Ten #3
He watches me a moment longer, and then continues, more directly now. “This doesn’t just affect you. It affects everyone in this house.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” he asks, holding me there. “Because if this reaches beyond a conversation, it stops being theoretical.”
I don’t answer. I don’t need to.
Dante exhales once, decision settling into place. “We’re not discussing this at the table,” he says. “Not until I understand the scope.”
I nod. “Understood.”
“And Ciro.”
“Yes?” I don’t look away.
“If this turns into something that needs to be handled outside this house, you won’t be the one handling it.”
“I understand.”
Dante opens the office door, and the noise of the house pushes back in—Luca’s voice cutting through something, Gianna laughing over him, the clink of silverware carrying from the dining room. It all sounds the same.
It isn’t.
I step out beside him, tracking the foyer as we move—Matteo near the wall, watching more than participating, Luca mid-argument, hands already moving. Nothing in the room signals change.
That doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened.
“Perfect timing,” Rebecca calls from the dining room. “Dinner is served.”
We move in, taking our places without discussion—Rebecca at the head, Henry at the far end, the rest of us settling into positions set years ago, with Ellory folded into Matteo’s side and Ameila on the other.
Rebecca and Ameila get into a long conversation about unicorns and if they’ve ever really existed, and Ameila is sure they have.
Plates pass. Wine is poured. Conversation overlaps in familiar patterns, and for a few minutes, it holds—routine doing what it’s meant to do.
Halfway through, Matteo sets his glass down beside his plate.
“I hear you had a visitor last night,” he says, not looking at me immediately.
Luca’s head comes up. “You don’t date.”
I cut a piece of fish before answering. “I didn’t say it was a date.”
Matteo leans back slightly, his attention shifting to me. “Voluntary?”
“Uninvited,” I say, setting my fork down.
Gianna laughs, leaning into the table. “Finally. A secret admirer.”
“Or an ex who got tired of being ignored,” Luca adds, grinning.
Dante’s gaze flicks to me then, brief but deliberate. “Someone accessed your home. Jim’s team moved you to your safe room.”
Rebecca’s fork pauses halfway to her plate. “Is that true?”
I nod once. “Unfortunately.”
“Was it an ex-girlfriend?” Luca asks, leaning forward now.
“No.” I meet his gaze. “Two men.”
“Are we all at risk?” Gianna asks, her tone shifting.
“No,” I say. “They were looking for something in my guest room.”
Luca straightens immediately, the humor gone. “That’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking.”
Matteo studies me a moment longer. “You’re telling it like it is.”
“Police are investigating,” Dante adds, his tone even as he picks his glass back up. “According to Jim, it’s contained.”
“It’s never nothing,” Luca mutters, sitting back.
The conversation moves on, but nobody settles back into it completely. Dante changes the subject to the Bellagio rollout, Luca answers, Matteo adds something about production timelines, yet every response comes a beat too late, like part of the room is still sitting inside the argument.
“Be careful,” Ellory says quietly, her attention on me.
I nod once, and then let the table move past it.
Luca pivots first, asking Dante about Aryanna, about Amal, about how well they’re doing. “They just landed a major deal with a wedding designer in New York.”
“She’s a hack,” Matteo says, cutting into his food.
“She’s our biggest competition,” Dante replies, not elaborating.
She wouldn’t be if Dante hadn’t told her all our secrets while he was trying to get her in bed.
The conversation slides cleanly into the Las Vegas GEM show—timelines, placements, what draws attention in a room that rewards spectacle as much as precision.
“We’re still using Mother’s emerald set,” Dante says, glancing between us. “Necklace, cuff, earrings.”
“It’s bold,” Matteo says.
“It’s excessive,” Luca corrects.
Dante’s expression shifts slightly. “I think I’ve finally found the right stones for the necklace.”
That pulls the table’s attention.
Luca looks up first. “You said that last year.” Last year, we showcased our rough diamonds on a designer dress, which launched our relationship with Olivier’s, Ellory’s family jewelry boutique. It was a strong showing, but we’d gone in expecting to take best in show.
“I was wrong last year.”
“And this time?” Matteo asks.
Dante holds his gaze. “This time I’m not.”
Dinner winds down into cappuccinos and quieter conversation, the edges smoothing back into something familiar, even if it isn’t quite the same.
Ameila yawns loudly. I take that as my queue to leave.
As I stand, Rebecca reaches out, her hand resting lightly on my arm.
“You need to be more careful with the women you date,” she says, her voice low.
“I’m careful.”
Henry looks up from his cup. “You need to be selective. That isn’t the same.”
I nod once and then step away.
The conversation thins, breaking into smaller pieces—Luca still talking, Gianna laughing softer now, Matteo listening more than he speaks. No one circles back to earlier. No one says what’s actually sitting at the table.
Dante doesn’t look at me again.
That’s intentional.
“I’m heading out,” I say.
Rebecca reaches for my arm as I pass. “Drive safe.”
“Victor will.”
Henry nods once. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
I don’t answer that.
I move through the foyer without slowing, grabbing my coat from the back of the chair where I left it earlier. The house sounds the same behind me—voices, dishes, the rhythm of Sunday continuing without interruption.
It feels different anyway.
The front door closes with a muted click, and the night air cuts through the warmth immediately.
Victor is already waiting at the curb.
He steps out as I approach, opening the rear door without a word.
I get in.
The door shuts, sealing the noise of the house behind me, and the car pulls away from the curb before I have to look back.