Chapter 4: Uninvited Guests

Sera's POV

For one long moment, nobody moved. Candlelight shivered across the white tablecloth, and somewhere behind me a fork clinked against a plate.

Then Vivienne's face crumpled with worry, so fast and so perfectly that I almost admired her.

"Sera!" She rushed forward, heels clicking on the tiles. "Thank God. We've been calling you for an hour."

"It's been twenty minutes," I said.

"It felt like an hour." She pressed a hand over her pearls. "Grant turned up at my door as white as a sheet, and I wasn't going to let him come alone. I thought something terrible had happened."

She was a brilliant actress. She always had been.

I looked past her to Grant, who had not moved from the doorway. His eyes were fixed on Dante's hand, which rested beside mine on the table.

"Grant," I said calmly. "What a surprise."

"Who is this?" His voice came out low and tight.

"You know Dante. Vivienne's husband."

"I know who he is." His jaw flexed. "I'm asking what he's doing here with you."

I tilted my head and gave him the same polite smile he had been giving me all year. "Having dinner," I said.

"Dinner." He let out a short, ugly laugh. "At nine o'clock at night. In a dress like that."

"You said it was too much." I lifted my wine glass. "I wanted to see what too much felt like."

His face flushed red, then drained white.

Vivienne's smile flickered. For the first time that evening, she looked directly at Dante, and I saw confusion there.

"Dante, what is this?" she asked. "You told me you had a late meeting."

"I did," he said.

"With my sister?"

"With your sister," he agreed, in the same mild voice he used at every family dinner. He had not let go of my hand, and he had not looked away from Grant once.

"Please," Dante added, gesturing at the empty chairs. "Join us."

I nearly choked on my wine.

"We would love to," Vivienne said quickly, before Grant could object. Of course she would. She could not walk away without knowing.

Grant dropped into the chair across from me like a defendant sitting down in court. Vivienne perched beside him, her eyes darting between my face and Dante's.

The silence stretched until it hurt.

Then Enzo appeared at our table, bowing so low I feared he might topple over. "Mr. Rivers. Forgive me. I did not know you were expecting guests." He wrung his apron between his hands. "I will bring the finest of everything. Immediately."

"Thank you, Enzo," Dante said.

"Anything you need. Anything at all."

He scurried off. Two waiters followed, setting down fresh glasses so quickly it was as if they feared being seen.

Grant watched all of it, a small line forming between his brows. "They seem to know you here," he said slowly.

"I eat here sometimes," Dante said.

"Since when do you eat anywhere?" Vivienne laughed, brittle. "You always said restaurants were a waste of money."

"People change," he said.

"Not you."

It was meant to sound teasing. It landed like an insult.

Dante turned his wine glass in a slow half circle. "Perhaps I never had a reason before." His gaze slid to me and lingered exactly one heartbeat too long.

My pulse stumbled. I knew it was performance. But I also knew I wanted him to keep looking at me, and that was the one part of this I could not blame on the act.

Vivienne saw it. I watched her see it.

"Sera," she said, too sweetly. "You never told me you and Dante were close."

"We aren't," I said. "Not really."

Her shoulders loosened.

"We were strangers until recently," I added softly. "But sometimes it takes a hard week to see who is really beside you."

Her shoulders tightened again.

Grant set his glass down harder than he meant to. "What hard week?" he asked.

"Oh, you know," I said with a light shrug. "You were so busy. And I was lonely."

"Lonely," he repeated.

"Mm," I said, looking at him with wide, innocent eyes. "You've been away so much, Grant. Supplier meetings. Late nights. I started to wonder what you were really doing."

The color left his face.

Vivienne's fingers curled around the edge of the table.

"I was working," Grant said hoarsely.

"I know. I believe you." I smiled. "I always believe you."

Beneath the table, Dante's boot nudged mine. I did not move my foot away. I let it rest there and took a slow breath.

Grant stared at me as though he had never seen me before. Maybe he hadn't. Maybe I had spent six years being someone he never had to look at twice.

"You've changed," he said.

"Have I?" I asked.

"You never talked like this."

"I never had a reason to," I said, echoing Dante's words on purpose. Dante's mouth twitched.

Vivienne laughed again, too bright. "Well! Isn't this fun? A little misunderstanding, and now we're all together like one big family."

"A big family," Dante repeated thoughtfully. "Yes. Loyalty is what holds one together, isn't it?"

Her smile froze. Grant went very still beside her.

The food arrived then, a feast nobody had ordered. Seafood, roasted lamb, and a bottle of wine whose label made Grant's eyes widen.

"That vintage costs more than my car," he muttered.

"It is a good year," Dante said.

Grant looked at him sharply. "How would you know?"

"I read," Dante said.

It was such a dull answer that Vivienne relaxed, and I almost kicked him under the table. But I saw Grant's gaze travel the room. The bowing owner. The silent waiters. The way every diner seemed to avoid our table out of respect.

He did not understand it. I could see him trying.

Then his phone buzzed.

He glanced down, annoyed, and I watched the annoyance vanish. All the blood drained from his face.

"Grant?" Vivienne touched his sleeve. "What is it?"

"Nothing," he said, already standing and nearly knocking over his chair. "I have to go."

"Now? We just sat down."

"It's work."

"You said your meeting was canceled."

"This is different." His voice shook. He cleared his throat. "The man above my boss is asking for me. Personally."

"So?" Vivienne asked.

"So he never does that." He tugged at his collar. "In eleven years of supplying his men, he has never once called me himself."

I kept my expression carefully blank. Across from me, Dante lifted his glass and took a slow, unbothered sip.

"Then you should go," Dante said mildly. "It would be unwise to keep a man like that waiting."

Grant stared at him. For a brief moment, something uneasy crossed his face, like someone who had stepped on a loose stair in the dark.

"Yes," he said. "Yes. Of course."

He grabbed his coat. He did not kiss his wife. He did not look at me. He simply left, nearly running, and the restaurant door chimed shut behind him.

Vivienne sat frozen for a moment. Then she rose with a brittle smile. "I should go after him. Men get so dramatic about work."

"Of course," I said.

"We'll talk tomorrow, Sera." Her eyes narrowed on our hands, which I had not realized were still joined. "Dante. Don't be late."

"I won't be," he said.

She swept out, and the silence she left behind was blissful.

I let out a shaky breath. "I think I just aged ten years."

"You did well," he said, sounding almost proud.

"Did you see his face?" I asked.

"I did."

"Who is the man above his boss? Why would he call Grant himself?"

Dante did not answer right away. He reached for his phone beside his plate, turned it over, and glanced at the screen.

It lit for only a second. I was not meant to see it. But I did.

One message from an unknown number. Grant is on his way, Don.

Dante's thumb moved smoothly across the glass, and the screen went dark.

"Who calls you Don?" I asked.

He looked up and met my eyes, perfectly calm. Then he smiled, and for the first time that night, the smile did not reach his eyes.

"Finish your wine, Sera," he said. "We are being watched.”