Chapter 145 145

Chapter 145 145
EVA

Marianne turned to us, taking a sip of her tea, her eyes cold and almost angry. "What? Can I not discipline my own son anymore?"

Disc–what?

What the fuck is he? Seven? 

You discipline a child! A child is what you discipline not a fucking adult. Discipline for what exactly?

Not doing the dishes? Burning dinner? Or being rude because I know Dante, the only thing you can have a problem with is his disinterest in speaking.

And I've seen the way he talks to her, dude. 

I stared at her. "This attempted murder, not discipline.” I muttered under my breath. Even if you want to discipline you don’t hold a weapon to their neck, it's a small scratch yes,but one wrong move and blood is gushing out. 

The skin there isn't as thick as we think, I hope she knows that.

She'll kill the son she won't stop flaunting around in the name of discipline.

“Mrs DeLuca, If you're mad at anyone, it should be me, not Dante."

She scoffed and slammed her teacup down with more force than necessary, the ceramic clinking against the saucer as little the liquid spilled out. "You?" She let out a short, cold laugh. "What could I possibly be mad at you for? You have no idea the things at stake because of him. I have absolutely no reason to be mad at you. None."

Okay, that was condescending, and dismissive. Maybe I was over thinking it, but it felt like she was saying I wasn't worth the anger or the worries.

I don't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but it felt insulting. Like I was beneath her notice, beneath her anger, and any emotion entirely.

I wasn't worth it.

Blair leaned in, placing a hand on Marianne's arm. "Don't anger yourself, Mother. Ms. Bishop would never understand."

Of course I can't understand the rich family troubles, I can't understand what it's like to lose a couple millions, a contract here and there, endorsement, societal throne, a couple steps down the hierarchy.

I can't possibly know or understand that. I'm poor, diet poor, I've never had tea in the dining room before, or spent grand on my hair, or have a car not to talk of a driver.

I'm too poor to understand that a fucking announcement on the news being called a lie will ruin someone business, and life. Of course it's fucking geometry..I don't understand basic life-society circle.

I don't think she ever thinks before she speaks when it comes to me. It's always just ‘put her down, put her down, put her own.”

The guilt I've been carrying slowly slipped away. The ship sank. I couldn't care less if the founding factory of whatever business they do goes up in flames. 

But I'm not going to answer her. We've gotten to a point where for some reason she thinks being rich means everyone would listen to whatever she was saying. 

I'm not going to give her the satisfaction of being replied.

Blair is going to be a ghost to me until this dinner is over.

Dante's lips twitched, looking at me with amusement. He was enjoying this. 

Somehow, watching me hold my own against his own family amused him.

His family by the way. His.

He took my arm and slowly guided me to a seat at the table. The chef appeared immediately, serving and placing the appetizers in front of us. Dante reached over and took a bite from my plate first before I could even touch it. 

Elena cleared her throat and leaned forward, about to say something. “This is a family dinner, a st–” 

Mr DeLuca cut her off with a wave of his hand. "That's enough. We shouldn't make our guest uncomfortable. It's just dinner"

I blinked, surprised he was speaking for me. He turned his gaze toward me, his grey eyes identical to Dante's. "I heard you work for the foundation.” 

I glanced at Dante and he was just staring at his father. “Uh…yes sir.”

What is happening?

“How is it going lately? I've been worried about the numbers." He continued eating while I glanced around to make sure I wasn't imagining a conversation.

I nodded when I didn't find any and turned to him. The nerves going on and off. "It's–um it's going well, actually. We've had a few recent pushes that have brought the numbers up. The charity gala was a success, and we're seeing increased donor engagement."

Okay, so what other data am I supposed to not say?

I hope he knows and stops me on time.

He leaned forward, interest flickering in his eyes. "And any ideas on how to push them higher?"

Is this some trick to make me to lower my ɠaurd?

I thought for a moment, then spoke as carefully as I could. "I do have a few for our next meeting…” I trailed off, glancing at Dante. He nodded shortly and subtly and went back to eating. I just know he doesn't even know what he's eating. “A targeted campaign focusing on the foundation's impact stories would work. The foundation already has a fanbase, but these people are between the ages of 35–60, if we want more publicity and broaden our fanbase, we should share more patient stories, get on trends."

He nodded slowly. "So SNS."

“Social media. Short videos, real-time updates. The younger generation doesn't read long reports. They want to feel connected. If we make them feel like they're part of something, they'll give."

He nodded in approval again. "You know your stuff. I have this contract I'm supposed to sign for a company planned to invest in. You should stop by sometime, I'll need that brain of yours."

I blinked, surprised. "Um...sure"

I wasn't expecting that. Stop by? I thought he hated me?

He exhaled as the main course arrived. Dante helped me cut my steak and dishes the masked potato for me.

We continued from where we stopped and at some point I started to enjoy it, seeing the livid volcano on Blair's face about to erupt. On the other hand, Mr DeLuca seemed genuinely curious, asking me more about the foundation's projects, and promising to make me be the head event planner for the foundation's 60th anniversary coming soon.

"That is good," he said, leaning back in his chair. "It's a shame you're not working directly for me."

I took another spoonful of my mashed potatoes, chewing slowly, when I felt something hard in my mouth. I froze, my heart stopping, and slowly picked up my napkin, I pulled whatever it was out with my napkin. 

What the fuck?

My fingers trembled as I looked at the broken bottle shard. 

Glass. In my food? How the fuck did it get in the dish? I ran my tongue around my mouth looking for a cut but found none, thankfully.

I spat out the rest of the food as chaos erupted in the room, and grabbed my glass of water to wash down what's left.

I stared at it, horrified. Elena spat out her food right after Dante and Mr DeLuca stopped eating.

Dante quickly grabbed my chin, turning my face toward him. "Did it cut you?"

I opened my mouth for him to take a peek then shook my head. 

How did a glass that big get into the pot?!

If I had accidentally swallowed that or bitten down harder, I could have been seriously hurt. 

Broken leg and ribs and arm and a severed tongue to the list or bottle in my gums.

I looked at the glass shard on the napkin one more time. The glossy appearance catching the light from the chandelier. It was sharp, jagged, and unsettling.

Imagine being in pain and coughing out blood. The chef rushed forward, and fell to his knees. "I'm so sorry—I don't know how—"

Elena stood up immediately and slapped him hard across the face. "Are you trying to kill someone?!"

The chef stumbled back, his hand on his cheek. The maids rushed forward and began clearing the table in seconds, replacing everything with new dishes.

Elena slapped him again. "What assures us there won't be a knife in this one?"

The chef stammered. "It won't happen again. I swear. It was the assistant—I should have checked—I had the assistant chef help with the appetizers"

She slapped him a third time. "You're fired! If I see you again, I'll end you myself."

He scrambled to his feet and rushed off without looking back, and we continued dinner from where we stopped, everyone acting like I almost didn't die.

Marianne cleared her throat after some moments. "So when will this fling be over so you can get married? Your father isn't getting any younger, and he needs a successor."

Elena's eyes snapped toward her at the word successor. Scoffing. "Are you wishing death on my husband?"

Marianne glanced at her coldly. “He's my husband too. I'm simply stating a fact."

"Well, I believe your son when the right time to marry is, Jace has already married before and will soon, so don't think about paying someone to be a wife and take what rightfully belongs to my son." Elena countered, her voice low. 

Marianne's smile didn't waver. "Dreams. Dante is the first son."

Elena leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. "Out of wedlock, yes."