Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Dante
I close the door behind me and stop.
Don't move. Don't breathe. Just stand there in the hallway with my hand still on the doorknob, trying to get my goddamn control back.
What the hell was that?
I don't lose control. Ever. Control is what separates me from men like Adrian, from men who make emotional decisions that get them killed. Control is what's kept me alive, kept me valuable, kept me in Matteo's inner circle for over a decade.
And I just threw it all away because Bianca Mancini looked at me with those hazel eyes and made a sound that's going to haunt me for weeks.
I wanted to push her against that wall and—
No.
I press my palm against my forehead, forcing the thoughts back. This is a business arrangement. She's a means to an end. A way to avoid Caterina Bellandi and keep my father off my back. Nothing more.
Except my body didn't get that memo. Neither did the part of my brain that's still replaying the way her nipples hardened through that dress, the way she gasped when I touched her, the way she looked at me like she wanted to hate me and kiss me in the same breath.
I need distance. Work. Something to redirect this before I do something we'll both regret.
I'm about to head to my office when I hear her voice through the door.
"Hi, Mom."
I stop in my tracks.
"No, I'm good. Really good, actually." Her voice is softer than I've ever heard it. "How are you feeling today? Did the nurse say anything about your counts?"
There's a pause, and I can picture her sitting on that bed, worrying that gold cross between her fingers.
"That's great. I'm so glad the nausea is better. Are you eating?" Another pause. "Mom, you have to eat. Even if it's just crackers. Please?"
The desperation in her voice is unsettling.
"I'll come see you soon, okay? Maybe this weekend. I just have some work stuff happening right now, but I promise I'll be there soon." Her voice cracks slightly. "I love you so much. More than anything. You know that, right?"
Silence.
"Okay. Get some rest. I'll call you tomorrow."
The call ends, and I hear her take a shaky breath. Like she's trying not to cry.
I should leave and pretend I didn't hear any of that. It’s personal and I had no right to eavesdrop.
Instead, I stand there for another moment, processing what I just witnessed. Bianca stripped down to her most vulnerable—not physically, but emotionally. The fierce, defiant woman who challenged me at every turn, reduced to a daughter terrified of losing her mother.
It's a weakness.
It's also the most human thing I've seen from her.
I finally move, heading down the hallway to my office because I have work to do. There’s a phone call I need to make as soon as possible and a corrupt politician to bring to heel.
Inside my office, I close the door and dial Patterson's number.
He answers on the third ring. "Dante! I was just about to call you."
Fucking Liar. He's been avoiding me all day.
"We need to finalize this deal, Mike."
"About that..." His voice takes on that oily quality politicians perfect over years of lying to constituents. "I've been thinking, and I'm not sure this construction bid is the right move for my district—"
"You were sure last week when I handed you fifty thousand dollars."
"Well, circumstances change. I have constituents to consider, ethical obligations—"
"Cut the shit." I lean back in my chair. "How much did they offer you?"
Silence.
"Who?" He tries for innocent. Fails spectacularly.
"Whoever convinced you to back out of our arrangement. One of Matteo's competitors?" I ask even though I already know the answer. "Or was it someone stupider? Someone who doesn't understand what happens when you break a deal with the Romano family?"
"I don't respond well to threats, Mr. Vitale."
"That wasn't a threat. That was a question.
" I pull up the file Rafe sent me this morning—the one documenting Patterson's offshore accounts, his mistress in Connecticut, the kickbacks he's been taking from construction companies for the past three years.
"But if you want a threat, I'm happy to provide one. "
"I don't—"
"Dinner. Tonight. Seven o'clock at Del Posto." I check my watch. It's already five-thirty. "Bring your wife. I'll bring my girlfriend. We'll discuss this like civilized people."
"I have plans—"
"Cancel them." I hang up before he can argue.
Then I sit there for a moment, staring at the phone.
This is going to be a fucking disaster.
Patterson is dirty, but he's connected. And from what Rafe discovered this morning, he's been taking money from a rival family—one that orchestrated an attack on Matteo's operations last year.
An attack that killed ten people. Not just soldiers.
Wives. A kid who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Matteo's been looking for who gave them inside information ever since.
And now I have the answer.
The rage that thought triggers is cold and controlled. The kind I prefer. Women and children stay out of it—that's the rule. Has been the rule for much longer than I've been in this business. You want to kill soldiers? Fine. Occupational hazard. But families are off-limits.
Patterson broke that rule. And now he's going to pay.
I head upstairs to change, passing Bianca's door without stopping. She needs time to compose herself. So do I.
Twenty minutes later, I'm in a fresh suit—charcoal gray, white shirt, no tie—when I hear a knock.
"Come in."
Bianca enters, and I have to consciously keep my expression neutral.
She's wearing a simple black dress—knee-length, modest neckline, nothing like the gown from earlier. Her hair is down like I asked, falling in soft waves past her shoulders. Minimal makeup. The gold cross at her throat.
She looks elegant. Understated. Exactly right for what we need tonight.
"Ready?" I ask.
"Do I have a choice?"
"No."
"Then I guess I'm ready." She rolls her eyes. "What's this dinner about? Really?"
"Business. A politician who needs reminding of his obligations."
"That sounds ominous."
"It's politics. It's always ominous." I grab my keys. "Come on. Tony's waiting."
The drive into Manhattan is quiet. Bianca stares out the window, and I leave her to her thoughts. I need to focus on what's coming. On Patterson and how far I'm willing to push tonight.
Del Posto is busy for a Tuesday night, all white tablecloths and ambient lighting. The ma?tre d' recognizes me immediately.
"Mr. Vitale. Your table is ready."
Patterson is already there with his wife Nancy—a blonde woman in her fifties with too much Botox and a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. They stand as we approach.
"Dante!" Patterson extends his hand. I shake it, applying just enough pressure to make a point. "And this must be your lovely girlfriend."
"Bianca Mancini." I rest my hand on the small of her back. "Bianca, this is Congressman Michael Patterson and his wife Nancy."
"It's so nice to meet you both," Bianca says, and her smile is perfect. Warm but not excessive. The kind that puts people at ease.
She's a natural.
We settle into our seats, order drinks—water for me, wine for the others—and begin the dance.
Nancy dominates the conversation at first, asking Bianca about her work. Bianca handles it beautifully, talking about teaching with genuine enthusiasm. She's charming. Funny. She tells a story about a student who brought their pet hamster for show-and-tell that has Nancy laughing.
I watch Patterson watching her. And with each minute I can see him relaxing. Letting his guard down.
Perfect.
"So, Mike," I say casually, cutting into my steak. "Have you reconsidered our arrangement?"
His smile falters. "Dante, look, we’re all having a nice conversation. Why do we need to—"
"Because we both know this is why we’re here." I set down my knife and fork, give him my full attention. "Because I did some research today. Interesting what you find when you start digging."
"I don't know what you mean."
"Don't you?" I pull out my phone, scroll through the photos Rafe sent. "Offshore account in the Caymans. Deposits totaling two hundred thousand over the past six months. All from shell companies traced back to the Corsetti family."
The blood drains from his face.
Nancy's smile freezes. "What's he talking about, Mike?"
"Nothing, honey. Business confusion—"
"The Corsettis funded an attack on Romano operations last year," I continue, my voice pleasant, conversational. I even smile. "Killed ten people. Three of them were women. One was a fourteen-year-old kid."
Bianca's hand tightens on her water glass, she stands. “Uh, excuse me, I have to go to the ladies’.” And without waiting for an answer, she walks away.
I allow myself to look at the sway of her hips for just one second before I peel my eyes away.
Back to business.
"You gave them inside information," I say, leaning forward. "Schedules. Routes. Access codes. And people died because of it."
"I didn't know—" Patterson's voice cracks. "They told me it was just business—"
"Just business?" The rage I've been controlling slips through. "A kid died, Mike. A fourteen-year-old boy who was visiting his father at work. And you helped make that happen."
"Dante—"
"So, here's what's going to happen." I keep my voice level, but they can hear the steel in it. "You're going to approve our construction bid. You're going to cut all ties with the Corsettis. And you're going to provide me with every piece of information you gave them—names, dates, everything."
"Or what?"
"Or I send this information to Matteo Romano. And then I won't be able to protect you from what comes next." I lean back. "Your choice."
Nancy is pale, her hand pressed to her mouth. Patterson looks like he might be sick.
"I need time—"
"You have until Friday."
"That's three days—"
"Then I suggest you work quickly." I start to eat.