Chapter 5 - The First Supper
The formal dining room of the Kanti mansion could comfortably seat twenty people, but tonight, only two places were set at the massive mahogany table.
Candlelight flickered against gilded wall panels and priceless oil paintings of stern-looking Italian ancestors. The atmosphere was so thick with tension you could have cut it with a knife.
Elena sat near the middle of the table, wearing a simple blue dress Marisol had helped her select from her modest wardrobe. Matteo sat in a high chair that had seemingly appeared out of thin air by magic, happily banging a silver spoon against his wooden tray while a silver bowl of mashed carrots sat untouched before him.
At the head of the table sat Daario. He cut a piece of roasted veal with slow, methodical precision, chewing in absolute silence.
For the first ten minutes, the only sounds in the room were Matteo’s happy babbling and the clink of silverware against porcelain.
"He likes the spoon," Elena finally broke the silence, her voice small and tentative.
Daario paused, looking up from his plate. His dark eyes fixed on Matteo, who had successfully launched his spoon across the table, narrowly missing Daario’s water glass.
Elena flinched. "I am so sorry—I'll get it—"
"Leave it," Daario said, raising a hand. He set his fork down, picked up his cloth napkin, and wiped his mouth. He looked at Matteo with an intensity that made Elena’s skin prickle. "What is his name?"
"Matteo," she answered immediately.
"Matteo," Daario repeated, rolling the syllables over his tongue as if testing their weight. "And his father?"
The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. Elena’s face hardened, a bitter shadow crossing her features for the first time since he had met her.
"He left before Matteo was born," Elena said, her voice dropping into a cold, defensive register. "He decided that a pregnant wife and a struggling family didn't fit into his plans. So he packed a bag one morning and never came back. You don't have to worry, Mr. Kanti—he won't be showing up at your gates looking for trouble."
Daario didn't look away from her. He saw the flash of deep, unhealed pain behind her eyes—the exhaustion of a young mother fighting the entire world alone. It was a look he knew intimately. It was the same look he saw in the mirror every morning.
"A coward," Daario said quietly.
"He’s gone," Elena replied sharply, regretting her candor the moment it left her lips. "That’s all that matters."
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Before Daario could reply, heavy, hurried footsteps echoed outside the dining room doors. The massive mahogany doors swung open without permission, revealing Marcus, Daario’s chief head of security, his face pale and slick with sweat.
"Boss," Marcus panted, ignoring Elena and the baby entirely as he rushed to Daario’s side, leaning down to whisper urgently in his ear. "We have a breach at the outer perimeter. Vincenzo Rossi didn't go home. He’s rallied forty men from the dock union, and they're hitting the north gate with a battering ram. They think you've gone soft because of what happened this morning."
