Chapter 21 #2
Sienna tells him to call her Sienna and sends a quick, subtle wink my way before smoothly returning her focus to the old man.
I find myself smiling, a quiet amusement hummed in my chest as I wonder how the hell she even knows the wine selection here is good.
Every single day I spend with this woman, I keep finding new things about her.
She’s a maze I’m becoming increasingly eager to map out.
Salvatore reaches across the table, pouring a generous measure of the rich, dark red liquid into Sienna’s glass, while Enzo grudgingly picks up the bottle and pours mine, his movements stiff with unspoken resentment.
Sienna brings the crystal glass to her lips, taking a slow, deliberate sip while the old men watch her like hawks, waiting for her verdict.
Enzo leans forward, tapping his cigar against an ashtray. "Well? Do you like the wine, Sienna?"
She sets the glass down, a small, elegant nod accompanying her reply. "It’s excellent. Rich, well-balanced, and exactly what a cellar of this caliber should produce."
The elders exchange proud, satisfied nods around the table, their inflated egos easily stroked by her approval.
"So," I interject, leaning back in my chair and swirling the dark red liquid in my own glass. "What exactly is this gathering about?” I keep my voice light.
“I didn't think the council spent their Monday afternoons crowded around a lunch table just to appreciate wine."
Vittorio, sitting halfway down the table, lets out a hearty chuckle and motions toward the far side of the estate grounds, where the faint white lines of a sports court are visible through the trees.
"No grand conspiracies, Alessandro. We were actually here to play a few rounds of padel tennis, and now we are simply unwinding. "
Beside me, Sienna lets out a soft, genuine laugh that draws everyone's eyes to her. "Padel? I used to play padel all the time back home with my sisters. It can get incredibly competitive." A spark of amusement lights her eyes. "So, how did the game go? Who took the trophy today?"
Nino beams, proudly puffing out his chest as he raises his wine glass in a mock toast to himself. "I won, of course. Blew them right off the court."
Instantly, the table erupts into a chorus of groans and protests.
"Don't listen to him! He only won because he cheats!" Salvatore barks from across the table, waving a dismissive hand at Nino. "The man line-calls like a blind bandit. Half his shots were entirely out of bounds."
"It's true," Enzo chimes in, shaking his head with a grin. "He serves before anyone is even set up on the baseline. It's a miracle we don't need a referee just to keep him honest."
The conversation shifts into a light, easy banter, the heavy tension that usually suffocates our meetings completely melting away under the shared grievance of a friendly sports rivalry.
Nino just laughs, entirely unbothered by the accusations as he takes a sip of his wine. "They are just terrible losers. The truth is, I’m just naturally great at the game. My wife and I play every single weekend, we have a court, so I have the unfair advantage of actual practice."
The elders laugh, the good-natured ribbing continuing down the line as plates are passed around, leaving me to silently watch the room, waiting for the perfect moment to tighten the noose.
Just as the laughter finally winds down and the last bottle of wine runs completely empty, I set my glass down on the table with a heavy, deliberate click. The sound cuts through the remaining chuckles like a blade.
"Since we’re all in such a good mood, let’s talk about Luca," I say, my voice taking on a cold tone that completely drains the warmth from the patio. "And let's talk about the federal agents he invited to my wedding reception."
I keep my eyes moving slowly across the table, tracking every twitch, every shift in posture. The reaction is immediate. Most of the men instantly stiffen, a wave of genuine alarm washing over their faces. Salvatore curses under his breath, and Enzo's jaw goes slack before tightening in anger.
“Luca did that?” Enzo breathes, the color draining from his weathered face. They all appear completely shocked, exchanging frantic, disbelieving glances.
I nod slowly, letting the silence stretch. "Are you saying you all didn’t know?"
Vittorio looks absolutely livid, his fist slamming down onto the table so hard the remaining silverware rattles.
He fixes me with an outraged glare. "Do you take us for fucking fools, Alessandro?
A federal raid on the family's inner circle?
The situation with the police could have easily endangered all of us.
Our businesses, our assets, our families—everything would be tied up in a RICO case before the week was out! "
Somehow, looking at the raw fury and panic radiating from his face, I believe him. They don't look like guilty co-conspirators; it’s the genuine panic of men realizing that Luca's reckless stunt could have easily brought the entire syndicate down on all of their heads.
Except for one.
Nino doesn't look panicked. He looks overly controlled. He slowly sets his linen napkin down on the table, his eyes darting to the side for a fraction of a second before he fixes me with a carefully blank stare. It’s a guilty man trying too hard to look detached.