Chapter 3 - Whispers Behind Closed Doors
"Are you enjoying the evening, Mother?" Dante asked aloud, his gaze never once straying from my face.
Rosa looked up at her son, her expression instantly shifting into serene maternal affection. She signed deliberately, pausing so I could interpret: Nora was just telling me about the music. It is a lovely party, Dante.
"Thank you, Miss Callahan," Dante said, his voice flat, but those piercing dark eyes told a completely different story. He saw the slight flush on my neck; he heard the tiny tremor in my breathing. "If you will excuse us, I require Miss Callahan’s assistance in my study for a private translation of several legal documents."
Murmurs rippled across the nearest knot of guests. Julian Vance, who had just stepped out of the alcove with a glass of bourbon in hand, froze when he heard Dante’s command. His eyes darted toward me, sharp and suspicious, before he quickly masked his unease behind an oily smile.
"Dante," Vance interrupted smoothly, stepping into our space. "The councilman needs five minutes with you before the speeches. Business before family, remember?"
Dante didn't turn his head to look at Vance. "Business waits until I say it proceeds, Julian. Stand by the podium. I will join you when I am ready."
The authority in Dante’s voice was absolute, leaving no room for argument. Vance’s jaw clenched, but he bowed his head and stepped back into the crowd. Dante extended his arm toward me. It was an unmistakable command disguised as chivalry. I laid my gloved hand over his forearm; the muscle beneath his tailored sleeve was rigid as steel.
He guided me away from the grand ballroom, down a quiet corridor lined with classic oil paintings, and through a pair of heavy mahogany double doors. Two armed guards snapped to attention as we entered, pulling the doors shut behind us with a heavy, deadened thud.
The study was massive, smelling of cedarwood, old books, and expensive leather. A roaring fire burned in a stone hearth, casting long, dancing amber shadows across a massive walnut desk. Dante released my arm, walked over to the desk, and poured two fingers of amber liquid into a crystal tumbler. He didn't offer me any.
He turned around, leaning his tall frame against the edge of the desk, crossing his arms over his chest. "Now, Miss Callahan. Tell me what my mother actually told you in that chair."
I swallowed the lump in my throat, keeping my back straight despite the trembling in my knees. "She was asking about the guests, Mr. Vitale."
Dante set the glass down with a sharp clack that made me jump. "Do not insult my intelligence. My mother hasn't cared about social guests since my father was buried ten years ago. She reached out to you because she believes you see things my men overlook. And I watched your fingers move while looking at the mirror above the hearth."
He took three slow, predatory steps toward me, stopping only inches away. The sheer physical presence of the man was overwhelming. "What did Vance say to the councilman?"
I looked up into his dark, unforgiving eyes and realized that a lie here would end my life before midnight. "He said the federal inspection at the southern docks tomorrow morning is an ambush," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "He said the shipping manifests have already been altered. They want federal agents to catch your cargo, Mr. Vitale. Julian Vance is setting you up."
For several agonizing seconds, Dante didn't blink. The room grew so quiet I could hear the faint crackle of burning logs in the fireplace.
"Did he name a buyer?" Dante asked softly, his tone far more dangerous than if he had shouted.
"No," I answered, shaking my head. "Only that the paperwork had already cleared the port authority."
Dante stared at me, searching my eyes for deception, fear, or hesitation. Finding none, a faint, cold smile curled the corner of his lips. "You have exceptionally sharp eyes, Nora Callahan."
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Before I could reply, the study doors burst open without a knock. Rosa stood in the doorway, her chest heaving, flanked by an anxious bodyguard. Her hands were flying in frantic, terrified patterns before the guards could even react.
Dante! Stop the toast! she signed wildly. Do not let anyone drink from the crystal decanter!
