Chapter 62 The Gift Horse
The silence that descended on the dining room was heavy enough to crush bone.
Twelve pairs of eyes were fixed on the small black box sitting on the white tablecloth. It looked like a hole in the world, a void that had swallowed all the oxygen in the room. I
could feel the blood draining from my face, leaving me cold and lightheaded, but I forced my spine to remain straight against the high back of the chair.
Dante did not move. His hand remained extended, palm open, fingers slightly curled in a demand that did not need to be voiced. His grey eyes were locked on mine, devoid of the warmth they had held during the toast.
Now, they were the eyes of the Capo dei Capi, calculating, suspicious, and lethal. He was stripping me down to my nerves, searching for the micro-tremors of deceit.
"Let me see it," he said.
It was not a request. It was a command that brooked no argument.
I picked up the box. My hand trembled, a traitorous vibration that I couldn't suppress. I placed the box in his hand, feeling the calloused roughness of his skin against my fingertips for a fleeting second.
Beneath the table, my left hand was clenched so tight around the crumpled note that my fingernails were cutting crescents into my palm. The sharp, stinging pain was the only thing grounding me, keeping me from hyperventilating.
Since you broke the last one.
The words on the note burned in my mind like a brand. They knew. Rinaldi knew I had destroyed the burner phone. They knew I had flushed the pieces. They had eyes inside this fortress, perhaps even in this room.
Dante turned the box over in his large hands. He inspected the seal, the weight, the pristine corners. He looked at it with the same detachment he would use to inspect a loaded weapon found on a traitor.
"It is brand new," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. "Still sealed. Factory plastic."
He looked up at me, his gaze heavy. "Open it."
I hesitated. "Dante, I—"
"Open it, Lilith."
I reached out and broke the seal. The plastic tore with a sound that seemed deafening in the quiet room. I lifted the lid. The phone sat there, sleek and black, innocent in its casing. I prayed that there wasn't another note hidden underneath, or a message that would flash on the screen the moment it sensed light.
"Who is it from?" Vitale asked from across the table. His voice was thick with suspicion, his beady eyes darting between Dante.
"Who sends packages to the Boss's house without a return address?"
"My father," I said. The lie tasted like copper and ash on my tongue, but I forced it out. I leaned into the truth of my father’s character to sell the fabrication. "It is from Marco Rosetti."
Dante’s jaw tightened. A muscle feathered in his cheek.
The mention of my father always irritated him, not just because of the debt, but because he viewed my father as a man without honor, a man who would sell his own blood to save his skin.
"Your father?" Dante repeated the words dripping with skepticism. " The man who has not spoken to you in a month? The man who traded you to me like a used car?"
"He feels guilty," I whispered, lowering my eyes to my lap. I adopted the posture of a shamed daughter, knowing it would play to Dante’s ego.
"He knows about the attack yesterday. He knows I could have died. Maybe... maybe he wants to buy my forgiveness. Or maybe he just wants to know if his investment is still breathing."
Dante scoffed. It was a harsh, guttural sound. He dropped the phone back into the box with a clatter that made me flinch.
"Guilt," Dante spat. "Marco Rosetti does not feel guilt. He feels debt. He thinks a piece of glass and silicon can buy him favor? He thinks this buys him a reprieve?"
"He is a fool," I agreed softly. "But he is terrified of you. He probably thinks if I am happy, you will be lenient with him."
Dante stared at me for a long, agonizing moment. He was weighing my words, dissecting the tone, analyzing the fear in my eyes.
He saw the fear, but he misinterpreted the source. He thought I was afraid of him, or of my father. He didn't know I was terrified of the piece of paper sweating in my palm.
Finally, he nodded. A dark, humorless smile twisted his lips.
"He is right to be terrified," Dante said, his voice loud enough for the table to hear. "But I do not accept gifts from men who owe me money. And I do not allow unauthorized electronics in my house."
He looked toward the door, where Enzo was standing like a statue in the shadows.
"Enzo," Dante barked.
Enzo stepped forward, his scarred face impassive. "Boss."
"Take it," Dante ordered, gesturing to the box. "Run a full diagnostic. I want it stripped down to the circuit boards. Check for bugs, trackers, listening devices, and malware. Scan the hardware and the software."
My heart hammered against my ribs. If Enzo turned the phone on, he might trigger a pre-loaded message.
Or worse, if the "Unknown" caller was as skilled as they seemed, the phone might be clean until activated by a specific GPS signal, my room.
But I couldn't protest. If I argued against the security sweep, I would look guilty. I had to gamble everything on the hope that the person blackmailing me was smart enough to hide their tracks from a standard sweep.
"If it is clean," Dante continued, his eyes still on me, "she can keep it. If it isn't... burn it. And send the ashes to Rosetti in an envelope."
Enzo took the box from the table. "I'll have it to the tech team immediately."
"Good." Dante turned back to his meal, picking up his knife and fork. "Sit, Lilith. Eat."
The tension in the room broke, but only slightly.
The Capos returned to their meals, their knives scraping against the fine china, but the air remained thick with unspoken threats. They were wolves who had smelled blood, and they were disappointed that the kill had been postponed.
I picked up my fork, but my hand was shaking so badly I couldn't hold it steady. I put it down.
"May I be excused?" I asked quietly. "I... I don't feel well."
Dante didn't look up. He sliced into his steak with precise, violent movements. Red jus pooled on his plate like blood.
"Sit," he commanded.
I froze.
"We are not finished," he said calmly. "You are the guest of honor. You do not leave until I dismiss you."
"The girl stays," Vitale grunted, wiping grease from his chin with a linen napkin. "She has spirit.
Standing on the rampart during a mortar attack? Most women would be hiding under the bed. Lucrezia would have been demanding a helicopter evacuation."
A few of the men chuckled. It was a dangerous joke, mocking Lucrezia De Luca was a risk, even for a Capo, but it shifted the attention away from me.
Dante’s jaw tightened.
"Lucrezia knows her value," Dante said sharply. "And Lilith stood because she had no choice. Now eat your food, Vitale."
I sat in silence for the rest of the meal, a mannequin in a red dress. I drank the wine that tasted like vinegar and stared at the wall, trying to control my breathing.
I was a prop. A trophy. A silent witness to the violence that kept their world turning.
And all the while, the note burned a hole in my palm.
Since you broke the last one.
I needed to get rid of it. I couldn't drop it on the floor; the servants would find it. I couldn't put it on my plate.
I looked at the small, beaded clutch purse sitting next to my wine glass. It was part of the outfit Lucrezia had forced on me.
I waited until Vitale launched into a loud, boisterous story about a dockworker who had tried to steal from a shipment.
"And then I broke his fingers, one by one!" Vitale roared, slamming his hand on the table.
The men laughed. All eyes turned to him.
In that split second of distraction, I moved. I brought my hand up from my lap with the speed of a pickpocket. I unclamped my stiff fingers and shoved the crumpled ball of paper into the small clutch, snapping it shut in one fluid motion.
I picked up my wine glass immediately after, bringing it to my lips to hide the tremor in my hand.
I drank deep.
I had survived the appetizer. But I knew the main course was going to choke me.