Chapter 2 - Two Extra Plates
The silver tray clattered softly against the mahogany table as Mateo Moretti arranged two porcelain plates side by side. He didn't ask his guards for help, nor did he call for the kitchen staff. With deliberate, calm precision, he picked up the silver serving spoons and laid out portions of roasted chicken, garlic butter potatoes, and warm artisan bread.
Sophia stood motionless by the door, her tiny fingers clutching the frame.
"Bring her," Mateo said smoothly. His voice was low, carrying the weight of a man whose commands were never questioned.
Sophia turned and sprinted down the narrow staff corridor. Seconds later, she reappeared, gently pulling four-year-old Meera by the hand. Meera’s eyes were swollen, her face blotchy from fever, and she clutched a frayed blanket against her chest.
When the two guards at the door shifted, Meera buried her face in Sophia’s side.
"Sit," Mateo instructed, pointing to the two carved wooden chairs directly to his right.
Sophia helped Meera climb into the high chair, then took her own seat. The sheer scale of the dining room made them look like doll figures at an emperor's table. The air was thick with the rich aroma of rosemary and melting butter. Meera looked up at the golden chandelier, her small mouth open in awe, momentarily forgetting her pain.
"Eat," Mateo murmured. He picked up his glass of mineral water, his dark eyes never leaving the two girls.
Sophia didn't hesitate. She cut the meat into tiny, manageable pieces for Meera first, feeding her sister before taking a bite herself. Meera chewed hungrily, tears still drying on her flushed cheeks.
At the edge of the room, Marco, Mateo’s chief lieutenant, stepped forward slightly. His hand rested near his hip, his jaw tight with anxiety.
"Boss," Marco whispered, his voice laced with caution. "The Romano meeting is in twenty minutes. You need to clear the floor."
Mateo didn't look back. "The meeting can wait."
"Sir, Don Romano doesn't wait for anyone. If he sees—"
"I said," Mateo interrupted, his tone dipping into a dangerous whisper that turned the room cold, "it can wait."
Marco closed his mouth immediately, stepping back into the shadows.
For ten minutes, the only sound in the grand hall was the light scraping of silverware against china. Mateo watched Sophia’s careful movements—how she made sure her sister drank water, how she wiped Meera’s mouth with a linen napkin, how she carried herself like a guardian despite being only seven years old.
Suddenly, the heavy oak doors at the end of the hall swung open.
Elena ran in, out of breath, her wet raincoat dripping onto the polished hardwood floor. Her hair was tangled from the storm outside, and a small plastic pharmacy bag was clutched tightly in her pale hand.
When she saw her two daughters sitting beside the most feared crime boss in the state, eating from his personal dishes, the blood completely drained from her face.
"Oh God," Elena gasped, dropping her purse. She fell to her knees near the entrance, terror trembling in her voice. "Mr. Moretti... please! Please forgive them! They don't know any better! I'll leave right now, I'll take them and never come back—"
"Elena," Mateo said smoothly, setting his glass down.
Elena trembled, unable to raise her head from the floor. "Please, sir, don't hurt them..."
"Your daughters were hungry," Mateo said softly. "You raised a brave girl. She came in here to protect her sister."
Elena blinked through her tears, looking up in complete disbelief.
May you like
Mateo stood up, buttoning his gray suit jacket. He looked down at Sophia, who was looking back at him with pure, unfiltered trust.
"Finish your meal," Mateo told the little girl. Then he turned to Elena. "Give your youngest her medicine. Tomorrow morning, you report directly to my main office. We need to talk."
