Page 7 of The Capo & the Curator

I take a sip of the rich, full-bodied wine, stalling for time as I consider my words carefully. "You could say that."

A faint smile ghosts across his lips as he swirls the wine in his glass. "Yes, well, I can assure you, there's nowhere safer in this city than right here."

The words are delivered with such casual confidence that I can't help but believe him. And yet, the implications linger, a subtle reminder of the world he inhabits—one far removed from the sheltered, scholarly existence I've constructed for myself.

I shake my head, letting out a soft huff of breath. "Your lifestyle is still rather difficult for me to wrap my head around," I admit candidly. "I've studied histories and cultures across the ages, but this..." I trail off with a rueful quirk of my lips. "This is entirely new territory."

"Then allow me to shed some light." Dante leans back against the plush leather with a thoughtful tilt of his head. "What would you like to know?"

The question gives me pause. What do I want to know? A myriad of curiosities swirl through my mind, pragmatic inquiries about his operations warring with more personal wonderings about the man himself.

Perhaps that's the best place to start.

"Your life," I murmur at last. "How did you come to be... who you are? What led you down this path?"

A fleeting shadow passes over Dante's features at the question, there and gone in an instant. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter, more pensive.

"My grandfather," he says simply. "Everything I am, everything I've become, stems from his legacy and the values he instilled in me from a young age."

“And this is his journal I’m working on?”

"Yes. He passed away recently," Dante continues, his words soft yet weighted. "And the journal is one of my few remaining connections to him." His gaze meets mine, open and earnest in a way I've never seen. "It may seem an odd request, bringing an outsider like yourself into affairs that should remain private. But you have a gift, Evelyn, a brilliance I've found unmatched. If there's truth to be uncovered in those pages, I know you're the one who can find it."

His candor strikes something deep within me, and I'm reminded of that scared, lost girl I was once. The one who found solace in history's predictable codes and patterns—anything to escape the chaos her life had become.

Perhaps we aren't so different after all.

"I understand more than you might think," I say, surprising even myself with my openness. "I lost my parents when I was young. It was devastating, to say the least. The world made no sense, everything felt unraveled and uncertain." My fingers trace idle patterns on the linen tablecloth as I gather my thoughts. "Except for codes and histories. Those became my anchor, the thing that helped me make sense of it all again."

I offer Dante a faint, rueful smile. "I know the comfort found in clinging to the past, using it as a shield against the unpredictability of the present." Our gazes meet and hold, a charged sort of understanding crackling between us.

In that moment, something shifts. What began as a simple transaction between two parties with vastly different motives has blurred into something far more complex—and infinitely more personal. We're both seeking meaning, connections to the losses that have shaped our lives in indelible ways.

And maybe we've discovered an unexpected kinship in one another.

"Well then," Dante says at last, his voice taking on a lighter tone. "If we're to be partners in unpredictability, we may as well indulge a bit, don't you think?"

I can't quite resist the urge to laugh at that, the sound escaping in a surprised huff. "You make an alarmingly compelling case, Mr. Romano."

"Dante," he corrects.

"Dante," I repeat, letting the syllables linger on my tongue.

Perhaps indulging, as he put it, wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, at least for one evening.

With that uncharacteristically reckless thought, I lift my wineglass in a silent toast, holding Dante's inscrutable gaze over the rim as I take a generous sip of the rich, full-bodied wine.

The waiter appears with an understated flourish, setting before us a decadent spread that makes my mouth water. Succulent filet mignon, buttery mashed potatoes, and crisp asparagus spears adorned with delicate edible blossoms. It's a feast worthy of royalty, and yet Dante accepts it with a casual nod, as if extravagance of this caliber is simply par for the course.

"I trust everything meets your approval?" he inquires with a faint smirk, no doubt catching the rapt way my gaze has fixated on the mouthwatering fare.

I manage a slightly dazed nod. "It's... exquisite," I murmur, unable to conjure a more articulate response.

"Then by all means, dig in."

I don't need to be told twice. We lapse into comfortable conversation as we eat, the banter flowing more easily than I would have expected given the unorthodox circumstances. He asks me about my work, my passion for ancient histories, and the intricate codes threaded within them. In turn, I find myself posing careful questions about his background and path toward inheriting the legacy that has so clearly become his life's driving force.

The wariness I harbored earlier gradually ebbs, replaced by a sense of... not quite ease, but certainly less overt tension. As the bottle of wine dwindles toward its final pour, the low thrum of music from the main dining area takes on a sultry, pulsing beat.

---