Chapter 2 - THE COLD WHISPER ACROSS THE MAHOGANY TABLE
The sound of the restaurant's heavy mahogany doors swinging shut echoed like a gunshot through the private dining room.
Leo, the personal enforcer and shadow to Victor Moretti, slid the brass deadbolt home.
The metallic clack reverberated against the dark mahogany paneling.
Camilla Croft’s pale blue eyes flicked toward the door, her fingers tightening around the stem of her crystal wineglass until her knuckles turned the color of chalk.
"Victor," she laughed, a high, brittle sound that lacked all of its previous haughtiness as she looked up from her seat. "Tell your dog to unlock the door. This little game has gone quite far enough. The board members from the European syndicate are expecting us at the gallery opening by nine."
Victor Moretti did not move.
He stood six-foot-four behind his chair, his broad shoulders filling out the custom Italian wool of his black three-piece suit with terrifying physical presence.
He had not raised his voice when he told Leo to lock the door.
He had not raised his voice now.
He simply rested his knuckles flat against the crisp white linen tablecloth, leaning forward just enough to cast a long, suffocating shadow over Camilla’s side of the table.
"Nobody is going to a gallery opening tonight, Camilla," Victor said.
His voice was a low, gravelly baritone that felt like grinding stones.
Nora Vance sat rigidly at the opposite end of the table, her dark brown hair braided neatly around her crown, her hands still clutching the damp white cloth napkin against the large red wine stain soaking through the front of her white button-down shirt.
She hadn't dared to breathe since the bolt slid home.
Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.
For two years, Nora had served as Victor Moretti’s executive secretary—managing his schedules, vetting corporate acquisitions across three continents, and enduring the daily, calculated cruelty of Camilla Croft, who treated anyone drawing a salary from Moretti Enterprises as a glorified servant.
Tonight, Camilla had pushed past the boundaries of corporate disdain.
During a crucial negotiation dinner with the Eastern European partners, Camilla had deliberately "accidentally" upended a full crystal goblet of vintage Bordeaux directly across Nora’s chest, followed by public mockery.
“Just a typist with an audience.”
Victor had watched the entire exchange from the head of the table.
He had not intervened immediately.
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Because Victor Moretti did not react to insults; he gathered evidence.
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