Chapter 3 - The Family Table
By Thursday evening, the atmosphere in the estate had shifted.
The grand dining room was prepared for a full trial run of the private dinner that would precede the main gala. Twelve settings were laid out, complete with crystal stemware, silver soup spoons, and personal menu cards printed on thick ivory cardstock.
Nico was dressed in a dark blue tuxedo, his hair slicked back, looking every bit the charming young heir to a legitimate fortune. He sat at the center of the table, demonstrating the subtle art of engaging two people in conversation simultaneously without turning his back on either.
Camille stood near the head of the table, taking notes on an iPad.
Lucian entered late, wearing a sharp charcoal suit with a black silk shirt, open at the collar. He walked with less tension in his stride, his shoulders broad but loose, his posture commanding without being hostile.
He did not go to the head of the table.
Instead, he walked over to where Camille was standing, took a small glass of sparkling water from a tray held by a passing waiter, and offered it to her first.
"Thank you," Camille said, looking up from her screen.
"Did I do it correctly?" Lucian asked, his eyes holding a faint, wicked spark of humor. "No aggression? No hostility?"
"You didn't threaten the waiter," Camille noted. "That is an improvement of four hundred percent."
Nico called out from across the room. "Ms. Brooks! Look! I'm using the fish knife!"
"You're using it on a bread roll, Nico," Camille called back gently. "Put it down."
Nico groaned and dropped the knife back onto the linen.
Lucian leaned his elbow on the mahogany sideboard, close enough to Camille that his arm brushed against the fabric of her emerald dress. "He’s trying."
"He’s wonderful," Camille said, watching Nico laugh with Maria near the service door. "He loves people, Lucian. That isn't a weakness in public life. It's an asset. People don't want a robot in a tuxedo. They want someone who feels real."
"In our world, feeling real gets you killed," Lucian said quietly.
Camille turned her head to look at him. "You keep saying 'our world.' But you've spent ten years legitimate-izing this family, haven't you? The freight companies are legal. The construction firms are unionized. The Foundation is fully audited."
Lucian’s gray eyes grew dark. "The legal world is dirtier than the one I grew up in, Camille. In the old days, if a man wanted your business, he came to your door with a gun and you dealt with it. Today, he comes with three lawyers, a city council member, and a public relations firm, and he destroys your name before you even know you're in a fight."
He stepped closer to her, his shadow falling over her face.
"On Saturday night, the Moretti family is being judged by two hundred people who would love nothing more than to see us fail. They want to see the thugs in the tailored suits."
"They won't see thugs," Camille said firmly, reaching out and resting her palm flat against his chest, right over his heart. "They will see men who built an empire and know how to carry it."
Lucian looked down at her hand on his chest. He could feel the steady warmth of her palm through his silk shirt. His own hand rose, hovering an inch above hers, as if he wanted to cover her fingers with his own but lacked the right to do so.
"You're very confident in us," he murmured.
"I'm confident in my work," she said, though her breath hitched slightly as his fingers brushed the back of her hand.
Across the room, Marco Bell stepped through the side entrance, his face grave. He caught Lucian’s eye and gave a tiny, sharp nod.
The warmth between Lucian and Camille vanished instantly.
Lucian’s hand dropped to his side. His body went rigid, the tension returning to his shoulders like iron plates sliding into place.
"Excuse me," Lucian said softly.
He walked across the room toward Marco, his stride long and silent.
Camille watched them speak in low, clipped whispers near the doorway. She saw Marco hand Lucian a small, folded piece of paper. She saw Lucian read it, his face turning into a mask of pure, unadulterated ice.
May you like
When Lucian looked up, his eyes met Camille's from across the sixty-foot room.
The lesson was over. The crime boss was back.
