Page 5 of Ivory Obsession
“Right,” I said. “You’re right.”
Maybe she was right. But at that moment, I couldn’t have known that Dante Moretti would turn out to be far more than I had ever bargained for.
Chapter Three: Dante
Tonight was about proving myself.
The cufflinks clicked into place, their coolness a reminder of the armor I once wore. In my old room’s half-light, shadows clung to the corners as if even they knew to keep their distance from a Moretti. I straightened the lines of my suit, the fabric whispering over my skin, an echo of a life I was shackled to by blood and honor.
“Another night, another charade,” I murmured, catching my reflection’s eye in the mirror. The man staring back had the same hard jaw and calculated gaze that had become my trademark—the mask of Dante Moretti, the dutiful son.
Behind me, Marco’s hands were a stark red against the white of the money he counted, his laugh a low rumble that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You clean up well,” he said.
He didn’t look up from his task, his focus unbreakable—a trait we both inherited from our father, Enzo, The Don.
“Isn’t that what we do best?” I shot back, adjusting my tie with a practiced ease.
“I haven’t mastered cosplaying yet,” he said, looking at the stack of bills in his hand.
Laughter filtered up the stairs, soft and warm like a blanket I couldn’t afford to wrap myself in. Ma’s cooking—the scent of rich tomato sauce and fresh basil—wafted through the air, tugging at something deep within. Home. It was supposed to feel like home, yet here I was, preparing to step out and secure another piece for the empire. The dissonance between the family I loved and the life I led was never more evident than in these moments before the performance began.
“You okay, big man?” Marco asked, his hands stilling.
“Still haven’t gotten used to suits,” I said.
He nodded. “You said this is all for the family,” Marco said, finally glancing up, his gaze sharp despite the red on his hands. It was a reminder, one I didn’t need but took all the same.
“Always for the family,” I agreed, my voice steady as I left the ghost of my childhood behind, each step down the stairwell heavy with purpose. The laughter grew louder, the scents stronger, but my mind was already on the night ahead. Tonight, I wasn’t just Dante Moretti. Tonight, I was the future of the Moretti legacy, and nothing could shake my resolve.
“Right, well, I should be off…”
“Come on, Dante,” Marco’s voice chased me toward the exit of the bedroom, his words punctuated by the crisp snap of rubber bands as he bundled the money. “You sure you wouldn’t rather roll with me tonight? The biotech fundraiser can’t be that interesting. This could be for the family too. Mom would flip if you gave her a grandson.”
I turned back to look at him, the corners of my mouth twitching despite myself. “Trust me, nothing sounds more appealing than escaping to wherever you’re heading, but some of us have responsibilities beyond...what was it? Thongs in yoga pants?”
Marco grinned, unabashed. “Man, I’m telling you, there’s nothing like it. It’s art, Dante. Pure, unadulterated art.”
“Art?” I scoffed. “I prefer a masterpiece of the mind. There’s something about a woman who knows her genome from her genomics, if you catch my drift.”
“Ah, brains over beauty, huh?” Marco teased, shaking his head. “You always were the deep one.”
“Beauty fades, brother. Intelligence is forever sexy.” I couldn’t help the smirk that danced on my lips. Marco and I might be cut from the same cloth, but our patterns were worlds apart.
“Suit yourself.” He shrugged, turning back to his counting. “But when you’re bored out of your mind listening to science talk, just remember the offer stands.”
“Science talk is exactly my kind of party.” I gave him a mock salute before grabbing my keys off the bed closest to me. “And don’t forget to clean up before dinner. Ma’s spaghetti deserves respect.”
“Her wooden spoon demands it,” Marco replied, laughing. “Go, show those rich folk how the Morettis charm their way to power.”
I shook my head, my keys jingling in my hands. “Well, how did you do it?”
“Baseball bat,” he replied, flashing me a toothy smile from the desk we’d use so many times to do our homework on. I looked behind me, at the baseball bat leaning against his childhood bed, decorated by tiny specks of drying blood.
“Baseball bat,” I echoed, shaking my head in mock disappointment. “Marco, you’re such a simpleton.”
“Hey, watch it.” He wagged a finger at me. “I’ve got brains too, just...more practical ones.”
“Practical?” My chuckle was sharp, cutting through the thick tension that always seemed to hover around us. “You mean the kind that gets you into trouble with Enzo?”