Chapter 2 - The Scent of Lavender and Blood
The quiet inside Aurelia was heavy, punctuated only by the faint hum of the ice machine and the rhythmic breathing of the baby resting against my arm.
Dante Rosselli did not break eye contact. His gaze felt heavy, dissecting me layer by layer until I felt completely exposed beneath the amber lighting of the dining room.
"What is your full name?" Dante asked. His tone wasn't loud, but it possessed a weight that demanded an answer.
"Alina Valdez," I replied, my voice trembling slightly despite my best efforts to appear composed. "I've worked here for three months, Mr. Rosselli. You can ask Mr. Carrillo. I'm just trying to make rent."
Dante glanced sideways at the tall bodyguard standing to his right—a man with a scarred neck and a sharp hairline who looked as though he had never smiled a day in his life. The bodyguard, whom I later learned was named Marco, took out a phone, typed a rapid message, and slid it back into his jacket pocket without a word. A background check was already underway.
"Where are you from, Alina?" Dante continued, his thumb gently stroking Leo’s soft back. The baby was half-asleep now, his tiny fingers still firmly hooked into the belt loop of my waist apron.
"Chicago originally," I lied smoothly. It was the story my mother had drilled into my head since I was twelve. Never say Boston. Never say North End. If anyone asks, you're from the Midwest. "My mother and I moved here four years ago."
"And where is your mother now?"
The question hit me like a cold spray of water. I swallowed down the lump in my throat, forcing my expression to remain flat. "She passed away last year."
Dante’s dark eyes flickered. A subtle shift occurred in his expression—not pity, but a sudden, sharp interest that frightened me far more than his coldness had. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the white tablecloth, bringing him closer to where I stood pinned by his son's grip.
"What was her name?" he asked softly.
Before I could answer, Leo stirred, letting out a soft, sweet sigh and nuzzling his nose against my apron. A faint scent drifted up—a mixture of baby lotion and the delicate scent I had worn for years. Lavender.
The moment the scent reached Dante, his entire posture went rigid.
His hand shot out, his broad fingers wrapping firmly around my wrist. The grip wasn't meant to cause pain, but it was absolute. I couldn't have pulled away if I tried.
"Where did you get that scent?" Dante demanded, his voice dropping into a dangerous, gravelly register.
"It's just lavender oil," I gasped, my heart slamming against my ribs. "My mother used it. I've worn it my whole life!"
"Boss," Marco interrupted quietly, leaning down toward Dante's ear. "The street is secure, but a vehicle just circled the block twice. A dark sedan with tinted glass. It matches the Valenti family's scouts."
The name Valenti sent a visible tremor through the rest of the restaurant staff. Mr. Carrillo looked as though he might faint near the service bar.
Dante didn't look back at the window. His focus remained entirely on me, his eyes searching my face with an intensity that made my breath catch.
"Release his hand," Dante told me quietly.
I carefully unclasped Leo's tiny fingers from my apron. The baby let out a dissatisfied whimper, but Dante cradled him closer against his chest, standing up from the table in one smooth, fluid motion. He was tall—easily six-foot-two—and his presence seemed to consume the entire room.
He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a stack of hundred-dollar bills, and tossed them onto the table without looking at them.
"You're coming with me," Dante said flatly.
"What?" I stumbled back a step. "No! I have a shift to finish—"
"You're not safe here, Alina," Dante said, his voice dropping so low only I could hear it over the ambient noise of the restaurant. "And frankly, neither am I while my son reacts to you this way. If the Valentis see you with my child, they will make assumptions. And in my world, assumptions get people killed."
"Mr. Rosselli, please," Mr. Carrillo stammered, rushing over with his hands raised nervously. "She's just a waitress! She doesn't know anything!"
Dante didn't even turn his head toward my manager. "Marco, secure the perimeter. We're taking the rear exit."
Before I could run, Marco stepped behind me, his broad body blocking the path to the kitchen. He didn't touch me, but his presence left no doubt about my options.
"Walk, Alina," Dante commanded softly, holding Leo against his broad shoulder. The baby looked over Dante's jacket, his serious gray eyes staring at me, reaching one tiny hand out into the dark air.
I looked at the tip money on the table, at Mr. Carrillo's terrified face, and finally at the dark dragon tattooed on the side of Dante Rosselli's neck. My mother's warning echoed in my mind, loud and desperate.
May you like
Walk the other way.
Instead, surrounded by men in black suits and carrying a secret I didn't even understand yet, I took a breath and walked straight into the lion's den.
