and I are together. Everyone knows she’s my future wife. We can announce the formal engagement at the Gala!"
"An announcement is not a contract, Nico," Leo replied, his voice calm as a calm sea before a hurricane. "The board requires a signed pre-nuptial agreement and a co-ownership clause on all major assets. If you marry Myra, her name will be placed on fifty percent of the Brooklyn docks holding company."
Nico froze.
The blood drained from his face so fast he looked instantly sick.
"What?!" Nico snapped, his voice dropping all fake warmth. "Fifty percent of the docks to Myra?! Dad, that’s insane! She... she doesn't know anything about logistics! Her family doesn't have any capital!"
My father’s posture stiffened at the head of the table. "Nico..."
"Shut up for a second, Frank!" Nico barked, panicking, slamming his hand onto the table. "Dad, you can't be serious! Give half my inheritance to a girl who didn't have a dime to her name until I saved her father?!"
The room went completely, terrifyingly silent.
My father stared at Nico in total shock, hurt and betrayal dawning across his weathered face. "Nico... is that how you look at my daughter? As a charity case?"
Nico realized his mistake instantly. He looked at my father, then looked at me, his eyes wide with frantic damage control. "No! Frank, Myra, I didn't mean it like that! I just mean... business is business! You don't give away fifty percent of a shipping empire to someone outside the family!"
I slowly pulled my hand out of Nico’s grip.
I looked across the table at Leo.
Leo was sitting back in his chair, taking a slow sip of wine. His eyes met mine, sending a clear, silent message: The trap is set.
"Nico is right, Mr. Casaro," I said softly, my voice trembling with theatrical innocence. "I don't deserve half of Nico’s empire. I'm just a simple girl. Nico has given me so much already... hasn't he?"
Nico wiped sweat from his forehead, letting out a nervous laugh. "See?! Even Myra agrees! She’s reasonable, Dad!"
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Leo set his wine glass down, looking at his son with a look of such profound contempt it made my skin prickle.
"We will discuss this further at the board meeting on Tuesday, Nico," Leo said quietly. "Until then... I suggest you treat your guests with the respect they deserve in this house. Or you might find yourself sleeping outside of it."
