Sinclair greeted us with a composed nod as we stepped into the grand entryway. “Welcome, gentlemen.” His voice held a calm authority, the kind that made it clear we were guests here, not equals.
Cesar took the lead, moving forward confidently and extending his hand in greeting. “Sinclair,” he acknowledged, his tone formal but not unfriendly.
Sinclair’s lips curved into a small, enigmatic smile. “Don Vitale. Please come in,” he said, gesturing smoothly for us to enter farther into the house. His welcome was polite, but measured, every word carefully chosen.
As soon as the heavy door closed behind us, I couldn’t hold back any longer. My voice was sharp with urgency as I demanded, “Where is my wife?”
Cesar’s tone was quick and admonishing. “Massimo,” he chided, reminding me with a single word to keep my composure, even as anxiety throbbed beneath my skin.
Sinclair’s expression remained remarkably neutral, though a faint glimmer of amusement flickered in his eyes at the outburst. “That’s right,” he replied, his voice even and unhurried. He cast a brief glance at Cesar before returning his attention to me, choosing his next words with deliberate care. “Please accept my belated congratulations on your wedding.”
Before I could respond, Cesar intervened, his voice strong and protective. “My brother thanks you. You must forgive him. Marriage is new to him, and he doesn’t know how to behave.” There was a firmness in his tone, a signal to let him handle the conversation from here.
I recognized that warning note in Cesar’s voice all too well.
He was making it clear: I was to keep my damn mouth shut.
Sinclair’s grin widened as he glanced over at Cesar. “Newlyweds,” he remarked, a hint of amusement in his tone. “Allthose newly revealed emotions. It must be hard to keep them in check.”
Cesar let out a groan, exasperation clear in his voice. “You have no idea.”
Sinclair’s eyes sparkled knowingly. “Trust me, Don Vitale. I know.” He snapped his fingers, and from the shadows, a butler emerged, standing at attention and awaiting instructions. “If you all would follow me, my cook has prepared a wedding breakfast for the newlyweds.”
I bristled at the comment, my fists clenching as I prepared to respond, but before I could, Cesar spoke up smoothly. “We thank you for the invitation, Sinclair. We would love to join you.”
Sinclair clapped his hands together, his smile broadening. “Perfect. The bride should be with us shortly. In the meantime, I thought we could talk, Don Vitale. Business before pleasure, if you will.”
“Absolutely,” Cesar replied, removing his coat and gloves and handing them to the waiting butler. Reluctantly, I mimicked Cesar’s actions and shrugged off my own coat, following his lead.
Sinclair settled into his seat at the head of the table, his demeanor calm but focused. “I heard about the incident outside Renaldi’s Place,” he began, his gaze shifting around the group. “I trust that the perpetrators have been found?”
Cesar nodded in acknowledgment, his movements measured as he placed a pristine white linen napkin in his lap. “Yes,” he replied simply.
“Good,” Sinclair responded, giving a brief nod before signaling to the butler, who then exited the room without a sound. Sinclair’s tone grew more somber. “It’s a sad day when decent, upstanding citizens can’t enjoy a decent meal without interruption.”
“Agreed,” came the consensus, the weight of recent events hanging in the air.
With a composed gesture, Sinclair reached for his wineglass and took a measured sip before lowering his voice just enough to focus the conversation. “Tell me, Don Vitale, does Massimo’s bride know the truth?”
The question hung in the air. I tensed immediately, feeling Luca’s warning glance as he discreetly kicked my shin under the table, clearly signaling me to stay silent. Cesar, unruffled, replied with practiced ease, “That would depend on what truth you are talking about, Sinclair.”
Sinclair tilted his head slightly, lowering his glass and considering Cesar’s words. “There is more than one secret?” he asked, probing further.
Cesar’s lips curled into a slight, knowing smile. “Isn’t there always?” he retorted, the hint of amusement in his voice belying the tension in the room.
Sinclair offered a sly smirk. “Touché.” His tone shifted, becoming more pointed. “But I am talking about her current problems. Does she know that her husband is responsible for her academic difficulties?”
Cesar’s expression did not falter. “No,” he replied, his voice flat. “And those problems will go away now that they are married.”
Sinclair nodded, a conspiratorial gleam in his eye as he pressed his point. “I’m glad to hear that,” he said, his voice carrying an edge of authority. “I’ve had time to speak to her, andshe was very forthcoming. Her intelligence should be revered, not subjugated.”
The silence that followed Sinclair’s declaration was as heavy as a storm about to break. My heart pounded in my chest, and I saw Luca’s jaw tense, knuckles whitening as he gripped the edge of the table. No one dared to contradict Sinclair, not here and not now, and the implicit threat in his words left all of us acutely aware of the stakes.
It wasn’t a suggestion.
Sinclair’s intentions were clear, and antagonizing him was a risk none of us were willing to take—not even me. He was the unpredictable element at the table. While he conducted business with various organizations, his true loyalty was only to himself. His reputation for being feared was well-earned, and even the Italian Council preferred to remain on his good side.
Cesar cleared his throat, breaking the tense silence that lingered at the table. “If I may,” he began, his voice measured and diplomatic. “What is the word from the biker world?”
