Chapter 5

The restaurant Dante took me to was the kind of place I'd never have entered on my own. Not because I couldn't afford it—before Luca had frozen my accounts, I'd been wealthy in my own right—but because these establishments radiated an exclusivity that always made me uncomfortable.

The maître d' greeted Dante by name and immediately led us to a secluded table in the back, away from prying eyes. No reservation necessary, apparently.

"Mr. Moretti, always a pleasure," he said, pulling out my chair. "Your usual table."

Dante gave a slight nod of acknowledgment as we sat down. "Thank you, Philippe. We'll start with the '09 Bordeaux."

"An excellent choice, sir."

Once we were alone, an awkward silence fell between us. The alcohol was wearing off, leaving me with a clearer head and a growing awareness of how bizarre this situation was. I was sitting across from Luca's uncle, a man I'd barely exchanged ten words with at family functions over the years, after he'd just kissed me senseless at a corporate event.

"Why am I here?" I asked finally, my fingers fidgeting with the edge of the linen tablecloth.

"Because you needed an escape," Dante replied smoothly. "And I thought you might be hungry."

As if on cue, my stomach growled. I realized I hadn't eaten all day, too busy dealing with the aftermath of signing those divorce papers.

"That's not what I meant," I said. "Why did you kiss me? Why are you... involved in this at all?"

Dante studied me for a moment, his blue eyes unreadable. "Would you believe me if I said I've wanted to do that for a long time?"

I laughed, the sound sharp and disbelieving. "No. I wouldn't."

The waiter arrived with the wine, pouring a small amount for Dante to taste. He nodded his approval, and our glasses were filled. I took a large sip immediately, needing something to steady my nerves.

"It's the truth," Dante said once we were alone again. "Though I admittedly chose a public moment for maximum impact on my nephew."

"So I was just a prop in whatever game you're playing with Luca?" I asked, anger flaring. I started to stand. "I'm not interested in being a pawn—"

"Sit down, Vivian," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "That came out wrong. Yes, the timing was deliberate. But no, you're not a prop."

I hesitated, then slowly lowered myself back into my chair. "Then what am I?"

"A woman who deserved better than what my nephew gave you," he said. "A woman I've watched suffer for far too long."

I took another sip of wine, larger this time. "You've watched me suffer? What does that mean?"

Dante leaned forward slightly. "It means I've been at enough Moretti family gatherings to see how they treated you. How Luca treated you." His jaw tightened. "It was... difficult to witness."

"If it bothered you so much, why didn't you ever say anything?" I challenged.

"Would it have made a difference? Would you have listened then?"

The question hit harder than I expected. No, I wouldn't have. I'd been too devoted to Luca, too convinced I could make our marriage work if I just tried harder, was more perfect, more accommodating.

"No," I admitted.

"And now?" he asked.

"Now what?"

"Are you ready to listen?"

I studied him, trying to gauge his intentions. "To what exactly?"

"To a proposition."

The waiter returned to take our orders. I hadn't even looked at the menu, but Dante ordered smoothly for both of us after a questioning glance that I answered with a nod. I was too intrigued—and too hungry—to care what food was placed in front of me.

When we were alone again, I leaned forward. "What kind of proposition?"

"The kind that would benefit us both," he said, taking a slow sip of his wine. "I want to help you rebuild your life, Vivian. And in return, I want your help destroying Luca's."

I nearly choked on my wine. "Destroy Luca's life? Why would you want that? He's your nephew."

"Being family doesn't excuse what he's done. To you, to others, to the business my brother built before he let Luca take over." His expression darkened. "The Moretti name used to mean something. Now it's associated with shortcuts, questionable deals, and treating people like they're disposable."

I digested this, remembering how often I'd heard Luca dismiss employee concerns, cut corners on projects, and prioritize short-term profits over long-term stability. I'd funded many of his ventures with my inheritance, believing in him despite the red flags.

"What exactly do you have in mind?" I asked cautiously.

"Information," he said simply. "You know Luca's business inside and out. You helped build it. You know his weaknesses, his vulnerabilities, his next moves."

"You want me to be a corporate spy?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I want you to be part of his downfall," Dante corrected. "Legally, of course."

Our food arrived—some kind of delicate fish dish that smelled divine. I was suddenly ravenous and took a bite, nearly moaning at the flavor.

"This is incredible," I murmured.

Dante smiled, seemingly pleased by my reaction. "Eat. We can talk more after."

For a few minutes, we ate in silence. I hadn't realized how hungry I was until the food was in front of me. Dante ate more slowly, watching me with an expression I couldn't quite decipher.

"Why now?" I asked after my initial hunger had been satisfied. "If you've disapproved of Luca for so long, why approach me today?"

"Because today you signed divorce papers," he said simply. "Today you walked away. Today you showed up at that event despite everything, head held high. Today you were ready."

A chill ran down my spine at how much he seemed to know about my day. "Have you been having me followed?"

"No," he said, looking mildly offended. "But I have contacts. I heard about the scene at the house this morning."

Of course. The Moretti family gossip network. Nothing stayed secret for long.

"So what's your stake in this?" I asked. "Why do you care about bringing Luca down?"

Dante set down his fork and leaned back in his chair, studying me. "Let's just say I have personal and professional reasons. Some of which I'm not ready to share yet."

"That's not very reassuring," I said dryly.

"I'm not asking for your trust yet," he replied. "Just your consideration."

The waiter cleared our plates and offered dessert, which we both declined. I was feeling overwhelmed—by the day, by this conversation, by Dante himself.

"I should get back to my hotel," I said.

"Of course." He signaled for the check. "I'll drive you."

"That's not necessary—"

"It's late, and you've had wine," he said firmly. "I'll drive you."

I decided it wasn't worth arguing. Besides, I was curious about what else he might reveal.