Chapter 7 - The Dinner Invitation
Dominic invited Vincent Rinaldi to dinner.
Enzo thought it was a terrible idea, which meant it was probably necessary.
“You want him inside the house?” Enzo asked.
“I want him comfortable.”
“That man is never comfortable unless someone else is bleeding.”
Dominic gave him a look.
“Then we’ll offer wine.”
The dinner was set for eight in the smaller west dining room, intimate enough to seem friendly, formal enough to feel like a warning. Dominic ordered the staff reduced to only those he trusted. Mrs. Alvarez supervised the kitchen. Sofia, still recovering, was not told until after the fact because Dominic had no intention of letting her fear become part of the evening’s entertainment.
Whitfield and Clara remained confined to separate rooms under guard.
Not locked, officially.
Dominic had excellent lawyers.
But no one left.
Rinaldi arrived in a charcoal suit with two men and the smile of someone who believed charm could survive evidence.
“Dominic,” he said warmly. “You should have called sooner. I hear you had household trouble.”
Dominic kissed the air beside his cheek like they were friends.
“I hear many things too.”
They sat.
The first course was served.
Rinaldi praised the soup.
Dominic praised nothing.
For twenty minutes they discussed weather, construction contracts, a judge retiring in Westchester, and a fundraiser neither of them intended to attend. Then Dominic set down his glass.
“Tell me why your property was in my stable.”
Rinaldi’s smile paused.
Only a breath.
“I’m sorry?”
“Don’t be. Just be accurate.”
Rinaldi leaned back.
“I don’t know what you were told.”
“I wasn’t told. I found it.”
“Then perhaps someone used my name.”
Dominic nodded.
“Perhaps.”
Rinaldi’s gaze sharpened. “You think I’d move goods through your house without permission?”
“I think you’d move goods through a church if the priest owed you money.”
Rinaldi laughed.
His men did not.
Dominic continued.
“What surprises me is not the theft. It’s the insult.”
Rinaldi’s smile faded.
“Careful.”
Dominic leaned forward.
“A child in my house was frightened into silence because your people needed storage. A sick woman was threatened because Whitfield needed leverage. My staff were robbed while you hid behind my name.”
Rinaldi’s voice lowered.
“You’re emotional.”
Dominic looked at him for a long moment.
“Yes.”
That unsettled Rinaldi more than denial would have.
Dominic Castellano did not admit emotion. Emotion could be used. Emotion revealed doors. But tonight, he wanted Rinaldi to see the door and misunderstand what waited behind it.
Rinaldi dabbed his mouth with a napkin.
“Let’s say, hypothetically, some minor arrangement existed between my people and your staff. You were not harmed.”
Dominic’s eyes went cold.
“My people were harmed.”
Rinaldi smiled again, uglier now.
“Since when do men like us say that about maids?”
The room seemed to lose oxygen.
Enzo’s hand twitched.
Dominic did not move.
“My mother scrubbed floors,” Dominic said.
Rinaldi blinked.
Dominic stood.
Dinner was over.
“You have forty-eight hours to provide every name involved, every dollar moved, and every person you threatened using my house.”
Rinaldi rose slowly.
“And if I don’t?”
Dominic walked around the table until they stood close enough to speak without witnesses.
“Then I give law enforcement enough to bury your clean businesses, give your creditors enough to panic, and give your wife enough paperwork to understand why her jewelry collection appears in my stable inventory.”
Rinaldi’s face changed.
There it was.
Not fear of prison.
Fear of exposure at home.
Dominic almost pitied him.
Almost.
Rinaldi buttoned his jacket.
“You’ve gotten soft.”
Dominic thought of Mia’s cold red hands.
“No,” he said. “I got specific.”
After Rinaldi left, Enzo came to Dominic’s side.
“He won’t cooperate.”
“I know.”
“Then why invite him?”
Dominic looked toward the dark windows.
May you like
“Because now he’ll move.”
“And we watch where.”
