Page 109 of Fire and Silk
I lift my napkin and dab the corner of my mouth. “Not really.”
I laugh again, a little louder. The room doesn’t echo, but the sound rests longer than I intend.
To my left, Severo cuts his food in clean lines. He hasn’t said a word since we sat.
Mico glances over. His smile pulls slightly at the edges.
“You okay over there, Dantès?” he asks, his tone light, but shaped with something sharper underneath.
Severo doesn’t look up.
“I have the most beautiful wife,” he says, lifting his wine without shifting his expression. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Mico stares at him for a beat longer than necessary. Then—
“She’s not your wife.”
The words drop with no rise. Just quiet, precise.
My fork stops mid-air.
I sit up straighter. “Mico. Don’t.”
He lifts his hands slightly, feigning innocence. “What? I’m just telling the truth.”
I don’t respond.
He leans in a little. “It’s not real. This marriage. It’s business. Everyone knows it. Even he knows it.”
I set my cutlery down gently, fingers resting on the edge of the table.
“If you’re going to act like this,” I say, “we’ll leave.”
Mico holds the look.
The room goes quiet again.
Severo reaches for his glass, eyes on the wine, jaw flexing. He hasn’t touched half his plate.
Mico clears his throat
Ten men file in through the door—armed, dressed in black, no insignias. No names. They spread to either side of the long dining table, forming a semicircle that closes off the exit. Each one carries a weapon, held firm but low. Not drawn. Not raised. Yet.
I shoot to my feet, the chair scraping back.
“What is this?” I ask, turning sharply toward Mico.
His fingers rest lightly on his glass. He doesn’t move.
“Mico—” I press, louder now. “What is happening?”
He doesn’t look at me.
Severo is already rising, slow and smooth, his gaze sweeping the room. His hand drifts to his jacket, but he doesn’t pull.
The door opens again.
Matteo steps in.
