The table is set for six people.
Dante sits at the head with Sofia on his right and me on his left.
Rico, Enzo, and Luca take the empty seats, making this a full table for the evening.
I wonder how often he invites his solders in for dinner or if he's only done this to show me they, too, can be good men.
The men are polite and respectful.
They ask Sofia about her drawings and the nativity scene.
They compliment the food.
They keep the conversation light and avoid any mention of business.
It feels almost normal.
Like we're just a family having dinner with friends.
Sofia chatters happily about Christmas plans and what she wants Santa to bring, and Dante listens and responds with patience and warmth. I watch him and feel my walls crumbling.
Halfway through the meal, a guard appears in the doorway.
He looks tense.
He catches Dante's eye and gestures toward the hallway.
Dante sets his napkin down and stands.
"Excuse me for one moment," he says politely, and to add more weight to it, he kisses my forehead before walking away.
He moves to the doorway and speaks with the guard in low tones.
I can't hear the full conversation, but I catch enough words to understand.
Some other catastrophic attack has happened—burning a truck—and I brace myself for the surge of anger that will surely come when he tells us he has to rush off to deal with it yet again.
My stomach drops.
I glance at Sofia to make sure she is still occupied with her food.
Then I look at the men across the table.
Rico and Enzo exchange a glance.
They know what it means too, and they shovel food into their mouths faster now.
Dante returns to the table after a few minutes.
His expression is calm but his jaw is tight.
He sits down and picks up his fork like nothing happened.
"Everything alright?" I ask quietly.
"It's handled," he says, but then he lifts his eyebrows at Rico who’s already poised to stand. "Go on and help. Just report to me when it's finished."
His men stand and excuse themselves, downing their wine quickly before heading out.
