Page 64 of Ivory Legacy

“Well, it doesn’t matter. Let’s go meet Dante’s parents,” my dad said.

Dante stiffened even more at that.

“Jade, you’re coming too, right?” Kristin’s voice sliced through the hum of conversation, her eyes bright with the thrill of the unknown. She was leaning into the circle where Marco and Dante stood, exuding the kind of excitement that only the uninitiated could feel about meeting mob royalty.

“Of course,” Marco chimed in. “You’ve gotta meet the old man at some point.”

I bit back a retort, knowing full well that ‘the old man’ was Enzo Moretti, a name that conjured images of shadowy deals and ruthless authority. The thought soured in my stomach; I couldn’t shake the awareness that behind Enzo’s tailored suits and polished shoes lurked a legacy written in blood.

“Great,” Kristin beamed, oblivious to the undercurrents swirling just beneath the surface. “I can’t wait to see where you guys grew up!”

Her enthusiasm was contagious, yet it lay on me like an ill-fitting garment. The anticipation in her voice tugged at me, but not in the way she intended. It felt like standing at the edge of a precipice, toes curling over the cold, hard lip of reality.

“Jade?” Her gaze flickered towards me, and I forced a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes.

“Meeting Enzo is...it’s a big deal,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t betray the tremor of fear that threaded through my words. “He’s not what you’d expect.”

“Come on,” she nudged, a playful grin dancing on her lips. “How scary can your boyfriend’s dad be?”

The laugh that escaped me was hollow, a sound that seemed to drift away on the wind. If only she knew. The weight of Enzo’s reputation pressed down on me, the tales of his ruthlessness whispered like ghost stories among those in the know. “Right. You’re right.”

“And punctuality,” Marco helpfully added. I wanted to strangle him.

“Then we better not keep him waiting,” she decided with newfound resolve.

“Indeed,” I agreed, my mind already racing ahead.

My family started to leave, crowd around Marco, walk toward the elevator. I stayed where I was, hugging myself, hoping anything could make this…stop.

Dante took the opportunity to come over to me. His presence was like a shield against the chill, even before his warm hand found its way to my arm.

“Jade,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of reassurance. “You have my word, I’ll stand by you today.”

I looked up into his eyes, dark pools where I often found an unexpected tenderness. This morning, they held a promise, one that seemed to reach beyond the cold exterior of his mafia heir façade.

“Your father... Enzo Moretti,” I started, the words tumbling out with more hesitation than I intended. “He’s not just another man I can charm with statistics and research findings from BioHQ.”

“Jade,” he interrupted, his thumb brushing against my arm in a gesture that might have been meant to soothe. “Yes, my father is a formidable man. But you, you’re not just any woman. You’re carrying our child, and that makes you family now.”

His logic was sound, but it skirted around the edges of my fear. Still, there was a pull in his gaze, an earnestness that made me want to believe that everything would be alright.

“Alright,” I conceded with a reluctant exhale. “But punctuality? That we can manage.” It was an attempt at lightening the mood, a small grin tugging at the corner of my mouth despite the knots in my stomach.

Dante’s lips quirked up in response, a silent chuckle in the lines around his eyes. “We’ll be on time,” he assured, giving my arm a gentle squeeze before letting go.

The car’s engine hummed a low, steady rhythm as we slipped through the streets of New York. Dante’s hands were calm and sure on the wheel, his eyes fixed ahead with a resolve that seemed to slice through the early morning fog.

My family insisted on riding the subway, because they always thought it was a novelty, and Marco had gone with them to show them the way.

In the meantime, Dante was driving us toward Little Italy, to his childhood home.

I sat beside him, my fingers unconsciously tracing the leather seam of my seat, each stitch a reminder of the world I was about to enter—a world where life hung on the edge of a blade.

“Jade,” Dante said, his voice breaking through my spiraling thoughts. “You’re quiet. Talk to me.”

I glanced over at him, taking in the sharp jawline softened by the morning light. “Just thinking about what I’m walking into,”I admitted, my words more of a sigh than I intended. The scent of his cologne wrapped around me, familiar yet fraught with the unknown.

“Enzo can be...intense,” he acknowledged, his gaze never leaving the road. “But he respects strength. You’ve got that in spades.”

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