Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Dante
Sapphire sits in the heart of Manhattan, tucked between Fifth and Madison where only people with the right connections know to look for it. No sign outside. No velvet ropes. Just a black door with a doorman who knows every face that matters.
He nods as I approach. "Mr. Vitale. They're waiting for you in the private room."
Inside, the club is all dark wood and leather, low lighting and expensive whiskey. The kind of place where deals get made and secrets stay buried. Matteo owns three of these scattered across the city, and this one is his favorite—close to his place, far enough from prying eyes.
I find them in the back room, a space reserved for family business.
Matteo sits at the head of the table, nursing what looks like bourbon, his massive frame relaxed in a way that's deceiving.
He's six-four, built like he still boxes every morning, which he does.
Dark hair graying at the temples, sharp brown eyes that miss nothing.
At thirty-eight, he's the youngest don the Romano family has ever had, and he holds the position through respect and strategic brutality.
He's also the closest thing I have to a brother.
Enzo leans against the bar, arms crossed, his expression set in its usual scowl.
He's the underboss—Matteo's second—and he looks the part.
Six-one, black hair he keeps military-short, leaner than Matteo but no less dangerous, and a scar running through his left eyebrow from a fight when he was sixteen.
He's thirty-five and perpetually pissed off about something, though tonight he looks more irritated than usual.
Probably Matteo’s sister again. Isabella has that effect on him.
Luca sits beside Enzo nursing a bourbon, thirty-three, black hair and sharp eyes that miss nothing. He’s Matteo’s brother and consigliere and he’s a charmer when he wants to be. When he doesn’t want to be? You don’t want to be near him.
Rafael, or as we call him Rafe, is sprawled in a chair, looking like he just walked off a magazine shoot instead of out of the Bronx.
Thirty-two, olive skin, dark curly hair that somehow always looks effortlessly styled, and a smile that's gotten him out of more trouble than it's gotten him into.
He's the capo of the Bronx and Queens, and he's also the only one of us who treats violence like a joke right up until he's committing it.
Women love him. Men want to be him or kill him. Usually both.
"Dante!" Rafe raises his glass. "About time. We were starting to think you got lost."
"Traffic," I lie, taking the seat across from Matteo.
"Bullshit," Enzo grunts. "You were avoiding this conversation."
He's not wrong.
Matteo pours me two fingers of bourbon, slides it across the table. I leave it untouched. He notices—he always notices—but never comments.
"So," Matteo says, leaning back. "Adrian Morelli."
"What about him?"
"Word is he offered you his girlfriend to settle his debt." Rafe grins, all teeth. "That true?"
"It's true."
"Jesus." Luca shakes his head. "I knew the guy was a coward, but that's a new low even for him."
"He was always a weasel," Rafe adds. "Remember when he tried to skim from that construction deal? Thought we wouldn't notice. Took Enzo like ten minutes to make him cry."
"Five," Enzo corrects. "And he pissed himself. It stank."
Matteo's expression doesn't change, but I catch the flicker of disgust. "He worked with us for six years. I gave him a second chance because he was useful with numbers. But selling out his woman?" He takes a slow sip of bourbon. "That's not business. That's disgusting."
"We should've cut him out years ago," Enzo says.
I don't disagree, but I also don't say it. Adrian's weakness is precisely what I'm leveraging now.
"Where's the girl?" Matteo asks.
"At my house."
All three of them look at me.
"Your house," Rafe repeats slowly, his grin widening. "As in, you actually bought her and she's moved in? Already?"
"It's purely strategic. I need her where I can keep an eye on her."
"Sure." Rafe winks. "That's why. Nothing to do with the fact that you haven't brought a woman home since—when? Ever?"
"It's not like that." I murmur.
"What's she like?" Matteo asks, cutting through Rafe's bullshit with his usual directness.
I consider my answer. "Smart. Stubborn. Has a sharp mouth she doesn't know when to shut."
"So, a type that gets on your nerves," Enzo deadpans.
“Your type.” Luca adds and I glare at him.
Rafe laughs outright. "Oh man, he's already gone. Look at him. That's the face of a man who's thinking about more than pure strategy."
"I'm thinking about how to make this work without Pa or the Bellandis blowing it up in my face." I finally take the bourbon, don't drink it, just hold it. The smell alone makes my throat tighten. "I told my father I have a girlfriend. Someone serious. I'll be presenting her at his birthday."
Matteo's eyes narrow. "How serious?"
"Serious enough to get him off my back about Caterina fucking Bellandi."
"That's a dangerous game." This from Enzo, who straightens from his casual lean. "The Bellandis don't take rejection well, fratello. Massimo's been planning this alliance for months."
"Let him plan. I'm not marrying his stupid daughter."
"But you're pretending to be in a relationship with a schoolteacher from Queens?" Rafe shakes his head, amused. "Dante, buddy, I love you, but that's either brilliant or insane."
"It's both," Matteo says quietly. "Which is usually your style."
He's not wrong. The triple homicide I buried for him twelve years ago was both brilliant and insane. It's what earned me his trust, his friendship, and eventually my position as capo.
"What if Adrian wants her back?" Luca asks suddenly. "Guy might be a coward, but he had her for three years. That's a long time to just walk away."
"He won't." I set the glass down, untouched. "I made it clear what happens if he comes near her."
"You sure about that?" Enzo's voice is skeptical. "Desperate men do stupid things. And from what I hear, he's pretty desperate."
"If he shows up, I'll handle it."
"By 'handle it,' you mean—" Rafe makes a cutting motion across his throat.
"If necessary."
Matteo studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he leans forward, elbows on the table, and his voice drops to that tone he uses when he's being the don instead of my friend.
"Your father might be a bastard, Dante, but he's right about one thing. You need to stay away from scandal."
I let the words sink in. "I know."
"Do you?" Matteo's gaze is steady, unflinching.
"Because from where I'm sitting, you just took another man's girlfriend and moved her into your house.
You're planning to parade her in front of your family and the Bellandis.
If this goes wrong—if anyone digs into her past, into Adrian's debts, into how this arrangement started—it won't just blow back on you. "
"It'll blow back on all of us," Enzo finishes. "On the family. On our operations."
"I'm aware of the risks."
"Are you?" Matteo asks again, softer this time. "Or are you so focused on defying your father that you're not seeing the bigger picture?"
The question stings because there's truth in it.
"I can control this. This is why I chose a schoolteacher with no past." I say.
"Good." Matteo sits back. "Because you're my capo. My friend. My brother. But I'm still the don, and I can't let personal choices jeopardize what we've built. If this situation with the girl becomes a problem—a real problem—you'll have to deal with it. Quickly and cleanly. Understood?"
I nod sharply. "Understood."
The tension in the room shifts slightly. Rafe breaks it with his usual timing.
"So, is she hot at least?"
I glare at him.
He grins wider. "That's a yes. Man, you are so screwed."
"She has a mouth that could cut glass, and she moved herself into a different bedroom tonight because she refused to sleep in mine." The words come out before I can stop them. "Happy?"
Of course, Maria texted me as soon as it happened.
All three of them stare at me.
Then Rafael starts laughing. Full, genuine, doubled-over laughter.
Bastard.
"She refused?" He wipes his eyes. "Oh my God. Dante, the great diplomat, gets turned down by a schoolteacher."
"She didn't turn me down. She just—"
"Rejected your bedroom," Enzo supplies, and even he looks amused now. "That's basically the same thing."
What’s so funny?
"I like her already," Rafe says, still grinning. "When do we get to meet this woman who has the balls to say no to you?"
"Soon." I stand, straightening my jacket. "At Pa’s party."
"Can't wait." Rafe raises his glass. "To Dante's fake girlfriend who's already making him crazy."
"She's not making me crazy."
"Sure she's not," Enzo mutters.
Matteo just watches me, that knowing look in his eyes. "Be careful, Dante. I mean it. This kind of thing has a way of getting messy."
"It won't."
"It already is." He stands too, claps a hand on my shoulder. "But you're smart. You'll figure it out. Just remember—family first. Always."
"Always."
I leave before they can pile on more commentary, stepping back into the club's main room where music pulses and people drink and laugh like their biggest problem is what to order next.
Outside, the night air is cool, clearing my head. Marco's waiting with the car, and I slide into the back, checking my phone out of habit.
I re-read the text from Maria: Miss Mancini chose the guest room in the east wing. She said she's not sleeping in yours.
I stare at the message, irritation flaring in my chest.
She moved herself. Rejected the room I specifically chose. Drew a line I didn't even know we were negotiating.
Most women would've been thrilled. A master suite. Luxury. Access.
But Bianca Mancini isn't most women.
She's stubborn and defiant and determined to make this as difficult as possible.
And Rafe was right about one thing.
I'm already screwed.