Chapter 5 - The Test of Nerves
The dinner progressed through four courses of exquisite Italian cuisine, accompanied by vintage Barolo and a thick, suffocating layer of undercurrent tension.
While Dominic and Romano negotiated the division of the North Atlantic shipping ports, tossing around millions of dollars and veiled threats like casual table conversation, Clara played her part to absolute perfection.
She smiled when appropriate, nodded at strategic moments, and pretended to be utterly bored by the business side of organized crime—a masterclass in acting that rivaled anything she had ever coached on a Broadway stage.
Yet, beneath the table, things were shifting.
Dominic’s knee pressed lightly against hers, a silent anchor of physical reassurance. His hand rested on her thigh, strong and steady, warm through the heavy velvet of her gown. It was meant to look like affectionate marital possession for Romano’s benefit, but as the hours ticked by, the touch lingered longer than necessary.
Romano noticed. Of course he did. Nothing escaped the old shark’s eyes.
"You are very quiet, Signora Moretti," Romano purred, leaning forward, resting his forearms on the table. "You sit beside a lion, yet you do not tremble. Tell me... have you ever seen what happens when a lion turns on its own pack?"
Clara met his gaze without flinching. "Mr. Romano, I spent ten years working in the costume department of the theater district. I have watched lead actors throw screaming tantrums, stitch together bleeding costumes three minutes before curtain, and handle directors who thought they were gods. Compared to a room full of theatrical narcissists, a syndicate boss is just a man in a very expensive suit with anger management issues."
Dominic nearly choked on his wine. He coughed softly into his napkin, his shoulders shaking with silent mirth.
Romano’s eyes narrowed, a flash of genuine respect cutting through his hardened demeanor. "You have iron in your spine, woman. Moretti is lucky you haven't poisoned his espresso yet."
"Give it time," Clara replied sweetly, flashing a blinding, Hollywood smile. "I'm pacing myself."
May you like
Romano laughed again, raising his wine glass in a toast. "To the Moretti union. May it last longer than your enemies."
Just as they touched glasses, the restaurant’s heavy oak entrance doors slammed open with a deafening crash.
