Page 14 of Dante
"And you?" she counters. "What do you want from this evening?"
"What do I want from this evening?" I repeat her question, considering how much truth to offer. "To know you better. To understand what drives someone to reject the path laid before them and forge their own, despite the cost."
She looks skeptical. "That's it? Just philosophical curiosity?"
"For tonight," I say, leaving the implication of future intentions hanging between us. "Shall we?"
I signal for the check, which appears immediately. The owner himself approaches our table, a stout man with salt-and-pepper hair and the weathered face of someone who has seen much in his years.
"Signor Veneziano," he says warmly in Italian, "everything was to your satisfaction?"
"Perfect as always, Paolo," I respond in the same language, rising to shake his hand. "Thank you for accommodating us on short notice."
"For you, always." His eyes shift to Elena, assessing her with the gaze of someone who has witnessed many of my dining companions over the years. Something in his expression softens when he sees her. "Your guest enjoyed herself, I hope?"
"The food was exceptional," Elena answers in fluent Italian before I can respond, surprising both of us. "Especially your grandmother's risotto recipe."
Paolo's face breaks into a delighted smile. "Ah! You speak our language beautifully, signorina."
"My mother insisted," she explains with a small shrug. "She said no true appreciation of art was possible without understanding Italian."
"A wise woman," Paolo approves, throwing me a meaningful glance that I choose to ignore.
After saying our goodbyes, we step outside into the cool night air. The street is quiet now, most of the nearby restaurants having closed for the evening. My car waits at the curb, Raphael standing beside it with his usual alertness.
"Ms. Rossi," he nods respectfully as we approach.
"I’m guessing you know my adress," she says to him, a statement rather than a question.
"Of course, ma'am," he replies, opening the rear door.
Elena hesitates, looking up at me. The streetlight casts half her face in shadow, giving her an air of mystery that suits her. "This has been... unexpected."
"In a good way, I hope," I say, keeping a short distance between us on the sidewalk.
"I haven't decided yet," she repeats her earlier sentiment, a small smile playing at her lips.
I gesture toward the open car door. "After you."
She slides into the back seat, the dark fabric of her dress shifting against the leather as she settles herself. I follow, instructing Raphael to take us to Ms. Rossi's apartment.
The interior of the car is intimate in its darkness, the privacy partition creating a bubble that feels removed from the world outside. Elena stares out the window as we pull away from the curb, her profile thoughtful in the passing streetlights.
"You never answered my question," she says after a few moments of silence. "About what you are. What you do."
I study her, weighing my response. "Would an honest answer change anything between us?"
She turns to face me, expression serious. "It might."
"I am what circumstance and choice have made me," I say. "A businessman with interests that occasionally require... unconventional protection."
"That's a very diplomatic way of saying you're the head of a criminal organization," she observes, no judgment in her tone, just statement of fact.
"Some would use those words," I acknowledge. "Others would say I provide services and security in areas where legitimate options are limited or nonexistent."
"And which would you say?" she presses.
"I'd say the truth is rarely simple, Elena." I maintain eye contact, letting her see that I'm not being evasive, merely precise. "The world isn't divided neatly into legal and illegal, right and wrong. There are always gray areas."
