Chapter 7 - THE DINNER WITH EMPTY CHAIRS
Friday began with a wedding planner calling to ask whether Dante wanted white roses or cream ones for the engagement dinner. He listened to the question from his study while an attorney and two investigators waited outside the door.
"Neither," he answered.
"Sir?"
"Cancel the flowers. Send a payment for your trouble."
He put down the phone and looked toward the bronze hawk, resting on the desk where his ancestors had put it for generations. The seal had been a family symbol longer than any living Moretti could remember. Its image appeared on business letters, charitable appeals, and the old contract now at the center of the investigation.
Dante had once thought possession made him powerful. He had begun to understand that a signature did not mean much if nobody trusted the person who made it.
Rebecca entered with the investigator, Daniel Price. They had news about Matteo. Investigators had identified several properties controlled through Salvatore Costa's businesses and were checking them discreetly. There was a possible match for the location in the hostage photograph: an abandoned lakeside conference center in Pennsylvania, with a wall panel whose faded pattern resembled the one behind Matteo's chair.
"Can you get him out?" Dante asked.
"We're coordinating the search," Price said. "I'm not going to promise an outcome. And I don't want you sending men there."
"I won't."
Price studied him as though trying to determine whether he meant it. "You won't be told operational details."
"Then don't tell me. Bring him back alive."
Isabella arrived later carrying a dark blue overnight bag. She had removed her engagement necklace. Without the gold I, she looked younger and more tired, as if the polished armor she'd worn for eleven months had finally become too heavy.
"I'm moving to Rebecca's guest apartment after dinner," she told Dante. "My lawyer says it's safer there."
"She's right."
"I thought you might be angry."
"I am angry. But not because you're leaving."
Isabella put the bag beside the door. "I want to say something before my father arrives. I didn't just steal the imprint because of Matteo. The first time Victor asked me, I considered how useful that seal might be to my own family. I knew my father wanted more control over the harbor. I told myself everyone in our world made compromises."
"When did it become a threat?"
"When I tried to stop."
Dante nodded slowly. He appreciated the admission because it left no convenient place for innocence to hide.
"I won't marry you," she said.
"I know."
"Not because I hate you. Because I don't want either of us to spend the rest of our lives wondering whether an ordinary kindness was another bargain."
"Neither do I."
They stood together for a moment, looking at the life they had almost entered through an arrangement neither had chosen freely. Isabella took her bag and left. Dante did not stop her.
The dinner was held in the mansion's west dining room. It had been arranged weeks earlier as a celebration of the proposed harbor alliance. Now the long table held only water glasses, bread, and place settings for the expected guests. Dante had instructed the kitchen to prepare food anyway. Workers had been paid, ingredients purchased, and he refused to waste a meal because the evening had turned into something else.
Salvatore Costa arrived with two attorneys and four bodyguards. He was a handsome man in his early sixties, with white hair combed straight back and a gold signet ring on his right hand. He kissed Isabella's cheek and asked why she looked unwell. She stepped away without answering.
Victor entered ten minutes later. He wore a black suit and leaned on his cane, smiling as though this were a routine family occasion. When he saw Dante at the head of the table, he nodded.
"A good evening for settlement," Victor said.
"Perhaps," Dante replied.
Salvatore opened his leather folder before the first course. "Let's put the harbor matter behind us. Pier Nine moves into the joint company. The trucks start rolling Monday. Everyone benefits."
"Who exactly is everyone?" Dante asked.
Salvatore looked annoyed. "Your family. Mine. The workers."
"I've been meeting the workers. They don't seem satisfied with the benefits so far."
Victor gave a tiny cough. "Dante, this is a business dinner."
"It became one when you brought contracts to the table."
Dante laid a copy of Nora Keene's compensation statement in front of Salvatore. "Explain why this says her family received seventy-eight thousand dollars when she didn't receive it."
The older man glanced at the page. "I don't manage trust payments."
"Then why does your company appear as the receiving agent?"
"Ask Victor. He handles the details."
Victor smiled faintly. "We can review the records in the proper setting."
"Good," Dante said. "Because the authorities are reviewing them in the proper setting already."
For an instant nobody at the table moved. The waiter's hand stopped above a water pitcher. Salvatore pushed his chair back an inch.
"You brought outsiders into a family disagreement?" he demanded.
"I brought evidence to people who can investigate it."
"Your father would have called that treachery."
"My brother called it telling the truth."
Victor placed both hands on the table. "Be careful, Dante. Marco was loved, but he didn't understand the world he was trying to change."
"He understood unpaid widows. He understood forged signatures. He understood what happened to the men who questioned you."
Salvatore rose. "Enough. If the agreement is off, we're leaving."
"Before you go," Isabella said from the doorway, "tell me where Matteo is."
Her father turned. "We discussed your brother."
"You lied. You've been keeping him somewhere because he found your documents."
"He is unwell."
"Then let him call me."
Salvatore said nothing. It was the first time Isabella had ever challenged him in front of his allies. Her hands trembled, but her voice remained clear.
"I'm ending the engagement," she continued. "And I've told investigators what I did with the seal. If Matteo dies, it won't be because I kept your secret."
Her father looked at her as if a familiar piece of furniture had begun speaking back. "You ungrateful girl."
"I'm thirty-one, Dad. I'm not a girl."
Victor stood with an effort. "This is getting theatrical."
"No," Dante said. "The theater was the engagement party. This is the part where we tell the truth."
At that moment Dante's phone vibrated. A brief message from Rebecca said the authorities had located a property associated with Matteo's disappearance and were taking steps to secure it. No outcome was confirmed. Dante did not show the message to anyone.
Salvatore noticed the movement. "Is there something we should know?"
"There are many things you should know. One is that nobody gets to use a child in my house to silence a witness."
Victor's eyes narrowed. "That accusation is beneath you."
"The attempted kidnapping happened. The false security jackets were real. The floor plans were real."
"And you think I arranged them?"
"I think you know more than you're saying."
Victor's cane tapped once against the floor. He turned toward the nearest bodyguard. The man reached inside his jacket, but Salvatore raised a hand to stop him.
"Sit down," Salvatore ordered. "All of you."
The pause exposed a fracture between the two older men. Victor expected obedience. Salvatore expected control. Neither was accustomed to sharing it.
Dinner remained untouched as Salvatore and Victor exchanged accusations disguised as polite remarks. Salvatore insisted that the original transfer had been Victor's idea. Victor replied that the Costa family had benefited from the trust for two decades. Dante listened, recording no secret confession, making no threat. He wanted to understand how two men who had once worked together now prepared to blame each other.
Finally Salvatore looked at Dante. "I'll offer you something. We end the alliance, you keep your property, and I make a contribution to the worker fund. Enough to calm the widows."
"Do you hear yourself?" Isabella asked. "You talk about them as though they can be bought quiet."
"Everyone has a price."
"Not everyone," Dante said.
Victor's face hardened. "Your father understood the value of restraint."
"My father made plenty of mistakes," Dante replied. "I intend to learn from them rather than repeat them."
The doors opened. Rebecca entered with two attorneys representing the workers. She had not come to arrest anyone. She had come to deliver preservation notices instructing the companies to retain relevant records and to ensure they could not later claim ignorance of pending claims.
Salvatore stared at the papers as though they were an insult. Victor accepted his without reading it.
"The meeting is over," Dante said.
Salvatore left first, swearing under his breath. Isabella remained where she stood, watching him depart without following. Victor lingered beside the portrait of Lorenzo.
"You think you've won something," he said to Dante. "But you don't know which part of this family you've just buried."
Dante met his eyes. "Then perhaps you'll tell me when we next speak."
Victor smiled without warmth and went out into the wet evening.
An hour later, Dante was alone in the dining room when Rebecca called. "They found Matteo," she said. "He's alive. They're bringing him to medical care."
Dante closed his eyes. He heard Isabella make a sound behind him, a sharp intake of breath that became a sob. She had been listening from the doorway.
"Can I see him?" she asked.
"As soon as his doctors and investigators say it's safe," Rebecca replied over the speaker. "He's been through a lot."
Isabella sank into a chair and cried openly. Dante moved toward her, then stopped, uncertain what comfort would be welcome. She reached for his hand. He gave it to her for a moment, and neither pretended the gesture restored their engagement.
Then Carlo called from the mansion's gatehouse.
"Victor didn't go back to his apartment," he said. "His car turned around at the end of the drive. He's coming back to the estate. Alone."
"Why?"
"He says he left something in your study."
May you like
Dante looked toward the staircase leading to the room where his mother had once read bedtime stories to him and his brother. "Tell him I'll meet him there," he said.
The room had no camera. Victor knew that better than anyone.
