The Seat Beside Power

Valeria 

I walked out of Dante Moretti’s office with a smirk curling on my lips, a victorious and triumphant smirk. I did not have anything like a plan, when I approached his study. I only wanted to deliver the report, and take note of his response to my presence. But what I didn’t see coming … was him. 

That tightly coiled, cold king of sin had flinched. Dante Moretti had actually flinched. And it hadn’t been that hard — just silk, wet hair and my steady voice bathed in practiced indifference. I didn’t even try for real and he cracked.

Pathetic.

Once in my room, I had barely shut the door when I ran towards it, breathing heavily, my fingers shaking as I turned the lock with my back against the wood. He'd opened that door mere moments after I'd snuck away and I'd genuinely thought I was about to be dragged in, thrust into the light. But I hadn't been caught.

I had to sit on the bed to catch my breath. And when I did, my chest hammered violently. He was affected. He'd balled up his fists, looked away, fought to keep it together — and totally caved at the sight of me in silk.

I cackled under my breath.

“All men are the same,” I spat, jerking the tie of my robe tighter. I woke up the next morning with nothing to do. Not one errand, no file dropped on my door, no guards walking me down to the dock. Strange. But I was grateful for the silence. It meant I had all day to think about how I would transform into the weapon I would one day be.

I remained inside, reliving every move from the night before. I walked, dressed, undressed, looked out the window at the courtyard. I imagined every move I could make to get further into Dante’s world — and then break it from within.

But as I leaned against the window, a knocking disturbed my reflection.

I turned, frowning. “Yes?”

The door creaked open and a servant, with his head low, stepped inside. —”Signor Moretti has asked that you come to the main meeting room.”

I blinked. “The… what?”

“He said to get dressed. You are to join the meeting.”

My brows shot up. This was new. Any woman in the Moretti house, not to talk of one bought at auction at that, was not invited to a meeting.

“What kind of meeting?”

The man swallowed. “Business.” Slamming the door as slowly as possible, I leaned against it. The grin I’d had last night resurfaced, deeper this time. Interesting. So, he wasn’t just shaken. He was… pulling me into the room.

I didn’t waste time. I showered and wore my hair pinned back in a pure twist; makeup barely there, but all in the right places. I decided to go for an ivory blouse with a demure cut neckline, a sleek black skirt that flared over my waist and hit maybe just past the knees. Not seductive. Powerful.

The room was grand in its darkness — floor to ceiling windows blacked out by heavy black velvet drapes, walls filled with mahogany bookshelves. In the middle of the room was a long mahogany table. The room was packed with men in suits — six, maybe, seven of them — all older, well dressed, chiseled in the face.

They glanced up the instant I entered and lapsed into a gawking silence.

Their gazes were sharp, skeptical. Some cast sidelong looks at one another and low murmurs passed among them,.

“What is that bitch doing here?”

“Is that…?”

“She’s not—she can’t be—”

“Dante didn’t say anything about—”

And then, I heard his voice.

“Valeria.”

I looked to the middle of the table. Of course, he was already sitting. His charcoal suit clung to his broad shoulders, one hand tapping against a file while the other cradled a glass of something dark. He motioned to the chair next to him.

“Sit. Here.”

Every man at that table blinked. Some looked confused. Others offended. There was not a word spoken among them — but their eyes were shouting.

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. Not yet. I just walked over to him. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t stumble. I sat beside him, folded my hands in my lap, and looked straight ahead.

No one addressed me again.

Dante’s broke the silence, his voice stern and short, his body leaning slightly in. “We’ll begin.”

And they did. Words were guarded at first, whispered through half formed subjects I couldn’t really comprehend — dispatch lines, surveillance on new suppliers, distribution routes that stitched across territories I only heard whispered about.

I absorbed it all.

Then, in the middle of a heated discussion about turf rights on the south docks, Dante leaned back in his chair and stared across the table at one of the men.

“She’ll be coming with us.” Someone choked on their breath. Another cleared his throat. Dante didn’t blink.

“Valeria is coming with us on this trip. Make the arrangements.”

And with that, the meeting came to a halt. I didn’t dare look around. I didn’t want to risk making too much noise through my breathing. For a second, no one moved. No one even breathed. I didn’t either. He must not have meant it the way I thought he meant it. I turned my head toward him, gradually. I looked at him, and blinked once, and then again, trying to read his unreadable face.

“Excuse me?” The words slipped before I could hold it in.

Dante didn’t look at me. His gaze was still fixed the man on the other side of the table. “You heard me.”

The man’s jaw tightened. He was older, tough, as if he had been a boxer, maybe he still worked out like one. His eyes flickered on me.

“With due respect, sir,” he began, speaking slowly, “she’s not one of us.” I could feel all eyes in the room turn back to me.

“She knows nothing about our trade. Not one thing on the logistics, the protection, the numbers, the codes.” His voice raised, his words now slanting towards an insult. “She’s just a female.”

I stiffened, sitting up straight, my back rigid, my lips pressed closed.

“She’ll be taught,” Dante replied, still guiding his emotions. But the man wasn’t done.

“No, sir. Look, I’m not going to pretend that this makes sense.” He didn't look over his shoulder this time - he was looking straight at me with the ugliest expression imaginable. “What’s going to happen when she gets one of us killed? What if she falls in her high heels, or drags us into a scandal because she can’t keep her big mouth shut?”

My eyes narrowed.

“And she’s only here because of your … pity,” he added. “She’s a slave, sir. One that you picked up at a goddamn auction.”

That was it.

I snapped.

“A slave?” I hissed, getting up from my seat. “Is that what you see when you look at me?”

The man sneered. “Isn’t that what you are? You didn’t just show up here like the rest of us. You were dragged in. Bought.”

I balled my fists beside me. “I didn’t come here out of my own free will. But I’m not going to stand here and you talk down to me as if I’m nothing.”

He chuckled, dark and dismissive. “You don’t mean nothing in this room.”

“You think my being a woman makes me less strong?” My voice was firm now. “You believe my gender equates to weakness, my gender removes my intelligence, my strength, my instant?”

“I think,” he shot back, “that your pride is going to kill people.”

“And I think,” I said, snapping, “you’re scared of someone that looks like me sitting next to him.” I pointed a finger at Dante, without making eye contact. “Because it reminds you that you are not untouchable, your job is not guaranteed. That the rules can change.”

There was a buzz of gasps going around the room. The man’s face became black with anger. “You little—”

“I have bled for everything I have ever built,” I cut in. “From the bottom. From less than nothing. So don’t you stand there and call me weak just because you’re threatened.”

He banged his hands on the table, rising to full height. “You don’t have a clue of what the hell you’re talking about. You have no loyalty!”

I laughed bitterly. “And you did? Sitting on someone else’s decades of power, and acting like you scratched and clawed to make it with your own hands? Please.”

His face twisted. “I don’t give a shit what pity party you pull around with you. You weren’t made for this world. You do not belong in this room.”

I was breathing hard, my pulse thumping in my ears, but I didn’t look away from his gaze.

Then his voice lowered and turned colder than before. “You’re just a toy. Some kind of fancy slave our boss picked up when he had ran out of mercy.”

That…stung. I opened my mouth, but I heard no voice. My throat closed up. My arms dropped to my sides.

I stopped breathing for a heartbeat. My knees trembled beneath me, but I couldn’t let them buckle. His voice still resounded in my head—slave…pity…toy.

And boom, I was 14 years old again, standing in my aunt’s house, washing dishes while her entire family laughed as I begged for mercy. I was sixteen, and I bought Lorenzo new shoes with every dime I saved, and I thought love kept me safe. I’m 18, and I’m handing my dad my first big check and I thought, “I’ve finally earned my place at the table.”

And here I was again. Still unwanted. Still nothing. I looked down, feeling the hot tears trying to escape, but not letting them. Not here. Not in front of him.Then, without warning—

SLAM.

The whole table trembled under the blow. My head shot up. Dante Moretti had stood. One hand lay on the table he had smacked, the veins on his forearm standing out against his skin. His eyes… those silver eyes were no longer cold. 

“How dare you!”