Chapter 8 - The Man at the TableRenzo Valenti had spent forty years building a reputation as the family’s wise elder.
Mara learned this when sixteen people arrived at the mansion wearing expensive clothes and expressions suggesting they knew where bodies were buried.
Possibly literally.
Dante’s younger brother, Marco, was charming.
His cousin Salvatore was loud.
His uncle Renzo was old-fashioned and suspicious.
His aunt Lucia kissed everyone twice and immediately decided Mara needed to gain weight.
“You are too thin.”
“I’m fine.”
“No. Eat.”
A plate appeared.
Mara looked at Dante.
“Help.”
“No one survives Aunt Lucia.”
The triplets laughed.
Normal family chaos disguised the danger.
Somewhere at this table could be the person who helped Victor kill Elena.
Dante had told only Briggs and Mara.
No one else.
He wanted to watch.
Mara hated the idea.
“You’re using dinner as an interrogation.”
“I’m using dinner as dinner.”
“You have three armed men outside.”
“I always have armed men outside.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
“It makes it consistent.”
She hated when he did that.
During appetizers, Dante casually mentioned Daniel Bennett.
Marco’s fork paused for half a second.
Mara saw it.
So did Dante.
“Name familiar?” Dante asked.
Marco shrugged.
“No.”
Salvatore asked, “Who?”
“Insurance investigator.”
Renzo’s face changed.
Tiny.
But visible.
Mara noticed.
Dante noticed her noticing.
The conversation continued.
After dinner, Mara found Luca on the staircase.
“What are you doing?”
“Listening.”
“To adults?”
“Yes.”
“Bad habit.”
“You do it.”
“I’m an adult.”
“That seems unfair.”
She sat beside him.
“What did you hear?”
“Uncle Marco told Dad to send you away.”
Mara’s stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“He said Victor will use you.”
“Anything else?”
Luca nodded.
“He said Mom always hated secrets.”
Mara looked at him.
“Did she?”
“Yes.”
“Then maybe we should honor that.”
Luca studied her.
“You like my dad.”
Mara nearly fell down the stairs.
“What?”
“You do.”
“I work for your father.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Go to bed.”
“You’re avoiding.”
“Bed.”
Luca grinned.
“Adults are terrible liars.”
He ran upstairs.
Mara remained sitting.
Unfortunately, the child was right.
Her feelings for Dante had become impossible to dismiss.
She liked the way he quietly checked each son’s bedroom before sleeping.
The way he remembered Ellie’s favorite cereal after hearing it once.
The way he pretended not to notice when the triplets climbed into his bed after nightmares.
The way he never mocked fear.
The way he listened when Mara challenged him—even while looking as though he wanted to throw her out a window.
It was dangerous.
Not because he was mafia.
Because she could imagine trusting him.
And Mara had learned that loving someone gave fate a target.
Her phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
A photograph appeared.
Ellie leaving school.
Mara’s heart stopped.
Then a message.
Daniel trusted the wrong Valenti. Don’t repeat his mistake.
She immediately showed Dante.
His reaction was terrifying.
Not rage.
Silence.
He called Briggs.
“Lock down Ellie’s school.”
“Already moving.”
“Trace number.”
“Working.”
Dante looked at Mara.
“You’re staying inside the estate.”
“No argument.”
That surprised him.
“I expected resistance.”
“They photographed my daughter.”
His face softened.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.”
Her voice hardened.
“Find him.”
Dante stared.
For the first time, Mara understood something frightening about herself.
She wanted Victor caught.
Not arrested someday.
Stopped.
Dante saw the anger.
“Don’t become me.”
She looked at him.
“Maybe you’re not what I thought.”
“That would be worse.”
“Why?”
“Because if you decide I’m a good man, you’ll forgive things you shouldn’t.”
The honesty silenced her.
He stepped closer.
“I have done terrible things, Mara.”
She believed him.
“Some I regret.”
His voice dropped.
“Some I don’t.”
“Why tell me?”
“Because I don’t want you loving an imaginary version of me.”
The word struck both of them.
Loving.
Neither moved.
Mara whispered, “Who said I love you?”
“No one.”
“But you thought it.”
“Yes.”
“You’re arrogant.”
“Yes.”
She should have walked away.
Instead she kissed him.
It was not gentle at first.
It carried three weeks of arguments, fear, grief, and denial.
Dante froze.
Then one hand touched her face.
Not possessive.
Almost disbelieving.
He kissed her back.
Mara pulled away first.
“This is stupid.”
“Extremely.”
“You’re my employer.”
“Yes.”
“You’re involved in organized crime.”
“Technically—”
“Don’t.”
He smiled.
She hated how much she loved seeing that smile.
Then a crash sounded upstairs.
They both looked toward the ceiling.
Nico yelled, “IT WASN’T ME!”
Mara sighed.
Dante murmured, “Romance.”
“Your life is ridiculous.”
“Our life.”
She looked at him sharply.
Dante didn’t take it back.
The next morning, Briggs traced Victor’s message.
It originated from a phone purchased by someone employed by Marco Valenti.
Dante’s brother.
Mara watched his face.
“You think Marco betrayed you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s my brother.”
Mara said quietly, “Blood doesn’t mean loyalty.”
Dante looked at her.
Daniel had written almost exactly the same thing.
He summoned Marco.
The confrontation happened in the library.
Mara wasn’t supposed to hear it.
She did anyway.
Dante placed the phone records on the table.
“Explain.”
Marco looked once.
Then laughed.
“This is weak.”
“Explain.”
“One of my employees bought a prepaid phone. So?”
“It contacted Mara.”
Marco’s face changed.
“Someone threatened her?”
“You didn’t know?”
“No.”
Dante watched him.
“Where were you the night Elena died?”
Marco’s expression collapsed.
“What?”
“Answer.”
“You know where I was.”
“Tell me.”
“At the hospital.”
“After.”
Marco stepped back.
“You think I killed her?”
“I think someone helped Victor.”
Marco looked devastated.
“I loved Elena.”
“So did I.”
“Dante—”
“Where were you?”
Marco’s eyes filled with something between anger and grief.
“I was meeting Victor.”
Silence.
Dante reached for him.
Mara stepped forward instinctively.
Marco raised both hands.
“Listen.”
Dante looked ready to murder his own brother.
Marco continued.
“I knew he was stealing. I confronted him.”
“When?”
“The night Elena died.”
“You met him and told no one?”
“He threatened Lucia.”
Dante went still.
“My mother?”
“Yes.”
Marco’s voice broke.
“He had photographs. Schedules. He knew when she went to church. I panicked.”
“You let him escape.”
“Yes.”
“And Elena died.”
“Yes.”
Dante punched him.
Marco hit the floor.
Mara shouted, “Dante!”
He stopped.
Marco wiped blood from his mouth.
“I deserve that.”
“No,” Mara said. “You deserve to finish talking.”
Marco looked at her gratefully.
“There’s more.”
Dante’s fist tightened.
“What?”
“Victor had someone higher than me.”
“Who?”
“I never knew.”
“Bullshit.”
“I swear.”
Marco reached inside his jacket slowly.
Briggs drew his weapon.
Marco froze.
“Phone.”
Dante nodded.
Marco produced it.
“There’s a recording.”
He played audio from eighteen months earlier.
Victor’s voice.
Another voice was distorted.
But the words were clear.
Elena knows too much. Handle it before Dante discovers everything.
Dante’s face drained of color.
Mara listened again.
Something about the cadence felt familiar.
She had heard that voice.
Recently.
At Sunday dinner.
A sentence repeated in her mind.
You are too thin. Eat.
No.
Not Aunt Lucia.
Someone else.
Then she remembered.
Uncle Renzo.
The way he dragged certain vowels.
The strange hesitation before Dante’s name.
May you like
Mara looked at Dante.
“I think I know who it is.”
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