Chapter 2 - The Treasonous Translation
The cinematic tension in the grand dining room spiked to an apocalyptic level.
Every single formally dressed guest at the long mahogany table stopped talking. The clinking of expensive crystal glasses ceased. Dante stood towering over me, the heavy silver wine pitcher in his tattooed hand, waiting for my answer.
"Don't listen to her, Dante!" Isabella shrieked, completely abandoning her high-society elegance. She stood up, her red evening gown catching the candlelight. "She's a lying, psychotic peasant! Look at her! She's bleeding because she attacked one of my guards in the hallway!"
Dante didn't even blink at his wife. He kept his intense, dark eyes locked entirely on mine.
"Translate. The. Words," Dante repeated, his voice dropping into a lethal, demonic register.
I took a sharp, painful breath, clutching my bleeding side.
"The man in the grey suit asked if you knew about the agreement, Mr. Moretti," I stated clearly, my voice echoing off the crystal chandeliers. "He was asking your wife if you knew that the southern shipping ports were already sold to his cartel this morning."
Carlo, the older man, physically staggered backward in his chair.
"And before you walked into the room," I continued, entirely fearless, "your wife told him in Italian that you wouldn't live long enough to find out about the missing territory."
All the color violently drained from Isabella’s perfectly contoured face. She looked like a ghost.
"You lying bitch!" Isabella screamed, lunging across the table to claw at my face.
May you like
Dante’s hand shot out with blinding, terrifying speed. He caught his wife by the wrist, stopping her mid-air. His grip was an iron vise.
👉 Dante looked at the massive bloodstain on my apron, realizing the horrifying truth of how I got injured in his impenetrable fortress.
