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12: THE DINNER WASN’T FINE

Author: Francesca Chow
last update Huling Na-update: 2025-07-05 23:33:15
The thought of her even in serious situations marveled her. The crystal clinked first then came the slow, deliberate pour of aged wine into stemmed glasses, the scent of roasted rosemary lamb hanging heavy in the air, thick like the tension pressed between every eye around the table.

Ellie sat at the far end of the long oak dining table in The Marchetti estate polished to a shine, lined with silver cutlery sharp enough to gut fish or feelings alike. She hated this room, always had. The paintings that stared too long, the silence between fork clinks, the expectation carved into every surface, every bite, every glass of Barolo and tonight, it all reeked worse than usual. 86

THE DINNER WASN’T FINE

Because he was here, the Capetti boy; Giovanni Capetti clean-cut, chestnut-haired, dressed like money and manners and none of the things Ellie gave a damn about. He sat three seats to her left, next to the supposed woman who birthed Ellie a woman with pin straight silver hair and a face th
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  • VELVET GUN   11: EVERYTHING LEFT UNSAID

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    The night in Amy’s club was quieter than usual, but quiet didn’t mean peace. She sat behind her desk, the amber glow of a half empty whiskey bottle catching the dim light like liquid gold. Her fingers tapped idly against the polished wood, one hand nursing her glass the other scrolling slowly through the latest shipment logs arms, not drugs. The harder stuff was handled in the warehouse across the Hudson. Still, nothing moved without her say.Her eyes, though, weren’t really on the numbers. They drifted. To Ellie, That damn girl with the soft laugh and iron will. The one who had no idea how she was chewing through Amy’s emotional defenses like they were paper. The one with eyes like Giulia’s. The one she’d let sleep in her bed again. Amy’s jaw tensed Giulia that name still left a sour taste on her tongue.She leaned back in her leather chair, the memory of Ellie’s bare body still carved into her mind like a fresh tattoo the way she moaned Amy’s name in the backseat of her car, shamele

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