Chapter 4 - The Dinner with the Don
By Friday evening, the reality of stepping into Adrian Morello’s world became undeniable.
A sleek black long-wheelbase sedan pulled up outside Emily’s small apartment above the bakery at precisely seven o'clock. When Emily stepped down the stairs, wearing a stunning emerald-green velvet dress that hugged her full bust, waist, and hips, the driver held the door open as if she were royalty.
Inside the car, Adrian was waiting. He wore a crisp black suit without a tie, his top shirt button undone, looking impossibly attractive. When he saw her, his breath hitched noticeably.
"Green is your color," he said, his voice husky as he reached for her hand the moment she sat down beside him. He lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles.
"Where are we going?" Emily asked, nervous energy fluttering in her stomach. "You said your grandfather invited us to dinner, but you didn't say where."
"Frank's private estate in Riverwoods," Adrian said. "It's a family dinner. Just the inner circle."
Emily’s eyes widened. "The inner circle? Adrian, I'm wearing velvet and perfume, not body armor! What if your uncles hate me? What if your cousins think I'm an outsider?"
Adrian smiled, pulling her closer so her shoulder rested against his chest. "My uncle Marco is a loudmouth who spends too much money on racehorses. My cousin Dominic is an accountant who cries when he watches sports movies. The only person you need to worry about pleasing is Frank, and he already likes you more than he likes me."
Thirty minutes later, the sedan pulled through massive iron gates guarded by armed men, driving up a long, tree-lined driveway toward a sprawling stone estate that looked like a European castle transported to the Illinois countryside.
When they entered the grand dining room, a long oak table was set for twelve people.
At the head of the table sat Frank Morello, wearing a dark cardigan over a dress shirt, his mahogany cane resting against his chair. Surrounding him were Adrian’s lieutenants, uncles, and family advisors—hardened men with sharp eyes, scarred knuckles, and expensive suits.
The room went dead silent when Adrian walked in holding Emily’s hand.
Frank looked up, his sharp eyes taking in Emily’s emerald velvet dress, her confident posture, and the way Adrian’s fingers were tightly interwoven with hers.
"Well," Frank rasped, leaning forward. "Look who finally brought the baker to the table."
Emily stepped forward, refusing to show her nervousness. She set a small, ribbon-tied box onto the mahogany table near Frank's plate. "Good evening, Mr. Morello. I brought dessert. Cannoli with fresh ricotta and candied orange peel."
Frank’s eyes lit up like a child's on Christmas morning. He reached for the box instantly. "Ricotta? Freshly whipped?"
"Made it two hours ago," Emily said.
Uncle Marco, a heavy-set man with thick graying hair, snorted from across the table. "She thinks she can buy the Don with pastry, Adrian? This isn't a bakery. This is a family table."
Emily turned her gaze to Uncle Marco. She looked at his heavy stomach, his plate piled high with three helpings of pasta, and his glass of expensive red wine.
"With all due respect, sir," Emily said smoothly, "pastry requires patience, precision, and respect for temperature. If you rush it, everything burns. From what I’ve seen of your family business, those sound like useful qualities."
A heavy silence descended on the room.
Dominic, the cousin sitting beside Marco, choked on his water. Adrian bit the inside of his cheek to suppress a dark laugh.
Frank stared at Emily for three long seconds. Then, he let out a booming, raspy laugh that shook his thin shoulders. He slammed his hand against the table, making the wine glasses clink.
"Ha! She’s got teeth, Marco!" Frank chuckled, pointing his fork at his son. "She’s got more spine than that skinny Hale girl you tried to force on my grandson! Sit down, Emily! Right here, next to me!"
Adrian pulled out the heavy carved chair beside Frank, gesturing for Emily to sit. As she sat, Adrian leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear. "I told you," he whispered. "You own this room."
Dinner proceeded with incredible energy. The food was rich, the wine flowed freely, and despite the violent nature of their business, the Morello family treated Emily with surprising warmth once they realized she wasn't easily intimidated.
Halfway through the meal, while Frank was arguing with Marco about a land deal in South Chicago, Adrian’s personal phone buzzed against the table.
He picked it up, flipped it open, and read a brief text message.
Emily watched his face. In a fraction of a second, the relaxed, attentive man sitting beside her vanished. His jaw hardened into granite. His eyes turned black as night.
He stood up from the table quietly.
"Adrian?" Frank asked, his laughter instantly dying. "What is it?"
"A minor problem at the downtown warehouse," Adrian said, his voice flat, devoid of any warmth. He looked down at Emily, his hand coming up to gently touch her nape. "Stay here, dolcezza. Finish your dinner. I’ll send the car back for you."
"Adrian, what's wrong?" Emily asked, feeling a sudden chill run down her spine.
"Nothing for you to worry about," Adrian murmured, leaning down to press a firm kiss to her lips in front of his entire family. "Frank will look after you."
He turned and walked out of the dining room, three of his high-ranking lieutenants immediately rising from their seats to follow him into the dark hallway.
Emily watched the heavy double doors close behind him, her heart sinking.
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For the first time, she truly realized the nature of the man she was falling for. He wasn't just a wealthy businessman who bought her flowers and held her hand. He was the commander of a shadow empire.
And the war she had accidentally started with the Hale family was far from over.
