"Good evening, sir. May I offer you something to drink?"
"Champagne."
"Certainly."
"Not that one."
He pointed toward the bottle in her hand.
"Bring the French reserve."
Elena nodded.
"Of course."
"And close the curtains."
She glanced toward the windows.
"Certainly, sir."
He finally looked at her.
"Your name?"
"Elena."
"Elena what?"
"Rossi."
The silence that followed was brief.
But it was enough.
Alessandro placed his glass down.
"Rossi?"
"Yes, sir."
He studied her face.
Then he asked a question that made her forget the bottle in her hand.
"Did you know a woman named Isabella?"
Elena's heart missed a beat.
She had heard that name before.
Not from strangers.
From her mother.
But her mother had died when Elena was eleven, and the few stories she remembered were fragmented.
"I don't think so."
Alessandro watched her carefully.
"Think harder."
"I'm sorry, sir. I have work to do."
She turned.
"Wait."
His voice was still polite.
Elena stopped.
"That necklace."
Her hand moved instinctively toward her collar.
It was an old silver pendant shaped like a small star. The chain was thin, and the metal had darkened with age.
Her mother had given it to her shortly before she died.
She had been told never to remove it.
Not even for sleeping.
"Where did you get it?" Alessandro asked.
"It belonged to my mother."
"What was her name?"
Elena hesitated.
"Isabella Rossi."
For the first time that evening, Alessandro Moretti appeared genuinely surprised.
He stood.
The movement was slow, but the chair scraped against the marble.
"Your mother was Isabella?"
Elena stepped backward.
"Do you know her?"
Alessandro didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he looked toward the far side of the room.
Two men in dark suits had been standing near the entrance.
He made a small gesture.
They began moving toward the table.
Elena understood that something was wrong.
"Sir, I need to return to the kitchen."
"No."
She frowned.
"Excuse me?"
"You aren't going anywhere until we finish this conversation."
His words were not loud.
They didn't need to be.
Elena looked toward the nearest waiter.
He suddenly became very interested in polishing a glass.
She looked toward the security guards.
One of them was watching her.
Then Alessandro leaned across the table.
"Your mother stole something from my family."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Twenty years ago, she disappeared with a document."
Elena shook her head.
"My mother was a nurse. She worked at a hospital."
Alessandro gave a small, humorless laugh.
"Your mother was many things."
He reached toward her necklace.
Elena immediately pulled away.
"Don't touch me."
His hand stopped.
For a moment, the man's expression became almost curious.
Then he smiled.
"That is exactly what Isabella used to say."
And that was when Dante Vitale appeared.
***
Dante had arrived at the gala twenty minutes earlier.
He wasn't supposed to be there.
The invitation had been sent to his uncle, who had suffered a stroke two months before. Dante had decided to attend in his place.
The Vitale family had been losing influence.
Their shipping contracts were under investigation, their political connections were weakening, and several smaller criminal organizations had begun testing their territory.
Dante needed to remind the city that the Vitales were still standing.
He had spent most of the evening speaking to business associates.
Then he noticed Alessandro Moretti.
The man was sitting at table seventeen, leaning toward a young waitress who looked increasingly uncomfortable.
Dante recognized the posture.
He had seen it in courtrooms, private clubs, and abandoned warehouses.
Alessandro was interrogating her.
Dante initially intended to ignore it.
Until he saw the pendant.
A small silver star.
He knew that symbol.
His father had kept an identical photograph in the locked drawer of his study.
And beside the photograph was a name.
Isabella.
Dante had spent half his life wondering why his father became a different man whenever that name was mentioned.
Now, the daughter of Isabella Rossi was standing in front of Alessandro Moretti.
Dante crossed the room.
He didn't rush.
Men who rushed often made mistakes.
He approached the table and placed his hand on the marble.
"Take your hand off her table."
Alessandro turned.
The two men exchanged a look.
There were no greetings.
No smiles.
Only twenty years of unfinished business.
"You're interrupting," Alessandro said.
"I noticed."
"Then perhaps you should leave."
Dante glanced at Elena.
"Come with me."
She hesitated.
Alessandro laughed softly.
"She isn't your employee."
"No."
Dante looked directly at him.
"She's not yours either."
Alessandro's jaw tightened.
Elena looked from one man to the other.
She had no idea who Dante was.
But something about his presence made the room feel slightly less dangerous.
"Who are you?" she whispered.
Dante looked down.
"Someone who doesn't want you caught between two men who have forgotten how to behave."
Alessandro stood.
"Be careful, Dante."
Dante adjusted his cuff.
"I've been careful for thirty-two years. It's becoming exhausting."
For a moment, it seemed that Alessandro might strike him.