Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Dante
Patterson is fidgeting.
Small movements—adjusting his napkin, shifting in his seat, checking his phone under the table when he thinks I'm not looking. His wife is too distracted to notice, but I see everything.
Bianca's doing well. She's keeping Nancy engaged with questions about their summer house, playing the perfect girlfriend. She's a natural at this, and I make a mental note to tell her later.
But Patterson's behavior is bothering me.
I'm about to call him on it when my own phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out, glance at the screen.
It's a message from Rafe: Patterson just sent a text. Traced it to a Corsetti number. He's trying to warn them about the ultimatum. Looks like he's setting up a call.
I read it twice, let the information settle.
Then I smile.
"Excuse me," I say, standing smoothly. "I need to take this call. Business emergency."
Nancy nods absently. Bianca glances at me, something questioning in her eyes, but I'm already moving.
I head toward the restrooms but veer off at the last second toward the hallway that leads to the kitchen. Patterson's still at the table—I can see him through the archway, phone now openly in his hand, typing frantically.
Calling for help.
Stupid man.
I wait in the shadows of the service corridor, just out of sight. It takes less than two minutes before Patterson stands, mutters something to his wife, and heads in my direction.
He's not coming to find me. He's looking for privacy to make his call.
Even better.
He passes the restrooms, moves toward the exit that leads to the back patio where it's quiet. Where he can betray me without witnesses.
I follow.
The service exit opens onto a narrow hallway that connects to the kitchen loading area. No cameras back here—I made sure of that before I chose this restaurant. The door clicks shut behind Patterson, and he's already lifting his phone to his ear.
"Yeah, it's me," he says, voice low and rushed. "I need to talk to—"
I grab him by the back of his collar and slam him against the wall. His phone clatters to the ground.
"Mike," I say pleasantly. "Who are you calling?"
"I—I was just—"
"You were just warning the Corsettis that I'm onto you. That I gave you an ultimatum. That you need their help." I twist the fabric tighter, cutting off his air slightly. "Did I miss anything?"
"Please—"
"I gave you a chance." I keep my voice conversational, calm. "I gave you three days, Mike. Three days to do the right thing. And you immediately betrayed me. Again."
"I'm sorry—"
"No, you're not.” I release his collar, and he slumps against the wall.
There's a door to my left—a storage closet for linens and cleaning supplies. I shove it open with one hand, grab Patterson with the other, and throw him inside.
He stumbles, crashes into a shelf. Bottles of industrial cleaner clatter to the floor.
"Please, I can explain—"
"I don't want explanations." I close the door behind us. The space is small, cramped, lit by a single bare bulb. Perfect. "I want you to understand what happens when you betray me twice in the same evening."
"I wasn't—"
I punch him. Not hard enough to break anything, just enough to split his lip. Blood wells up immediately, and he cries out.
"Don't lie to me, Mike. I have your text messages. I know exactly who you were calling."
He's crying now, one hand pressed to his bleeding mouth. "They'll kill me if I don't cooperate—"
"And I'll kill you if you do." I pull out my phone, show him the screen. "This is your house, Mike. Nice place. Colonial style, big backyard. Your daughter's bedroom window is the one with the pink curtains, right?"
His eyes go wide with terror. "Don't—"
"Relax. I'm not going to hurt your family.
I'm not a monster." I pocket the phone. "But I need you to understand that I could.
That I have people watching them right now.
That if you make one more call to the Corsettis, if you try to run, if you do anything other than exactly what I told you to do, I can reach them. "
"Please, not my family—"
"Then stop making this difficult." I lean against the door, blocking his only exit. "You had a simple choice, Mike. Give me the information and live. Instead, you tried to play both sides. That was a mistake."
"I'm sorry—"
"Sorry doesn't help me. Sorry doesn't bring back the people you helped murder." I pull the small knife from my jacket. "What does help is making an example. Sending a message that betrayal has consequences."
"Oh God—" He tries to back away, but there's nowhere to go in the cramped space.
"Hold still and this will be quick."
I grab his head, yank it to the side, and press the blade against his left ear. Not to cut it off—that would be excessive. Just enough to mark him. To leave a scar he'll carry forever as a reminder.
He screams, but the sound is muffled by the thick door and the noise of the kitchen on the other side. Blood runs hot down my fingers, and I step back to avoid getting it on my shirt.
"There," I say, wiping the blade on a towel hanging nearby. "Now everyone will know you crossed the Romano family. The Corsettis will see that scar and know you're compromised. No one will trust you. No one will help you."
Patterson is sobbing, one hand clamped over his ruined ear. "You—you—"
"I what? I warned you? I gave you a chance?" I pocket the knife. "I did Mike. And you threw it away. So now you're going to do exactly what I told you, or I'll come back and finish the job. Do we understand each other?"
He nods frantically, unable to form words through the pain and terror.
"Good." I open the door, glance out into the hallway. Empty. "Clean yourself up. Tell your wife you had a nosebleed if she asks. Go home. And tomorrow morning, you call me with everything I asked for. Every name. Every meeting. Every dollar. You have until nine."
"But—Friday—you said—"
"That was before you tried to betray me." I straighten my jacket, check my cuffs for blood. Clean. "Now you have until morning. And if I don't hear from you by nine-fifteen, I'll assume you've made your choice."
I leave him bleeding in the storage closet and head back through the service corridor toward the dining room. In the bathroom, I wash my hands thoroughly, examine my reflection.
Perfectly composed. Not a hair out of place.
Like I didn't just mutilate a United States Congressman to make a point.
When I return to the table, Bianca's eyes immediately lock onto mine. She knows something happened. I can see it in the way she's holding herself, the way her fingers worry that gold pendant.
"Everything all right?" Nancy asks, her voice thick from crying.
"Fine. Just business." I signal for the check. "Where's Mike?"
"He went to the restroom. Said he wasn't feeling well."
"Probably the wine." I pull out my credit card, hand it to the approaching waiter. "We should call it a night anyway. Bianca has work in the morning."
Patterson returns a few minutes later, a wad of tissues pressed to his ear, his face gray. He won't meet my eyes.
"Are you all right, dear?" Nancy reaches for him. "You look awful."
"I'm fine. Just—I need to go home."
"Of course." I stand, help Bianca with her chair. "It was lovely meeting you both. I hope we can do this again sometime."
The lie is smooth, practiced. Patterson knows we'll never have dinner again. That he's living on borrowed time now, counting down the hours until he either cooperates or dies.
We say our goodbyes—Nancy clutches Bianca's hand, Patterson can barely stand—and then we're walking out into the cool Manhattan night.
Tony's waiting with the car and when I open the door for Bianca, she slides in without a word, her face pale in the streetlights.
I follow, and the door closes behind us.
Silence.
The car pulls away from the curb, and I can feel her eyes on me. The weight of her judgment, her fear, her dawning realization of exactly who I am.
"What did you do?" she asks finally, her voice barely above a whisper.
"What needed to be done."
"Dante—"
"He tried to warn the Corsettis. While we were sitting at dinner, eating dessert, he was texting the people who helped murder ten innocents. Setting up a call to betray me." I loosen my tie. "So, I stopped him."
"By hurting him."
"By making a point." I turn to face her. "I cut his ear. Not off, just enough to scar. Enough that everyone will know he crossed me and the Corsettis won't trust him anymore, so he'll have nowhere left to run."
Her face loses even more color. "You tortured a Congressman. In a restaurant."
"In a storage closet. Less messy." I watch her process this. "He made his choice, Bianca. I gave him an out. Three days to do the right thing. And he immediately tried to betray me. What did you expect me to do?"
"Not that!"
"Then you don't understand how this works.
" I lean back against the seat. "In my world, betrayal has consequences.
Swift, painful consequences. If I let him make that call, the Corsettis would have known I was coming.
They'd have disappeared, covered their tracks, maybe come after me first. Patterson had to be stopped. "
"So you mutilated him."
"I sent a message." I keep my voice level, matter-of-fact. "Now Patterson knows I'm serious. Now he'll give me what I need. And everyone else who works with the Corsettis will hear about what happened and think twice before crossing the Romano family."
"You're insane." She's shaking now, hugging herself. "You're sitting here talking about cutting someone like it's—like it's nothing—"
"It's strategy. Violence is a tool, Bianca. Just like information, just like money. I use what works."
"You're a monster."
"Yes." The admission is simple, honest. "I am. I've never claimed otherwise."
She stares at me, and I can see her trying to reconcile the man who bought her dresses with the man who just carved up a politician in a storage closet.
"I'm not a good guy," I continue. "Never was, never will be. I don't save people or fight for justice. I protect what's mine and I eliminate threats. That's it. That's all I've ever been."
"And if innocent people get hurt?"
"They won't. Not by me." I meet her eyes. "Patterson isn't innocent. He helped kill women and children. He betrayed people under my protection. He deserves everything he's getting and more."
"You can't just decide that—"
"In my world, I can. I do." I turn back to the window, watch the city blur past. "You wanted to know who I really am? This is it."
Silence falls between us, heavy and suffocating.
"I'm terrified of you," she whispers finally.
"Good. You should be."
"Not because of the violence." Her voice cracks. "Because you don't care. Because you can hurt someone and then come back to dinner like nothing happened."
"I care." The words surprise me. "Just not about Patterson or his pain or whether I'm justified. I care about results. About protecting the people I'm loyal to. About sending messages that keep everyone else in line."
"That's not caring. That's scheming."
"In my world, they're the same thing. And the people who live in my world operate the same way."
The car slows as we approach the gates of my estate. Bianca doesn't move, doesn't speak, just stares out her window like she's trying to escape without physically running.
"For what it's worth," I say as Tony parks, "I made sure his family is safe. His wife, his kids—they're untouchable. That's a rule I never break."
"How noble of you."
"It's not nobility. It's survival." I open my door. "Men who hurt families don't last long in this business. They become targets themselves. So I protect innocents because I'm smart enough to know where the line is."
She finally looks at me. "And where's the line with me?"
"You're safe. Always." I mean it. "I need you cooperative, not traumatized. And despite what you think, I don't enjoy hurting people who don't deserve it."