Chapter 3 - THE DINNER PARTY
By Friday evening, the Castellano estate was transformed into a glittering fortress. Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over marble floors, and classical music echoed through the grand foyer. But beneath the luxury lay undeniable tension: Dante was hosting a high-stakes dinner with the Moretti family, his primary rivals for control of the Baltimore shipping docks.
Rosie stayed upstairs in the private wing, where a spacious guest room had been converted into her quarters. Titan sat near her bed, his shoulder neatly stitched and bandaged thanks to the medical supplies Dante had delivered to her room earlier that week.
A soft knock came at her door. When Rosie opened it, Dante stood in the hallway, wearing a tailored black tuxedo that made him look impossibly dangerous and striking. Behind him stood a maid holding a garment bag.
"Put this on," Dante said without preamble.
Rosie blinked, looking at the heavy silk bag. "Why? I'm supposed to stay up here with Titan."
"Vincent Moretti brought his entire entourage, including his volatile son, Marco," Dante explained, his eyes locking onto hers. "Moretti believes I am weak because of recent port disruptions. He thinks I've lost control of my operations—and my dog. I want you downstairs."
"As what?" Rosie asked, her pulse quickening.
"As proof that I take whatever I want, and that even the wildest things in this city obey me," Dante said, his voice dripping with smooth authority. "Wear the dress, Rosalind."
Twenty minutes later, Rosie walked down the grand staircase wearing a floor-length emerald green velvet dress. The color contrasted sharply with her pale skin and dark hair. Titan walked calmly by her left side, his dark leather leash held loosely in her right hand.
The heavy chatter in the dining hall instantly died down as she entered.
At the head of the long dining table sat Vincent Moretti, a silver-haired man with cold, sunken eyes, flanked by half a dozen armed associates. Beside him was Marco Moretti, a younger man with a cruel smile and a glass of scotch in his hand.
Dante stood up from the head of the table, his eyes tracking Rosie’s every step as she approached.
"Castellano," Vincent Moretti sneered, leaning back in his chair. "You invite us to negotiate dock territories, and you bring a deaf maid and a rabid hound to the table?"
Marco chuckled loudly, sliding his gaze down Rosie's velvet dress. "Is this the new laundry girl everyone's talking about, Dante? I heard she cleans up well. Maybe when you're done with her, you can lend her to my estate."
The room temperature seemed to drop ten degrees in an instant.
Rosie felt Titan's body tense beside her, but she kept her grip steady, resting a gentle hand on the dog's head. She turned her right ear toward the head of the table, remaining calm and composed.
Dante didn't raise his voice. He simply walked around the long table, stopping directly beside Rosie. He placed a warm, firm hand on the small of her back, a gesture of absolute possession that made every man in the room take notice.
"Watch your tongue, Marco," Dante said softly, his voice carrying an unmistakable threat. "Rosalind isn't staff. And she certainly isn't up for offer."
Vincent Moretti narrowed his eyes. "Then what is she to you, Dante?"
Dante pulled Rosie a fraction of an inch closer to his side. His eyes swept across the rival faction with brutal confidence.
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"She saved the life of my most dangerous asset when my own men ran," Dante declared, his voice ringing through the hall. "She controls what you fear. She is under my direct protection—and anyone who speaks to her with disrespect answers to me personally."
Marco’s smile faded into a tight, bitter scowl. Rosie looked up at Dante, her heart thumping in her chest. The fierce intensity in his dark eyes wasn't just for show. In front of his deadliest enemies, the mafia boss had publicly claimed her.
