Chapter 4 - A Silk Glove over Iron|
The dining room of the Moretti mansion was lit by three crystal chandeliers that cast shimmering diamond patterns across the mahogany table.
At eight o'clock the next morning, Isabella sat across from Dante in a cream silk blouse, delicately spreading lemon marmalade over a piece of dry toast. Her dark hair was styled impeccably, and her engagement ring—a four-carat emerald-cut diamond—sparkled under the warm light.
“Darling,” Isabella purred, setting her butter knife down with a soft click. “You look exhausted. Did you stay up late reviewing those shipping documents again?”
Dante leaned back in his leather chair, taking a measured sip of black coffee.
“State affairs require constant vigilance, Isabella,” he answered smoothly. “The Russo family has been making quiet inquiries regarding our Brooklyn piers.”
Isabella’s blue eyes flickered for a fraction of a second, so fast that an unobservant man would have missed it entirely.
“The Russos?” she asked, tilting her head innocently. “I thought your brother’s death bought a permanent peace between the families.”
“Peace in our line of work is simply the time between two gunshots,” Dante said, his voice dropping an octave into a low, terrifying calm. “People get greedy. They think that because an old man dies or a young boss sits quietly, the foundation has cracked.”
Isabella offered a sweet, comforting smile, reaching across the white linen tablecloth to rest her hand over his.
“You are the strongest man in this city, Dante,” she murmured. “Nobody would dare cross you.”
Dante looked down at her slender fingers, resting lightly over his knuckles. He could feel the pulse beating in her wrist—steady, calculated, completely unbothered by her deceit.
“I’m glad you think so,” Dante smiled faintly. “By the way, have you seen Elena this morning? I asked her to clean the east wing windows, but the head housekeeper mentioned she couldn't find her.”
Isabella took a slow sip of her orange juice, her expression transforming seamlessly into mild irritation.
“Oh, that girl?” Isabella sighed, shaking her head. “I believe she took her noisy child and left early. Honestly, Dante, she was entirely unqualified. The toddler was running through the upper halls yesterday like a stray animal. It’s better that she’s gone.”
May you like
Dante kept his smile perfectly fixed on his lips.
“Yes,” Dante said softly. “Children have a habit of wandering into places they don't belong.”
