Chapter 1 - THE DROP OF WATER
The first time I saw Dante Russo, I did not really see him.
I saw what happened to the restaurant when he walked in.
The conversations became quieter. Silverware stopped clinking quite so loudly. Even the kitchen seemed to lose its usual rhythm.
“Table Seven,” Monica whispered.
She handed me a leather menu.
“Corner booth.”
I followed her gaze.
The corner booth was normally reserved for people whose names appeared on the restaurant's private list.
Tonight, three men occupied it.
Two were bodyguards.
The third was Dante Russo.
Everyone in East Harbor knew his name.
I didn't know whether every story about him was true, but I knew enough to understand that men like Dante Russo did not need to raise their voices to make a room nervous.
“Don't stare,” Monica whispered.
“I wasn't.”
“You were.”
She swallowed.
“And don't mess up.”
I adjusted my apron.
“Why me?”
“Manager said you're least likely to make small talk.”
That was probably true.
After spending four years caring for my father through an illness that eventually took his life, I had become comfortable with silence.
I approached the table.
“Good evening.”
The two guards looked at me.
Dante didn't.
His attention remained on a phone beside his glass.
“Welcome to La Stella.”
Nothing.
I stood there awkwardly.
Then he lifted his eyes.
I understood immediately why people described him as dangerous.
He wasn't frightening because he looked cruel.
He looked controlled.
Dark hair. Strong jaw. Charcoal suit. White shirt open at the collar. A watch that probably cost more than my apartment.
But his eyes were different.
They studied everything.
Including me.
“Water,” he said.
His voice was low.
I nodded.
“Would you like to hear tonight's specials?”
“No.”
He glanced at the menu.
“Bring the 1989 Brunello. And whatever appetizers the chef recommends.”
I wrote it down.
As I turned, he stopped me.
“Your name?”
“Eleanor.”
His gaze moved briefly to my name tag.
“Everyone calls me Ellie.”
“Not tonight.”
I looked at him.
“Tonight, you're Eleanor.”
I didn't know why those words stayed with me.
Maybe because nobody had called me Eleanor in years.
I returned with the wine.
Dante was alone.
His guards had moved to a nearby table.
A small velvet box rested beside his hand.
He opened it.
A diamond ring.
Huge.
Beautiful.
Terrifyingly expensive.
“Do you think she'll like it?” he asked.
I stared at the ring.
“It's beautiful.”
“And?”
I hesitated.
“Intimidating.”
One eyebrow rose.
“Intimidating?”
“Like wearing a building on your finger.”
For one second, I thought I had ruined everything.
Then he laughed.
Not politely.
He actually laughed.
It was the first time I saw the man beneath the reputation.
I poured his wine.
“You're new here,” he said.
“Six months.”
“Before that?”
“I took care of my father.”
His expression changed.
“He died in January.”
I nodded.
Dante said nothing for several seconds.
Then he quietly asked, “And now you're alone?”
“Yes.”
His fingers rested around the wineglass.
“That can be dangerous.”
Before I could answer, the kitchen door opened.
Marco walked out.
My stomach tightened.
He wasn't supposed to be working.
He carried a tray of appetizers.
But he wasn't looking at the food.
He was looking at Dante.
Then I noticed something else.
His right hand remained inside his jacket.
A strange bulge pressed against the fabric.
My heart started beating faster.
Marco approached.
“Compliments of the chef.”
His fingers moved beneath his jacket.
I didn't think.
I stepped toward Dante.
“Keep still.”
He looked at me.
I grabbed his hand beneath the table.
His fingers closed around mine.
Hard.
Marco took another step.
I knocked over the water.
It splashed across Dante's lap.
“I'm sorry!”
I grabbed a napkin and deliberately leaned between Marco and Dante.
The movement blocked Marco's view for half a second.
That was enough.
Dante's guards moved.
One seized Marco's wrist.
Something metallic fell from his hand.
A syringe.
The room exploded into motion.
Marco struggled.
A chair overturned.
Guests screamed.
Dante stood calmly.
His eyes never left mine.
Then he looked down at the syringe.
“Why did you do that?”
I swallowed.
“I don't know.”
He stepped closer.
“That's not what I asked.”
“I saw his hand.”
“You saved my life.”
“I spilled water on you.”
His mouth almost curved.
“You did both.”
One guard dragged Marco toward the back corridor.
Dante's hand settled gently against my lower back.
“We're leaving.”
I stiffened.
“No.”
His eyes narrowed.
“No?”
“I have a shift.”
“Eleanor.”
He leaned closer.
“The man who tried to kill me saw your face.”
I looked toward the corridor.
The truth finally reached me.
I had no idea what I had just stepped into.
Dante's voice lowered.
“Whoever sent him will know you interfered.”
My mouth went dry.
“Then what happens?”
He looked at me for a long moment.
“Now?”
He opened the restaurant door.
“You come with me.”
I should have refused.
May you like
Instead, I followed.
And neither of us knew that the syringe on that restaurant floor was only the first piece of a much larger betrayal.
