Chapter 44 Dante
The manager’s smile vanished.
He glanced at the hostess, then back at me, weighing something rapidly behind his eyes. “Sir… I understand your concern, but staff is difficult to come by these days. If you could explain what exactly—”
“She repeatedly flirted with me,” I interrupted. “Ignored my direct statement that I was here with my partner. Looked at my partner with open disdain. And then continued to behave as if she was entitled to my attention.”
Seraphine’s breath caught softly across the table.
The manager went pale.
He turned slowly toward the hostess. “Is that true?”
Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “I—I was just being friendly. I didn’t mean anything by it—”
“She evaluated my partner like she was an inconvenience,” I said evenly. “In my establishment, that would already be grounds for dismissal.”
The manager didn’t hesitate again.
“I’m sorry,” he said sharply to the hostess. “You’re done here. Turn in your apron and collect your things. Now.”
Her face crumpled. “You can’t be serious. Over this?”
“I’m very serious,” he replied. “Go.”
She looked at me once more—resentful, desperate, humiliated—then spun on her heel and stormed away.
The manager exhaled slowly and turned back to me. “My apologies, Mr. Vescari. That behavior doesn’t reflect our standards.”
“It won’t happen again,” I said. Not a question.
“No,” he agreed quickly. “It won’t.”
He nodded once more to Seraphine—respectful this time—then excused himself.
When he was gone, the tension at the table finally eased.
Seraphine stared at me, stunned. “You didn’t have to do all that.”
I leaned back slightly, eyes never leaving hers. “Yes,” I said calmly, “I did.”
Her lips parted, then pressed together. She looked down at the table, then back up—something unreadable in her expression.
The manager’s smile vanished.
He glanced at the hostess, then back at me, weighing something rapidly behind his eyes. “Sir… I understand your concern, but staff is difficult to come by these days. If you could explain what exactly—”
“She repeatedly flirted with me,” I interrupted. “Ignored my direct statement that I was here with my partner. Looked at my partner with open disdain. And then continued to behave as if she was entitled to my attention.”
Seraphine’s breath caught softly across the table.
The manager went pale.
He turned slowly toward the hostess. “Is that true?”
Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “I—I was just being friendly. I didn’t mean anything by it—”
“She evaluated my partner like she was an inconvenience,” I said evenly. “In my establishment, that would already be grounds for dismissal.”
The manager didn’t hesitate again.
“I’m sorry,” he said sharply to the hostess. “You’re done here. Turn in your apron and collect your things. Now.”
Her face crumpled. “You can’t be serious. Over this?”
“I’m very serious,” he replied. “Go.”
She looked at me once more—resentful, desperate, humiliated—then spun on her heel and stormed away.
The manager exhaled slowly and turned back to me. “My apologies, Mr. Vescari. That behavior doesn’t reflect our standards.”
“It won’t happen again,” I said. Not a question.
“No,” he agreed quickly. “It won’t.”
He nodded once more to Seraphine—respectful this time—then excused himself.
When he was gone, the tension at the table finally eased.
Seraphine stared at me, stunned. “You didn’t have to do all that.”
I leaned back slightly, eyes never leaving hers. “Yes,” I said calmly, “I did.”
Her lips parted, then pressed together. She looked down at the table, then back up—something unreadable in her expression.
“We’ll have the burrata to start,” I said easily. “The osso buco for both of us. And the truffle risotto on the side.”
Seraphine blinked. “You didn’t even ask—”
“You’ll like it,” I said, glancing at her. “Trust me.”
Her mouth twitched despite herself.
“And a bottle of the Côte de Provence rosé,” I added. “The 2019.”
The host’s eyebrows lifted a fraction. “Excellent choice, sir.”
“It’s light,” I said, mostly for her. “Sweet without being cloying. A little tang at the end.”
She watched me for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. I’m intrigued.”
The host took the order and disappeared quickly, leaving us alone again—no audience, no pressure, just the low hum of the restaurant and the faint clink of glassware around us.
I didn’t waste the quiet.
“Seraphine,” I said, leaning forward slightly, lowering my voice. “There are things I should have told you earlier.”
Her shoulders tensed, but she didn’t look away. “I figured.”
I took a breath. This part mattered.
“I have photos,” I said. “Of your brother. And Rio.”
Her face drained of color.
“Photos doing what?” she asked carefully, like she already knew the answer and didn’t want it confirmed.
“Things that don’t belong on either side of a badge,” I said. “Meetings. Exchanges. Places they shouldn’t have been.”
Her hand curled into the napkin in her lap. “You didn’t tell me.”
“No,” I said. “Because I didn’t want to hurt you before I knew how deep it went.”
She swallowed hard. “Is that all?”
“No.” I hesitated, then continued. “There’s also a photo of your brother behind your workplace. Meeting with Renee.”
Her breath hitched sharply.
“With… Onyx?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
She leaned back in her chair, one hand coming up to press against her mouth. For a moment, I thought she might be sick right there at the table.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” she asked, voice shaking—not angry, just wrecked.
“We received the files at four this morning,” I said gently. “Lucian and I were going to bring them up at breakfast. Before everything… escalated.”
She winced. “The fire.”
I smirked faintly. “Yes. The fire.”
“I’m sorry,” she said again, softer this time. “About your dining room.”
I reached across the table and took her hand before she could pull it back.
“It’s fine,” I said. “It can be rebuilt.”
She stared at our hands like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to touch me. Then her eyes lifted to mine—and what I saw there made something twist painfully in my chest.
Not fear.
Not anger.
But that quiet, awful belief that she was somehow… broken. That whatever people had taken from her over the years was her fault.
I squeezed her fingers gently.
“There’s something else,” I murmured. “Something you deserve to hear.”
Her breath stuttered. “Okay.”
I opened my mouth—
And my phone vibrated against the table.
Once.
Twice.
I didn’t have to look to know what it meant.
I glanced down anyway.
One of the kings.
My jaw tightened.
If they were calling me directly, it wasn’t small. It wasn’t convenient. And it wasn’t good.
I looked back at Seraphine, still holding her hand.
“Give me one moment,” I said quietly.
Her fingers tightened around mine instead of letting go.
“Just don’t disappear,” she said.
I met her eyes. “I won’t.”
Not now.
Not when things were finally starting to surface.
I lifted the phone.
And braced for whatever bad news was about to follow.