Dante: A Dark Mafia Romance Novel

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐒𝐈𝐗

𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄

La Rosa Nera was an authentic Italian restaurant frequented by members of Cosa Nostra, exuding an old-world charm. The exterior was adorned with warm, rustic brickwork, interspersed with climbing ivy and window boxes brimming with vibrant red geraniums.

Inside, the atmosphere was rich and inviting. Dark wooden beams stretched across the ceiling, complementing the deep mahogany of the paneling and furniture. The air was thick with the mouthwatering aroma of freshly baked bread, garlic, and simmering tomato sauce. The ambiance was one of intimate warmth, a haven for both locals and the powerful members of Cosa Nostra.

Tonight, however, the restaurant was closed to the public. Heavy, dark curtains had been drawn over the windows, and a "Closed for Private Event" sign hung on the door. Inside, the dining area was cleared of its usual patrons, the tables rearranged to form a more strategic layout. At the centre of the room stood a large, round table covered in crisp white linen, surrounded by plush, high-backed chairs.

As I entered La Rosa Nera with Antonio and Dominic flanking me, I felt the weight of our legacy on my shoulders. Antonio walked beside me with his grizzled, weathered face betraying years of experience and loyalty. Dominic was lean and intense, his sharp eyes constantly scanning the room for any sign of threat.

As we approached the table, I locked eyes with Toshiko Zhao. He sat with his three bodyguards, each one an imposing figure. Zhao, with his wiry frame and sharp, calculating eyes, watched us with a mixture of curiosity and caution, he was a tall man, lanky and a hunching spine probably due to age. With a greying head of hair, he was undoubtedly in his early sixties. He was also very thin, with little muscle. His bodyguards were silent and appeared formidable, their expressions cold and unreadable. A lesser man might have cowered, or felt the intimidation he so greatly wanted to project.

"Toshiko," I said smoothly, my voice edged with steel. "I'm glad you accepted my invitation."

Zhao inclined his head slightly, a thin smile playing on his lips. "Dante, it's not every day one receives an invitation to dine with the head of the Cosatti family. Correction, the future head." He grinned and I felt my hand twitch, itching to rip his thin lips from his smug looking face.

I gestured to the table, and we all took our seats, the atmosphere thick with tension. Antonio and Dominic remained standing behind me, their eyes never leaving Zhao and his men.

The weight of generations of rivalry hung heavy in the air, each of us acutely aware of the significance of this meeting within the storied walls of La Rosa Nera.

The room was silent except for the occasional clink of silverware as the staff discreetly served wine and antipasti. Leaning back in my chair, I kept my gaze firmly on Zhao. "Allow me to get to the point," I said, my tone brooking no argument.

I leaned back in my chair, studying Zhao with an intensity that made him shift slightly.

"What you pulled with my chemist," I began, my voice cutting through the silence. "Turning Ernesto was a bold move, but a messy one. I want to know why."

Zhao's thin smile widened, a hint of smugness in his eyes. "Ah, Ernesto. A means to an end, Dante. I needed to get your attention."

"Well, you have it," I said, my voice low and dangerous. "But you might not be so glad you sought it."

Zhao's expression remained calm, but I could see the calculation in his eyes. "The Cosatti family has been a thorn in my side for years. I wanted to show you that even within your tight-knit organisation, there are cracks. I wanted you to see that your invincibility is an illusion."