Blood and Velvet

The Truce Dinner : The Marchetti estate had smelled the same for as long as Elena could remember. Beeswax. Coffee. Old wool from the rugs her grandmother refused to replace. Tonight, there was something else in the air. Rain. Elena stood halfway down the staircase and watched the servants prepare the dining room. Silver plates were being placed on the table. Wine glasses were lined up carefully. Her father had ordered the good china, which usually meant one of two things. Someone important was coming. Or someone dangerous was. Tonight, it was both. The front doors opened. Cold air swept into the foyer, followed by six men wearing dark coats. Elena recognised Dante Voss immediately. She had seen him before, of course. From a distance. At funerals, meetings, across crowded rooms where neither family trusted the other enough to stand too close. But she had never spoken to him. He was taller than she'd expected. Dark hair, tired eyes, and a thin scar running along his right jaw. He didn't look like the monster her father had spent three years describing. That annoyed her. Dante looked around the foyer before looking up at the staircase. Their eyes met. Neither of them smiled. "Elena." Her father's voice came from the study. She looked away first. Salvatore Marchetti walked into the foyer, buttoning his jacket. His hair had gone almost completely grey over the last few years, although Elena knew he would never admit it. "Dante," he said. "Don Marchetti." Her father looked him over. "You look like your father." Dante's expression barely changed. "My father sent his regards before he died." Salvatore's mouth tightened. "Your father sent plenty of things across the river. Most of them caused problems." Dante didn't answer. Salvatore gestured toward the dining room. "Come. We have a lot to discuss." Elena followed them. She had arranged the seating herself. Her father at one end. Rosa beside him. Elena opposite Dante. Marco Vance on Elena's right. Nico Voss beside Dante. Nico was twenty-two and already had the confidence of a man who had never been punched hard enough. He kept turning a silver ring around his finger. Elena noticed. She noticed everything. The first course arrived. Nobody spoke. The silence lasted long enough to become uncomfortable. Dante finally broke it. "I heard you checked the south-dock inventory last week." Elena looked up. "I did." "Three peper centiscrepancy." "Correct." "You caught it?" "I counted twice." Dante nodded. "Most people wouldn't have noticed." "I don't leave room for mistakes." Nico gave a quiet laugh. Elena looked at him. "Something funny?" "No." "Then stop laughing." Nico's smile disappeared. Dante glanced at him. "Eat." Nico frowned. "I'm not a child." "Then stop behaving like one." Marco Vance smiled into his wine. It was a small smile, but Elena noticed. Marco had been around her family for almost her entire life. He had taught her how to shoot when she was twelve. He had been there after Julian died. He had stood beside her father at the funeral. She trusted him. At least, she thought she did. Her father placed his glass on the table. "The midnight barges have become a problem." Dante leaned back. "How?" "Small operators are cutting into the coal line." "They aren't mine." "Several of their boats are flying Voss colours " Dante shook his head. "Anyone can paint a Voss flag on a boat." Marco spoke calmly. "We have photographs." Dante looked at him. "Then you have photographs." Marco's smile disappeared. Elena watched Dante carefully. He wasn't nervous. He wasn't angry either. He simply looked tired. "If I wanted your coal line," Dante said, "I wouldn't waste time with three old tugs. I'd go after the rail yards." Her father's hand tightened around his glass. "You sound very confident." "I know what I own." "And what do you want?" Dante looked toward Elena for a second. "To keep what I have." The conversation continued for another twenty minutes. Elena barely listened. Something about Dante bothered her. Not because he was rude. Because he wasn't. She had expected arrogance. Threats. Maybe some comment about the old feud. Instead, he seemed interested in getting through the dinner without starting another war. When dessert was announced, Elena stood. "I'm not hungry." Her father looked at her. "You've barely eaten." "I'm tired." She left before he could argue. The terrace doors were cold beneath her hand. Outside, the rain had stopped, but the stones were still wet. The Nero River stretched beyond the gardens, dark and quiet under the night sky. Elena leaned against the stone railing. She heard the door open behind her. "You leave your own dinners early?" Dante. She didn't turn. "I don't like crowded rooms." "You seemed fine inside." "I was pretending." He came to stand several feet away. A cigarette case appeared in his hand. "Do you mind?" "Go ahead." He lit the cigarette. For a few seconds, neither spoke. Then Dante said, "I didn't kill Julian." Elena went still. She turned around. "Don't." "I need you to hear me." "You don't get to talk about him." "I knew him." "That doesn't mean anything." "He wasn't killed because of a territory dispute." Elena's jaw tightened. "He was found in a Voss alley." "I know." "With a Voss weapon." "I know." "Then what exactly are you trying to tell me?" Dante looked toward the river. "My father was hiding something." Elena stared at him. "What?" "I don't know everything yet." "Convenient." "I've been trying to find out for months." She folded her arms. "Why tell me?" "Because someone wanted our families fighting." "And you expect me to believe that?" "No." He reached into his coat and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He placed it on the railing. "I expect you to check your own accounts." Elena didn't touch it. "What accounts?" "The ones your father doesn't look at." Her stomach tightened. "Where did you get this?" "From a northern rail clerk who owes my family money." She picked up the paper. It was a list of shipments. Dates. Numbers. Locations. One date made her stop. The night Julian died. "Meet me tomorrow," Dante said. "Saint Jude's Chapel. Midnight." "You think I'll come?" "I think you want to know what happened to your brother." He walked toward the door. Elena looked down at the paper again. "Dante." He stopped. "If this is a trap..." "It isn't." "You'd better be right." He looked back at her. "For both our sakes, I hope I am." Before he could leave, the terrace doors opened again. Marco stepped outside. "Elena." His face was tense. "What happened?" "The east warehouse." Dante turned. Marco's hand was near his weapon. "There was an attack." Elena's stomach dropped. "How bad?" "Two guards are down. The office was burned." "Who did it?" Marco looked directly at Dante. "The men who escaped were seen heading north." Dante shook his head. "My car is still in your driveway." "That doesn't prove your men weren't involved." "No," Dante said. "It doesn't." Elena looked between them. A few minutes ago, she had been sitting at a dinner table pretending there was peace. Now that peace was already gone. Marco stepped closer. "Come inside." Elena didn't move. "Elena." She folded Dante's paper and put it inside her coat. "I'll be there in a minute." Marco stared at her. Then he looked at Dante. Something passed between the two men. Neither said anything. Marco went inside. Dante waited. "Saint Jude's," he said quietly. Elena nodded. Then he disappeared through the doors. She remained on the terrace, staring at the river. For the first time in three years, she wondered whether her family had been wrong about the enemy.