Chapter Five The Legitimate Side
Dante took her, unprompted, to see one of his restaurants the following week — a warm, unpretentious place in the old part of the city called Vela, all exposed brick and low light, the kind of restaurant Elena might have chosen for herself in another life entirely.
"This was my mother's idea, originally," he told her, guiding her to a corner table while the staff greeted him with genuine, unguarded warmth rather than the careful deference she'd grown used to at Larkspur Row.
"She wanted somewhere honest, she used to say.
Somewhere that made money by feeding people well instead of exploiting them.
My father thought it was a foolish use of capital.
I kept it running after she died, mostly out of spite toward his opinion of it. "
"It's beautiful." Elena studied the room, the framed black-and-white photographs on the walls, a piano in the corner not unlike the one in his mother's sitting room. "I didn't expect this. Something so — soft, coming from you."
"There's more softness in me than the city gives me credit for.
My father made sure of that, mostly by demanding I hide it.
" He signaled to a passing waiter, ordering without consulting a menu, clearly a routine worn smooth by years of habit.
"I own six restaurants like this one, two hotels, and a small chain of bookstores your father, ironically, once tried and failed to secure financing for through legitimate banks.
Most of my visible wealth comes from businesses exactly like this — real, functioning, employing people who have no idea what else pays for their paychecks indirectly. "
"Do you ever wish it was only this?" Elena asked quietly. "The legitimate side. No other business at all."
Dante considered the question with unusual seriousness.
"Every day," he admitted. "But my father built an empire on foundations I didn't choose, and unwinding it carelessly would get people killed — mine and others'.
I've spent years trying to shift the balance quietly.
More restaurants. More hotels. Less of the other.
It's slow work. I don't know if I'll finish it in my lifetime, but I intend to leave whatever comes after me lighter than what I inherited. "
"That's not nothing, Dante."
"It's not enough, either. But it's what I have to offer.
" His hand found hers across the table, and for a long moment, surrounded by warm light and the low hum of an ordinary dinner service, Elena let herself imagine, cautiously, a version of their future built from exactly this kind of quiet, patient repair.