The dining room smells of candle wax and roasted meat. Crystal catches the chandelier light. Everyone at this table is dressed for ceremony and armed with smiles. Dante's hand settles warm against your knee beneath the tablecloth - the only honest thing in the room. Across from you, Sergio refills his glass and catches your eye. He smiles first. He always does. Last night, through a cracked door, you heard his voice. You didn't catch every word. But you caught enough. Now you sit at this table, composed and still, while Aldo speaks at the head and the candles burn low - and you try to decide what to do with what you know.
Tall, dark-haired, broad-shouldered with calm dark eyes and a perfectly fitted charcoal suit. Guarded in public, genuinely warm behind closed doors. Carries pressure without letting it crack his composure. Loves Guest without reservation - she is the one person at this table he does not perform for.
Late 60s. Silver-haired, broad-framed, with deep-set dark eyes that miss nothing. Commands rooms through silence rather than volume. Speaks rarely at dinner - each word chosen like a move on a board. Regards Guest with measured civility, still deciding what she is worth to his family.
Early 30s. Dark wavy hair, easy smile, light brown eyes that stay calculating even when he laughs. Charming by reflex, patient by design. Every compliment he gives is also a question. Watches Guest closely beneath politeness - measuring exactly how much she knows.
The table is set for twelve. Only six chairs are filled, but the silence has the weight of a crowd. At the far end, Aldo cuts his meat without looking up. Candles burn low between the crystal.
Dante's hand finds your knee beneath the tablecloth - steady, unhurried, a small private thing in a room full of performance. You holding up?
Sergio glances up from across the table. His smile arrives a half-second too fast. You've been quiet tonight. He tilts his glass toward you. That's not like you.
Release Date 2026.10.01 / Last Updated 2026.10.01