9. Chapter Nine Dante
Chapter Nine: Dante
T he door to the restaurant swung open with a familiar creak, and I stepped inside with Marco on my heels. Little Italy’s heart pulsed through this joint—a place where everyone knew your name or at least pretended to if they valued their skin. The scent of garlic and tomatoes wrapped around me like a worn leather jacket as we slipped into a booth tucked away in the back.
“Look at this, Dante. Nona’s special is still on the menu,” Marco said, flipping open the laminated card. But his light tone didn’t match the tightness in his eyes—a look I knew spelled trouble.
I leaned back against the worn leather, my white shirt stretching across my shoulders. “Spill it, Marco.”
He put down the menu, his black shirt blending with the shadows. “Dante, we’ve got issues. The Carusos are pushing into legit businesses faster than we anticipated,” he muttered, shooting a glance over his shoulder before locking eyes with me.
“Go on.” My voice was even, but inside, my thoughts raced, already calculating moves and countermoves.
“Last week, they got their hands on a tech start-up. Clean money’s their new game, but we both know it’s just a front.” Marco’s voice had an edge, the kind that came when our territory was under threat.
“Let’s see what they do next. We’ll play it smart,” I said, my gaze drifting beyond the flickering candle on our table to the rain.
“Smart, huh?” Marco leaned in, his voice low. “You’re miles away, brother. What’s got you distracted?” His smirk was slight, knowing.
I hesitated, swirling my glass of red wine, watching the ruby liquid cling to the sides like blood on a blade. “It’s a woman—Jade.”
“Jade Bentley? The doctor?” Marco’s question came with a slightly cocked eyebrow.
“Neuroscientist,” I corrected him, a small flash of pride lighting up within me at her title. My fingers curled around the stem of the glass tighter. “She’s different, Marco. There’s something about her…” I trailed off, the image of her dark hair and that determined gaze flashing in my mind.
Marco’s eyebrow arched higher, his interest piqued by my rare display of fascination. She was fucking something and goddamn it if I wasn’t completely caught up in trying to unravel her.
“Is she now?” Marco murmured, leaning back, the candlelight flickering across his face, throwing half of it into shadow. His grin had faded; replaced with contemplation as he studied me, probably trying to figure out if this was just another fling or something more complicated. Something real.
“Let’s eat. We can talk strategy later,” I said, closing the subject like a book I wasn’t ready to reopen. Not yet. But as we ordered, and the conversation shifted to territories and rivals, Jade’s image lingered, stubborn and enticing, promising a challenge like none I’d ever faced before.
The clink of silverware against porcelain filled the silence that stretched between us as we picked at the remaining morsels on our plates. Marco leaned back in his chair, the dim light from the overhead chandelier casting a soft glow on his smirking face.
“A scientist, huh?” He chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “Never pegged you for falling for the academic type. But I guess if anyone could get you, it’d be someone who challenges you.”
“You know I like smart women.”
“Yeah, but I thought you meant smart like…‘Knows how to shoot a gun without messing up her manicure,’ not smart like, ‘Can create a new life form in the lab,’” Marco retorted with a raised brow.
I grinned, swirling the last of my wine in the glass. The rich, dark liquid mirrored my thoughts - complex, deep, and slightly intoxicating. “Well maybe I’m growing up.”
“Does she know how much you like her?”
I shook my head. “She knows how much I like fucking her.”
“Oh?” Marco’s interest clearly piqued, his smirk widening. “Details, Dante.”
“Nice try,” I warned, eyeing him with a smirk of my own. “I’m not going into details.”
He drew back, feigning outrage. “What? Rude. C’mon.”
“No,” I said. “She’s great. That’s all you need to know.”
“Always so protective,” Marco mocked, a playful glint in his eyes. His usual cockiness was back, the moment of seriousness having passed. “You’re acting like she’s your wife or something.”
“Watch it,” I cautioned him sharply. His laughter filled the restaurant, muffled by the chatter of the other patrons and the clinking of plates.
“You know I’m just kidding around, Dante. But it is interesting seeing you like this. Obsessed over a woman.”
“I’m not obsessed. I am serious about her, Marco,” I confessed, and the gravity in my voice made him sit up straighter. “But I’m not sure how Father would react.”
In the quiet of the restaurant, with the night pressing against the windows and the autumn air turning crisp outside, I felt the weight of our family name bearing down on me, threatening to snuff out this thing with Jade before it even had a chance to ignite fully.
Marco’s demeanor stiffened at the mention of our father. “He won’t be easy on this, Dante. You know how he views distractions.” I could see the concern etched in the furrows of his brow, a testament to the loyalty he felt towards the empire we were born into.
I nodded, my mind already sifting through the labyrinth of Enzo Moretti’s stringent views on family and business. “Yeah, I know,” I admitted, pushing around a piece of bread on my plate. “But Jade’s different.”
“Great. She Italian?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Wants to be a housewife?”
“She’s a neuroscientist.”
“Cool,” Marco said, sipping on his espresso. “Do you need me to say anything else?”
“I’m serious about her being different,” I replied.
“Everyone’s different until they’re not,” Marco muttered, his voice laced with a warning that went beyond brotherly advice.
“Let’s talk business,” I suggested, eager to steer away from personal matters, at least for the moment. The Caruso situation was a thorn in our side, one that needed plucking with precision rather than brute force.
We leaned closer, our heads nearly touching as we poured over the details of our current predicament. Marco’s fingers drummed a rapid staccato on the tabletop, suggesting several aggressive moves that had been our father’s signature approach.
“Take the docks, cut the supply line, let them bleed until they come begging,” Marco listed, each suggestion punctuated by an assertive nod.
“Or,” I interjected, “we could play it smarter. Use their own desperation against them. Starve them out slowly, make them think it’s their idea to fold.”
Marco raised an eyebrow, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Since when did you become the patient one?”
“Since I realized rash decisions can lead to unnecessary wars,” I shot back, my tone firm but not unkind. This was the delicate dance we’d mastered over the years—pushing and pulling in our quest to keep the Moretti name revered and feared.
“Alright then, Mr. Calculated,” Marco conceded with a half-grin. “We’ll try it your way. But if it backfires, it’s on you.”
“It won’t,” I said, the confidence in my voice belying the unease that squirmed in my gut.
“I hope you’re sure. Be careful, Dante. Emotions make us vulnerable. Don’t let this… affection cloud your judgment.” Marco’s words cut through the clinking of glasses like a serrated blade.
I met his gaze, steady and unflinching. “Since when did you start spouting philosophy?” I quipped, but his concern gnawed at me. He was right, of course. The Moretti men weren’t known for their romantic escapades; we were bred for power, not love.
“Since I saw that look in your eye,” Marco returned sharply. “You’re too open around her, too...human.”
“Jade isn’t a threat,” I countered, my voice low, almost a whisper.
“Everyone is a threat, Dante. Everyone.” His tone was a stark reminder of our upbringing, the lessons drilled into us since we were kids.
A silent nod was all I offered in response, signaling the end of the conversation. We both knew better than to argue further in public.
As we stepped out into the crisp autumn night, the cool breeze of Little Italy brushed against my skin. I pondered Marco’s warnings while our father’s potential reaction to Jade loomed large in my thoughts.
“Father respects strength, Marco. Maybe he’ll see Jade’s intelligence as an asset,” I mused aloud, trying to sound more convinced than I felt.
“Or maybe he’ll see her as a distraction you can’t afford,” Marco shot back.
“Maybe,” I conceded.
“Let’s hope you’re right. For both our sakes,” Marco added, his voice tinged with the weight of our legacy.
“Let’s hope,” I echoed, my mind racing with possibilities—of a future where duty and desire didn’t collide like opposing forces on a battlefield.
We walked in silence, letting the sounds of the city fill the void between us. The occasional laugh from a passerby or the distant hum of traffic were mere background noise to the internal cacophony of my thoughts.
“Remember what we’re working towards,” Marco finally said, his voice cutting through my thoughts as we neared the sleek black car waiting at the curb. It was more than just a reminder—it was a warning.
I nodded, understanding the unspoken message. The Moretti family didn’t get where we were by being careless with our hearts or our business. “I know. I’m not going to do anything stupid,” I replied, the lie tasting bitter on my tongue.
“Good.” Marco clapped me on the back, a gesture that was both reassuring and a little too hard to be just brotherly affection. “Just remember, big brother, keep your head in the game. Father taught us that.”
“And he is known for his wisdom.”
Marco laughed, throwing his head back when he did. “Maybe not, but he is a scary motherfucker. I don’t want to have to defend you.”
“You won’t,” I said. “I got this.”
“You sure?”
“Always,” I said, but even as the words left my mouth, I knew that my heart wasn’t entirely in it. Jade had already gotten under my skin in ways I hadn’t anticipated.
Marco’s dark eyes searched mine for a moment longer, as if he could see right through the facade. Then he nodded once, sharply, and slid into the car without another word.
I watched as the vehicle pulled away from the curb, its taillights disappearing into the night. Alone now, I felt the weight of the decisions ahead of me—decisions that held the potential to reshape not just my life, but the lives of everyone connected to the Moretti name.
I took a taxi back to my apartment. The night was cool, the kind of crisp autumn air that makes you feel alive. I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans as I walked out of the car toward my building, each step echoing against the concrete. The city around me was quiet, almost peaceful, a stark contrast to the storm raging in my head.
“Family first.”
Dad’s voice echoed like a mantra I’d heard since childhood. Enzo Moretti didn’t just expect obedience; he demanded it. And here I was, thinking about risking it all for a woman who had no idea what she’d walked into. For a woman who believed in making the world better while standing in the middle of a battlefield.
For a woman who had no idea who I was.
Her keycard was still in my apartment–I hadn’t used it yet. I was thinking about giving it back to her, telling her she’d just dropped it back at my place. I would do it next time I saw her.
Damn it.
Her name repeated itself in my head like a prayer, or maybe a curse. She was brilliance and beauty wrapped in innocence, and I was neck-deep in a life that could swallow her whole.
I reached my apartment building, the familiar sight offering no comfort tonight. In the elevator, my reflection stared back at me from the polished metal doors–I looked tired, old.
My apartment was dark when I entered, the only light spilling from the cityscape outside. I walked straight to the balcony, pushing the door open to let the city’s breath wash over me.
I looked out at the city—the city my family controlled with an iron fist—and felt something inside me shift. For the first time, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be a part of its dark heart. For the first time, I wondered if I could be the one to challenge the empire built on blood and loyalty.
But I hadn’t even told her how much I liked her. I couldn’t be thinking of throwing my entire empire away for a woman who probably didn’t feel the same way I did about her.
No.
First I needed to take over the Moretti operation. Then I could do whatever the fuck I wanted to do.
And that included Dr. Jade Bentley.