Chapter 6 - The Traitor Within
A month passed in blissful tranquility, but in Dante’s line of work, peace was a fragile glass mirror.
It was a crisp autumn morning. Arya was in the kitchen, helping Cook Marisol prepare a massive batch of chocolate-chip pancakes for the kids.
The four children were sitting at the kitchen island, kicking their feet, chatting happily about their upcoming weekend trip to the Mancini family's private apple orchard upstate.
Suddenly, Gabe entered the kitchen, his face grim. He leaned down, whispering into Arya’s ear. “Ms. Penelope... Don Mancini needs you in his office immediately. Alone.”
Arya’s smile faded slightly. She wiped her hands on her apron, kissed Mia on the head, and said, “I’ll be right back, sweetie. Keep an eye on Leo; he’s trying to steal your bacon.”
“I am not!” Leo protested loudly, though his hand was currently hovering over Mia’s plate.
Arya smiled and walked down the long hallway toward Dante’s study.
When she pushed open the heavy oak doors, she stopped dead in her tracks.
Dante was standing behind his desk. Standing across from him, handcuffed and guarded by two heavy enforcers, was a man Arya recognized immediately.
It was Victor—Dante’s personal driver and right-hand logistics coordinator, a man who had served the Mancini family for fifteen years.
“Dante?” Arya asked, stepping into the room, sensing the thick, dangerous tension in the air. “What’s happening?”
Dante looked up at her, his jaw set in a hard line. “Victor has been transferring small sums of money from our domestic staff payroll accounts for six months. He was setting up a paper trail to frame you, Arya.”
Arya felt as though the air had been sucked from her lungs. “What? Frame me for what?”
“Embezzlement,” Dante said coldly, walking around the desk toward Victor. “If Moretti’s hit on the house had failed, Victor was instructed to release the fake financial documents to the police. You would have been arrested, lose custody of Mia, and I would have been forced to remove you from the estate.”
Victor sneered, spitting on the mahogany floor. “She’s a nobody, Don Mancini! A thrift-store peasant from Queens! You let her control you! You let her turn this empire into a day-care center! The other families are laughing at us!”
Dante didn't yell. He didn't lose his temper.
He walked slowly up to Victor, stopping three inches from his face. The authority radiating from Dante was so suffocating that Victor’s arrogant sneer slowly dissolved into terror.
“You targeted the mother of my children,” Dante said, his voice a low, terrifying rumble that vibrated through the floorboards. “You tried to take my family away from me.”
“Dante, please—I served your father!” Victor pleaded, sweating profusely.
“My father would have executed you ten minutes ago,” Dante stated flatly. He turned to Gabe. “Take him to the federal precinct. Hand over all the evidence of his wire fraud and treason. Let him rot in a cell for thirty years.”
“Yes, Don Mancini,” Gabe grunted, dragging the screaming traitor out of the office.
Once the door closed, Dante turned back to Arya. His chest was rising and falling heavily, the dark shadow of his mafia past lingering in his eyes.
Arya didn't run. She walked over to him, reaching out, and placed her soft hands against his broad, muscular chest, grounding him.
“I’m right here, Dante,” she whispered softly. “He didn't win. Nobody is taking us away from you.”
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Dante wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her warm, comforting scent. “I was so close to losing you,” he rasped.
“You’re stuck with me, Dante Mancini,” Arya smiled against his shoulder. “Now come back to the kitchen. The pancakes are getting cold, and Leo is definitely stealing Mia’s bacon.”
