20. Chapter Twenty Jade
Chapter Twenty: Jade
I never imagined science could lead me to a moment like this, where the soft glow of candles danced upon fine china and crystal glasses. Dante Moretti had just ushered me into a private dining area that seemed to have been plucked from a scene in one of those old romantic films I’d only half watch while scribbling notes on genetic sequences.
“Wow,” I murmured, taking in the exclusive setup that felt surreal compared to my usual evenings hunched over lab reports. “This is... incredible, Dante.”
He offered a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes—a look I was beginning to recognize all too well. His voice was smooth as always, though. “Only the best for you, Jade.”
We settled into our seats, the menus between us rich with options. I couldn’t help but notice how Dante fidgeted, his fingers tapping a silent rhythm against the linen tablecloth. It was subtle, but to a woman who spent her days observing reactions under the microscope, it was glaringly obvious.
“Are you alright?” I asked, trying not to let my curiosity morph into concern. “You seem... somewhere else tonight.”
“Ah, just thinking about some work stuff,” he replied, waving off my question with a practiced ease.
I knew dismissal when I heard it, so I didn’t press him on it. The lines around his eyes tightened when he thought I wasn’t looking, and I fought the urge to question him further. Instead, I focused on the elegance before us, the clink of our glasses serving as a temporary reprieve from the tension that simmered beneath the surface.
“Did you try the veal?” I ventured, aiming to steer us toward safer waters. “It’s supposed to be exceptional here.”
“Yeah, I’ve been here a lot,” he replied.
“Do you always take your dates here?”
“Sometimes,” he said softly. “But it’s rare that I rent out a whole venue for them. I mean, it’s never happened before.”
I blinked, surprised. His confession swam through my mind, but before I could respond, he was pouring us each a glass of red wine. The rich aroma filled the air around us as he set the bottle back on its metal stand. Dante raised his glass and looked at me with those sea storm eyes.
“To new beginnings,” he toasted, and I clinked my glass gently against his. His eyes never left mine as we each took a long sip of our wines.
His gaze slipped from my face down to the table. “There’s something I need to tell you, Jade,” he muttered, his voice low and heavy.
I swallowed hard, bracing myself for what was to come. “Okay,” I managed to respond.
He reached across the table and held my hand gently. His eyes searched mine as if seeking reassurance or maybe forgiveness. “I...” He released a shaky breath. “I’m not exactly who you think I am.”
The world seemed to tilt beneath me, his words eroding whatever foundation of understanding I had of him. “What do you mean?” My heart pounded against my chest with a terrible urgency.
“I...I’m involved in some things that…”
His phone buzzed on the table between us.
His gaze snapped to the device, and the expression that crossed his face was pure torment. “I have to take this,” he muttered before he picked up the phone, turning away from me as he spoke in hushed, fraught tones.
He excused himself with a curt nod and strode to a quiet corner of the room, his back to me.
“Family business” was the term he’d toss around, a shield that kept his world neatly separated from mine. I wasn’t stupid. Maybe I’d wanted to think the best of him. But he was about to tell me about his father’s illegal dealings and that meant he trusted me.
He liked me.
I couldn’t push him on it, which made this more difficult than I wanted it to be. I just had to wait for him to tell me himself.
Yet, as I watched his silhouette framed against the soft glow of wall sconces, his shoulders tense, the air around him seemed charged with something more than familial obligation.
His voice was too low for specifics, but the way his free hand clenched and unclenched spoke volumes. The murmur of his voice ebbed and flowed, a current I couldn’t ride but felt all the same. Words like “immediate” and “handle it” slipped through the cracks in the ambient noise, and they stuck to me, cold and foreboding. This was no ordinary call about business or a family squabble over Sunday dinner.
When he returned, his face was a mask of composure, but his eyes betrayed the storm just passed. They flicked to my face, searching for signs of suspicion or fear. Perhaps he found neither, or maybe he saw both.
“Everything okay?” I asked, unable to temper the worry edging my words. My heart thundered in my chest, not from the wine or the rich food, but from the gnawing thought that Dante’s world was bleeding into mine, dark and unbidden.
“Family business,” he replied, the phrase rolling off his tongue with practiced ease. His lips curved into a semblance of a smile, but it didn’t reach those piercing eyes, windows to a soul caught in a vice. “Nothing to worry about.”
His answer did little to quell the unease that had taken root inside me. The man before me was an enigma, cloaked in charm and danger, and every instinct screamed that there was so much more beneath the surface—more than I might be ready to face.
But fuck. I needed to try.
“Sometimes sharing what’s weighing on you can help lighten the load,” I offered softly, hoping to coax him into opening up. My own experiences had taught me that much.
Dante’s laugh was short, devoid of humor. “In my world, sharing can get you killed.” His words hung heavy between us. He snapped his head up to look at me. “I mean, uh, figuratively, of course.”
“Of course. Was that your father?”
“Yeah, that was my old man. I don’t know, Jade. It’s just that Enzo has high expectations,” he admitted, his jaw tensing. “And the stakes are...let’s just say they’re higher than in most families.”
“High expectations...I know them well,” I began, taking a deep breath. “My parents pushed me toward academia. Becoming a neuroscientist wasn’t just an aspiration; it was a mandate. The pressure was suffocating at times.”
“Are your parents academics?” he asked, obviously eager to stop talking about his own father.
“My mom was a teacher before she had me and my siblings,” I shared, hoping my openness would encourage Dante. “She gave up her career so that we’d have the best upbringing possible. My dad was a scientist, worked at one of the top research facilities in the country. He was--is--very prestigious. They both expected us to follow in his footsteps.”
“He’s a neuroscientist too?”
I laughed. “No, his job is harder,” I replied. “He’s a theoretical physicist. He worked on projects I can’t even begin to understand. But his brilliance...it was both inspiring and daunting. I never wanted to disappoint them.”
Dante waved me off after taking a sip of his wine. “Wait. I understand familial pressure, I get that. But how is his job harder than yours?”
I chuckled lightly at his question, shaking my head slightly. “Theoretical physics deals with concepts and dimensions that bend the fabric of reality. They attempt to understand the universe, its origins and structure, it’s a task of cosmic proportions.” I paused, looking into his curious eyes. “But what we do in biotechnology is more...here and now, I guess.”
“Your job is hard too!”
“Well, no, my job is specialized,” I replied. “That doesn’t make it hard. With the brain, you can map it, study it, predict its responses to stimuli. But the universe? It’s constantly expanding, constantly changing. The rules aren’t as clear-cut. My father’s work, it’s poetic in its complexity.” I paused, swirling my wine in my glass. “Not that biotechnology isn’t fascinating in its own right.”
He cocked his head. “I don’t understand a lot about physics. I do agree that the brain is fascinating. Did you ever think about going into that instead of neuroscience?”
“I did,” I admitted, “But my passion leaned towards something more tangible, more immediate. Neuroscience felt...right. It’s like understanding the hidden language of our minds, our very essence. And it’s in being able to decode that language where I find the most satisfaction.”
His eyes displayed an intense curiosity as they held mine. “And what about your siblings? Did they follow the path laid out by your parents?”
“Somewhat,” I mused, a hint of a smile playing on my lips. “My sister Emily is a research chemist and my brother Tom...he rebelled.” I laughed lightly at that. “Well, he went to law school first. Then he moved to Nashville and became a professional musician.”
“Is he any good?”
“He’s so good,” I told him. “I don’t think he would have gone to Nashville if he wasn’t. He said being there was humbling.”
Dante’s eyes softened with amusement. “I mean, that makes sense.” He took another sip of his wine, his attention never wavering from me. “A family of overachievers. No pressure, huh?”
I let out a short, mirthless laugh. “You could say that,” I replied. “But I mean, you feel it too, right?”
“Yeah, my dad can be hard to please,” Dante said. “He’s very traditional. I’m the eldest son and I made a lot of mistakes when I was younger. I didn’t always listen to him when I should have, which put me…behind.”
“In terms of his expectations?” I asked, my tone gentle.
“Yeah, exactly,” Dante replied, leaning back in his chair. His eyes left mine, focusing instead on the table between us. “And it’s been a... challenge catching up. I tried to worry about what my mother wanted for me instead.”
“What did she want?”
“Well, what she really wanted was for me to marry a nice Italian girl,” he replied. “She had to settle for college.”
A soft chuckle escapes my lips at his confession. “I take it you didn’t give her the nice Italian girl?”
Dante’s eyes snap back to mine, a mischievous glint sparkling within their depths. “Not exactly,” he replies with a smug grin, “But I did give her a college degree.”
“Where did you go?”
“Where do you think I went?”
“That’s not fair. Just tell me.”
“Cornell,” he replied.
“Cornell? Impressive,” I said, trying to hide my surprise. In spite of his rough exterior and intimidating aura, Dante was a man of intellect - Cornell’s business school was one of the best in the country. “That’s prestigious.”
“Yeah. My mom was very happy. My dad was not as happy. He thought I’d be better off at home, learning the ropes of the family business.” He paused, his gaze drifting off into the distance, clearly lost in some distant memory. “I wanted to make my own path, away from what he had planned for me.”
“Yet here you are,” I observed, my tone softer now.
“Turns out having a business administration degree from an Ivy League school is super useful when it comes to running a legacy family business,” he said, bitterness creeping into his mocking tone. “Who would have guessed?”
His words hung heavy in the air, a bitter humor cloaked in self-deprecation. I couldn’t help but watch him; the bravado fading as a hint of vulnerability seeped through. It was an odd sight, Dante Moretti showing a side of himself that seemed so far removed from his confident exterior.
“Legacy family business?” I echoed, partly to break the silence and partly because curiosity pricked me. “So you’re running it now?”
Dante looked at me, his expression unreadable. “It’s...complicated,” he finally muttered, his gaze dropping to the wine glass cradled in his hand. “I’m trying to. My dad still doesn’t trust me. Says my ideas are too out there.”
“And...are they too out there?” I asked. The look on Dante’s face had me quickly adding, “I mean, not that your father is the only one who can judge that, but... well, you get my point.”
He grinned, some of his earlier confidence returning. “Well, let’s just say I’ve got a few ideas that would rock the boat. But change isn’t always a bad thing.”
The waiter finally brought our food and Dante’s eyes lit up at the sight of his favorite dish. “Here we go, linguini with clams. The best in the city,” he announced proudly.
I couldn’t help but grin at his enthusiasm. “That does look amazing,” I said, my gaze affectionately lingering on him before shifting to my own dish, a plate of creamy fettuccine alfredo.
“You said you had something to tell me,” I said after I took a bite of my delicious meal.
“Yeah,” he replied, looking into my eyes. “But it can wait.”
“Wait for what?”
He smirked, winking at me. “Wait for me to be done with my dessert.”