Chapter 4
The next morning, Dante arrived without an appointment. I was carrying candidate files from the cabinet when my sleeve shifted. His gaze dropped immediately.
“What happened to your wrist?”
I pulled the cuff down. “A drawer closed on it.”
“Drawers do not leave thumbs.”
“You inspect furniture professionally now.”
“Look at me.”
I did. His face had become very still.
“Did someone touch you because of this process?”
“I have no evidence of that.”
“That was not my question.”
“A stranger grabbed my wrist in the parking corridor.”
Dante stood. “Description.”
“No, Lena. I am handling it.”
“You were threatened.”
“I was warned.”
“That distinction comforts you?”
“It gives me accuracy.”
He came around the desk, then stopped several feet away. “Show me the bruise.”
“No.”
His jaw tightened. “I will not touch you. But do not insult me with a bad lie.”
I lifted the sleeve myself. Five marks circled my wrist. Dante stared at them long enough for anger to become visible only in how motionless he remained.
“What did he say?”
“That Bianca stays in the process and I stop investigating her family.”
“Remove her.”
“No.”
His eyes snapped to mine. “Someone put his hands on you. That proves someone wants her protected or removed.”
“It does not prove Bianca knows anything.”
“You are risking yourself for a candidate who may be lying.”
“Every frightened woman looks dishonest to men who have never needed fear to survive.”
The sentence stopped him. I lowered my sleeve. “I need more information.”
“What do you need from me?”
The question surprised me. It was not an order, not a solution disguised as concern.
“Nothing visible. No guards outside my office. No confrontation. No one frightening Bianca before I understand what she is afraid of.”
“A car service.”
“I take taxis.”
“A verified car service with your permission. I will consider it after late appointments.”
“A new rear lock.”
“The landlord decides that.”
“Then I will ask the landlord.”
“You will not buy the building.”
Something almost offended crossed his face. “I had not suggested it.”
“You considered it briefly.”
“Understood.”
The parking corridor light was repaired that afternoon. A steel lock replaced the old one on Monday. A car began waiting after late sessions, but the driver never stepped out or treated me like property being transferred.
Dante never mentioned the bruise again. He simply remembered.
Over the next two weeks, he came to my office after nearly every candidate meeting. Sometimes the professional discussion lasted ten minutes. He remained for an hour. He read my mother’s matchmaking book, marked pages he disagreed with, and learned I took cream in my coffee but no sugar. He noticed when I skipped dinner. The first time he ordered food without asking, I refused to eat it on principle. The second time, he placed a paper bag on the edge of my desk.
“There is soup inside,” he said. “You may eat it, throw it away, or allow it to become evidence that pride is not nutritious.”
“You are becoming manipulative.”
“I am offering choices. Three bad ones.”
“Progress remains progress.”
I ate the soup after he left.
The Bellweather Foundation gala took place on Saturday. Serena arrived in dark green. Dante entered ten minutes later and went directly to Valyria, who leaned more heavily on her cane than she had three weeks earlier. Rosina seated Serena beside him. They looked right together in the uncomplicated way society prefers — old family beside old family, beauty beside power, elegance beside threat.
I stood near the edge of the ballroom reviewing place cards when Adrienne Veil’s voice reached me from behind.
“Still positioning everyone else for the photograph.”
Adrienne had aged attractively, which felt like an administrative injustice. Celeste stood beside him in silver, one hand resting on his arm. She gave me the careful smile of a woman who knew our history and had decided money made guilt impolite.
Adrienne had once been my fiancé. I had introduced him to Celeste because her foundation needed a consultant. Three months later, he ended our engagement. Six months after that, they married. Before leaving, he told me I knew how to make every woman unforgettable except myself.
“Adrienne.”
His gaze moved toward Dante and Serena. “Impressive client.”
“He is private.”
“Nothing about Dante Varlli is private once he enters a room.”
Celeste touched his sleeve. “We should not interrupt her work.”
“She never minds.” Adrienne smiled. “Lena has always preferred standing behind the arrangement. Enjoy the gala. You know, I used to think matchmaking was romantic. Then I realized it is mostly logistics for women who understand they will never be chosen themselves.”
The old wound opened with humiliating speed. I kept my face calm because I had spent years learning not to bleed where Adrienne could see it.
“You have mistaken cruelty for insight again. It remains one of your more consistent habits — still sharp, still married to the woman I introduced you to.”
His smile tightened. Before he could answer, the air behind me changed. Dante stood close enough that Adrienne’s posture shifted.
“Is there a problem?”
“No problem. Old friends.”
“Lena does not look amused.”
“She rarely did.”
Dante’s expression became still. “Miss Marchetti is the only person in this room whose judgment I trust without reservation. If you speak to her again, choose words worthy of the privilege.”
Adrienne’s face lost color. Celeste pulled him away.
“You did not have to do that,” I said.
“Yes, I did.”
“He enjoys reactions.”
“Then he should choose safer entertainment.”
Music moved through the ballroom. Serena stood across the room supporting Valyria’s elbow. Dante followed my gaze.
“She is good with my mother.”
“Yes. You chose well.”
“That is the assignment.”
He looked at me. “When this contract ends, what happens to you?”
“I send the final invoice.”
“That was not what I asked.”
“I find another client. And after that, another.”
Something moved in his face and disappeared before I could understand it. He lifted one hand as though he might touch my cheek, but stopped before crossing the distance.
My breathing changed. Dante noticed. He lowered his hand.
“You are still my matchmaker.”
I could not tell whether it was a reminder to me or himself.
May you like
“Yes.”
Serena called his name. Dante stepped back. He went to her. I remained in the hallway until I trusted my face again.
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