12. Chapter Twelve Jade
Chapter Twelve: Jade
I was out of the penthouse…having a dinner date with my captor.
The clink of fine china against silver cutlery surrounded us, a delicate soundtrack to the opulence we were cocooned within. I shifted in the leather seat, my fingers tracing the edge of the crisp white tablecloth as Dante Moretti, the embodiment of lethal charm, sat opposite me. His quiet confidence clashed with the storm of questions raging in my mind.
“Can I ask you something?” My voice was steady, belying the chaos inside.
“Of course,” Dante replied, his eyes meeting mine with an openness that seemed at odds with the secrets I knew he kept. “You can always ask, Jade. Whether I can answer is another matter.”
Taking a deep breath, I dove into the waters I’d been avoiding. “Why did you take my ID card? What was so damn important about BioHQ’s research that you had to betray me?”
For a moment, hurt flickered across his face like a shadow, gone as quickly as it came. He leaned back, the soft leather creaking under him. “It wasn’t personal, Jade. The research...it was a stepping stone for bigger things. We needed it to get the green light for a series of labs focused on neurogenetic research. Labs that are going to be a part of the pharmaceutical company the Morettis now run, including clinics across New York City.”
I could hear the pride in his voice, see it in the way he held himself - the mafia prince with a vision for a future that somehow included me without my consent. The revelation made my stomach twist, not just with anger, but with a strange hint of admiration. Dante Moretti, criminal mastermind and unexpected visionary.
“I mean, you could have asked.”
“I did ask. You never met my lawyers.”
“Your lawyers?” I scoffed, incredulous. “You think I would have just handed over years of my work to the likes of them?”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “Maybe not, but it was worth a shot.”
I shook my head, frustration bubbling inside me. “You don’t get it, Dante. You can’t just take scientific research and expect instant results. It needs peer review, clinical trials—it has to be vetted and retested.”
“Which is why we’re building more than just labs.” He slid his phone across the table, the screen lit up with blueprints of an imposing structure. “We’re constructing a state-of-the-art facility right here in the city. It’s going to change everything.”
I glanced at the architectural marvel on his phone, my scientist’s heart skipping a beat despite my better judgment. “It looks impressive,” I admitted reluctantly, “but without proper oversight...”
“Jade, I’m not completely clueless when it comes to this stuff,” he interrupted, a flash of annoyance crossing his features. “There will be control measures, audits, checks and balances. The works.”
“Really?” I raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Because from where I’m standing, it seems like you’re playing with fire. And we both know how that ends.”
Dante reached for my hand, his grip firm and reassuring. “I’m doing this for us—for our future. You think I don’t know what this could mean for our child? This is legitimate, Jade. It’s a chance to leave something good behind.”
I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to trust that there was some sliver of nobility in what he was doing. But history had a nasty habit of repeating itself, especially in his world. And yet, as I looked into his eyes, I saw it—the same determination that matched my own when it came to my work.
“You already started this from stolen research you don’t necessarily understand,” I said. “No offense to you, but…”
“I’m not offended,” he replied, waving me off.
“But,” I persisted, “you have to realize that you’re starting off on shaky footing. The implications of BioHQ’s research are complex and far-reaching. The potential for misuse is high, especially if handled by someone without the right knowledge or intentions. And Dante, look, I don’t want to get too specific, right? But if you don’t understand the mechanism by which targeted protein triples axonal recovery then it’s not replicable. Good science is always replicable.”
He smiled at me, his eyes hungry. “What did you just say? Translate that for me.”
“Imagine...” I took a deep breath, struggling to gather my thoughts into a coherent explanation. “Imagine your body is a city and the proteins are the transport system. Certain injuries or diseases can destroy roads, bridges—cutting off access to some parts of the city. BioHQ’s research was focused on finding a way to rebuild those connections faster, essentially tripling the speed of recovery. That includes things like brain injuries.”
“What does that have to do with genomes?” he asked, taking a sip of his wine.
“Genes are the architects, the blueprints of our body, to continue with the city analogy. They dictate how proteins are built and how they function. By altering those blueprints, we can potentially improve or even repair certain bodily functions like axonal recovery. But without a deep understanding of this process...” I shook my head, searching for the right words. “It’s like handing a nuclear weapon to a toddler.”
“God, you’re so hot when you talk science.”
“I’m serious, Dante!” I protested, my cheeks flushing at his unexpected compliment. “You need to understand the gravity of this situation.”
“I know you’re serious. Keep talking. I’m rock hard under this table.”
I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t resist the tug of a smile.
“I know,” he interrupted, his tone unusually serious. “And I appreciate it, Jade. Really. But right now, I need you to understand that I’m doing this for us. For our future. For a world where our kid won’t have to be a part of... all this.”
“By this, you mean…”
“I mean my life. My family.”
“You could’ve let me go, and I could’ve raised our baby by myself.”
He cocked an eyebrow, removing his hand from mine. “You can’t be serious. I would never let that happen.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but I was smart enough to know this wasn’t an argument I was going to win.
“Whatever. Let’s talk about the research,” I said. “You know, most labs have ethics boards and external funding to ensure that the work being done is ethical and beneficial. You should consider establishing something similar.”
“Sounds like you just volunteered,” Dante teased, his mood lightening again.
“I did not volunteer,” I replied.
“Shame. Then what should we do now?” Dante’s voice was softer, tinged with something that sounded almost like repentance. He leaned back in his chair, the shadows of the dimly lit restaurant hiding the usual hardness in his eyes.
I sighed, letting go of a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “I don’t know,” I confessed, my mind a whirlwind of conflicted emotions. “The damage is done; the data is stolen. We can’t just undo it.”
“Jade, I’m sorry.” His apology was quiet, almost lost amid the clinking of glasses and low murmurs at nearby tables. “I shouldn’t have taken any of your research. It was wrong.”
I searched his face for any sign of deceit but found none. My heart ached, a mix of hurt and confusion swelling inside me. “Is that the only reason you got involved with me? For my work?”
Dante’s gaze locked onto mine, and there was a weight to his words when he spoke. “At first, yeah, using you was part of why I approached you. But then—shit, Jade.” He ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “I saw you at that conference, talking about genomes and shit with such confidence, and...fuck, you’re beautiful.”
“You can’t think that. Not with the way you look,” I replied.
“That was a compliment, I think, and yet it didn’t feel like one,” he said.
“You’re out of my league,” I replied matter-of-factly.
“Out of your league?” Dante chuckled, a warm, rich sound that had my heart fluttering against my ribs. “Darling, if anyone’s batting out of their league here, it’s me.”
I frowned at that, looking away as I fought the blush creeping up my cheeks. “That’s not what I—“
“Whoever made you feel like this,” he said. “They’re wrong.”
“But Dante, you’re not exactly—“
“Shh.” His hand cupped my face, turning me to meet his gaze. His touch was soft, almost tender, a startling contrast to the hardened crime lord before me. “Enough of that self-deprecating talk. You are extraordinary, Jade Bentley.”
I scoffed lightly, trying to hide the way my heart fluttered at his compliment. “My ex would disagree. He called me a fat bitch as he dumped me for being too obsessed with my research.”
A dark edge crept into Dante’s tone, his protective nature surfacing. “You want me to take care of him?”
“Please tell me that’s a fucking joke, Dante.”
“Of course,” he replied quickly, though the seriousness in his eyes suggested otherwise.
The moment was shattered by the vibrating buzz of Dante’s phone. It was a quiet sound, yet in the silence that had settled between us, it felt as intrusive as a gunshot. His eyes snapped to mine, a silent command to stay quiet passing through his gaze before he lifted the receiver to his ear. “Speak,” he commanded, his voice slicing through the air with an authority that demanded obedience.
I tried to look away, to focus on anything but the exchange that was about to unfold. My gaze landed on the tapestries adorning the walls of the upscale restaurant, their threads weaving tales of power and conquest in the dim light that played tricks with shadows. But despite my efforts, fragments of his conversation impaled the bubble I tried to create around myself—words like ‘shipment,’ ‘territory,’ and ‘handled’ wormed their way into my ears, sending a shiver racing down my spine.
“Everything okay?” I asked when he finally clicked the phone off. The question felt feeble, but I needed to say something to break the tension that encased us.
“Business,” Dante replied curtly. He met my stare, and for a second, I thought I saw the flicker of something human—regret, maybe—in those dark pools before they shuttered closed again. His tone brooked no argument, and I knew that line of questioning was firmly closed.
Then his phone rang again and a dark shadow passed over his face. He answered immediately. “I don’t care, Sal. Take care of it. Take care of him. You don’t need me to spell this out, do you? Okay, good.”
He hung up the phone, sighing, his shoulders slumping. “Where were we?”
“Did you just order a hit?” The question burst from me before I could snag it back into the safety of unspoken thoughts. My heart hammered against my ribs, echoing in my ears like a drumbeat counting down to something inevitable.
“Sometimes, things need to be handled,” Dante said without missing a beat, his response chilling in its indifference. His eyes were fixed on mine, but they might as well have been looking through me, considering matters far beyond the reach of my understanding.
“Dante, what the fuck?”
The clink of silverware against fine china filled the air, a stark reminder of the civilized fa?ade we maintained. Dante’s hand enveloped mine, his touch a jarring mix of danger and solace. I glanced at our intertwined fingers, his skin warm against the cool expanse of the tablecloth.
“Let’s not do this here,” he suggested, voice as smooth as the aged wine resting in our glasses. “Eat your dinner, Jade. You told me you would behave.”
I nodded, withdrawing my hand to slice through the tender steak that rested on my plate. The rich scent of cooked meat and herbs did little to settle the unease that knotted in my stomach. Across from me, Dante watched with an unreadable expression, the dim light of the restaurant casting shadows across his strong features.
And so I did what was expected of me. I ate, I smiled, and I played the part of the oblivious dinner date. With each bite, I pushed away the knowledge of who Dante truly was—a man cloaked in charisma and enshrouded in the dark dealings of the Moretti family.
Because one thing had become painfully clear throughout this dinner: if I wanted to stay alive, I would have to play this game.
And if I wanted to raise our kid by myself, then I had to make damn sure I was going to win.