After work, I was about to meet a tribute partner when Dante's black sedan pulled to the curb in front of me. "Get in," he said. "I'll take Serafina home first, then take you to the seafood buffet on Maple Road."
Serafina leaned out from the passenger seat with a bright smile. "Sorry, Bianca, I'm hitching a ride again!" she said cheerfully.
I raised my hand to hail a cab and replied casually, "You two go ahead. I'm allergic to seafood."
Dante's face darkened immediately. He knew I had never been allergic. That buffet was one of my favorites.
He looked like he wanted to say something, but I didn't give him the chance. I stepped around the car and got into a taxi on the other side of the road, closing the door behind me without looking back.
I hadn't expected Dante to show up at the restaurant, let alone bring Serafina with him. When I arrived, the client hadn't come yet, and the table felt unusually quiet. The private dining room the hostess led me to was one of those back-corner arrangements with heavy curtains and a single exit, the kind of place where men like Vittorio Marino preferred to do business. Not long after, Dante walked in as if it were the most natural thing in the world, Serafina following closely behind him. Without asking for my permission, they took the seats directly across from me.
Feeling both confused and irritated, I didn't bother hiding my displeasure. "I have an appointment," I said bluntly. "With Vittorio Marino." My tone made it clear that they weren't welcome to stay.
Dante raised an eyebrow slightly, his expression calm but carrying an unspoken authority. "Has Vittorio ever said he doesn't want to see me?" he asked casually, as if my objection held no weight at all.
I paused, my words caught in my throat. There was nothing I could say to that. In the end, I fell silent and didn't insist further. No matter what, Dante was still the Don, and in this setting, I had no position to challenge him openly.
When Vittorio Marino arrived, the atmosphere shifted into formal politeness. Two of his soldiers took positions near the curtain without being told. During the meal, Vittorio instructed his man to open a bottle of fine wine, clearly intending to entertain and build rapport. The rich aroma soon filled the air.
I frowned slightly as I looked at the glass being poured. My thoughts drifted back to the day I had gone to schedule the abortion. The doctor had spoken to me with unusual seriousness, repeating the warning more than once. "After your miscarriage from the car accident, your uterus is already damaged," she had said. "It's a miracle you can get pregnant again. If you lose this one too, you may never be able to conceive again."
Remembering those words, I pressed my lips together. I was just about to decline the wine politely when Serafina suddenly spoke up, her voice bright and cheerful. "I've heard people say Bianca has an amazing alcohol tolerance," she said with a smile. "I've always wanted to see it for myself. Looks like today I finally get the chance!"
Her eyes sparkled with what seemed like admiration, her expression completely innocent, as if she had no ulterior motive behind her words. Her fingers drifted to the thin strap of her necklace and smoothed it once, lightly.
I turned my head slightly and looked at her, my gaze cold. "Who told you that?" I asked, my tone calm but sharp enough to cut through her performance.
Her smile froze instantly. She looked flustered, then quickly turned to Dante, her voice turning soft and uncertain. "Did I say something wrong again…?" she asked, as if she were genuinely worried.
Dante reached out and casually ruffled her hair, his gesture gentle and indulgent. Then he looked at me, his expression turning cold again. "Bianca, it's just a glass of wine," he said flatly. "You're not a child anymore. Stop acting so reserved."
A chill spread through my chest at his words. I pressed my thumbnail into the inside of my wrist beneath the table, feeling the skin pale under the pressure. Meeting his indifferent gaze, I forced a faint smile onto my lips. Then, enunciating each word clearly, I said, "Don Ravazzani, I can't drink. I'm pregnant."
The moment the words left my mouth, the entire table fell silent. It was as if time had frozen for a second. Vittorio's hand paused over his napkin. One of the soldiers by the curtain shifted his weight. Dante's signet ring, which he had been turning idly with his thumb a moment before, went completely still.
Serafina was the first to react. The surprise in her eyes flickered briefly before she quickly masked it. She stood up with a smile, raising her glass. "Congratulations, Bianca!" she said brightly, as if she were genuinely happy for me.
She lifted the glass to her lips, about to drink, but Dante immediately reached out to stop her. "Serafina, you're pregnant. You can't drink," he said, his voice firm, concern evident in every word.
