Chapter 1 - The Broken Silence
Emma froze, her hands still suspended in the air. The silence in the private dining room was heavy enough to suffocate. Dante Moretti did not move, but the temperature in the room plummeted instantly. His men subtly shifted, their fingers drifting toward the inner pockets of their tailored suits.
"I asked you a question," Dante repeated softly, his voice carrying the calm, terrible weight of absolute authority. "What are you doing?"
Emma swallowed the knot in her throat, refusing to look at the armed men surrounding her. "Your mother signed to me, Mr. Moretti. She asked for mushroom ravioli without cream. You ordered her the sea bass."
Dante stared at Emma, genuine surprise briefly breaking through his stoic mask. "She doesn't sign. She lost her hearing a few years ago. She makes hand gestures when she's confused."
"They aren't random gestures," Emma said, keeping her voice steady despite her racing heart. She turned slightly to face the older woman and raised her hands again, signing carefully: My name is Emma. I understand you.
The silver-haired woman—Rosa Moretti—let out a breath that sounded like a sob. Her eyes welled with tears as her hands moved with desperate, trembling speed: Finally. Someone who hears me. Please. Tell my son he is in danger. The men at this table are going to kill him tonight.
Emma’s breath hitched. She forced her expression to remain neutral, but Dante caught the sudden flicker of terror in her eyes.
"What did she say?" Dante demanded, leaning forward, his dark eyes locking onto Emma’s.
Emma knew that repeating the sentence could spark an immediate shootout right inside the room. "She... she said she is very happy to finally speak with someone," Emma lied quickly, trying to buy time.
May you like
Rosa immediately shook her head, frantically grabbing Emma’s wrist and signing again, faster, sharper: No! Don't cover for them! The man on Dante's right—Marco—put poison in Dante's wine while he was talking to you. Look at the glass!
Emma’s gaze instinctively shifted to Dante’s crystal wine glass sitting just inches from his hand.
