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“Of course.”
He picked up his Frostie and shuffled out of the kitchen, leaving me in the way of the caterers.
“There you are!” Rosa exhaled, her face in the same scowl it had been since she’d told me off. “It’s time to be seated for dinner.”
“Okay,” I demurred. There was no way I was going to rock the boat on Dante Sr.’s death anniversary.
We walked in silence to the dining room. At the archway, Marco took Rosa’s hand and escorted her to the head of the table, where she sat to his left.
“Sasha?” Taz touched my elbow, and we shared a sad smile. “Let’s get this over with,” he whispered. Morettis and Moretti associates moved out of our way as I was led to the chair across from Rosa.
Fantastic.
Every chair at the impossibly long table filled, and Marco stood. “Thank you all for coming to honor Dante Sr. It’s been a tough year for the family, but we’ve made it through in a way that would make him proud.” He glanced down at Rosa, who was trembling but kept her head held high. “Please raise your glass to the memory of Dante Moretti.”
After a solemn toast and prayer, the first course was served, and the long, quiet dinner began. Marco tried to draw me into a conversation, but his heart was clearly not in it.
No.
His attention was on Adriana and Dante. He didn’t talk to her, and she didn’t look his way, but his attention stayed on them all the same. The whole situation was heartbreaking.
And poor Dante. He behaved respectfully with his mom, but his spark was gone. There was no trivial chatter about his obsession of the week, no silly faces while the adults droned on cryptically about serious matters, and the most troubling thing was him pushing away his dessert. The kid had the biggest sweet tooth I’d ever seen. For him to pass on a chocolate torte with a scoop of ice cream was an unmistakable cry for help.
Adriana rubbed his back. “Dante, don’t you—”
Marco’s quiet curse drew the eyes of the whole table. He had his phone in hand, his expression morphing from resigned sadness to pure rage.
“Sasha, get your phone and meet me in the office.”
“Oh-kay.” I balled up my napkin and set it on the table. Rosa’s ice queen act softened to concern as I stood to leave the room. As quickly as I could without full-out running, I rushed to the kitchen and snagged my clutch from the table.
The bag vibrated as I picked it up, and I fumbled with the latch, ultimately dropping the small bag on the floor. My lipstick rolled under the table, but I was too engrossed in answering the call from the jail to dive for it.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Moretti?”
“Yes?”
“There’s been a situation.”
I fell into a chair, muttering, “What happened?”
