Chapter 13 – The Dinner Invitation
839 Words
The following morning, Venice awoke in soft gold. Sunlight spilled over terracotta rooftops, glinted off the canals, and streamed through the lace curtains of Isabella “Izzy” Moretti’s small apartment.
She hadn’t slept much. Her mind kept replaying the scene on the Rialto Bridge Marco’s protective stance, the strangers’ threats, and the way his eyes had lingered on her afterward.
She tried to focus on her coffee, but the taste was drowned by a thousand unspoken questions.
Her phone buzzed on the table. One glance at the screen and her stomach gave a traitorous flip.
Marco DeLuca.
She hesitated before answering. “Hello?”
“Good morning, bella.” His voice was warm velvet with a steel core beneath it. “Did you sleep well?”
“I’ve had better nights,” she admitted. “Your friends from last night didn’t exactly help my beauty rest.”
He chuckled softly. “They’re not my friends. And if they bother you again, they won’t live long enough to apologize.”
There was a pause before he continued, his tone shifting to something smoother, more deliberate. “I want you to join me for dinner tonight.”
Izzy frowned. “Dinner?”
“Yes. Eight o’clock. Ca’ Rezzonico.”
Her breath caught. Ca’ Rezzonico wasn’t just any restaurant it was one of Venice’s most exclusive dining spots, a place where politicians, artists, and the city’s elite made deals over candlelight. She had never been.
“Why?” she asked cautiously.
“Because you deserve more than late-night meetings on bridges. And…” His voice dipped lower. “…because there are people I want you to meet.”
Izzy’s instinct screamed caution. In Marco’s world, “people” could mean allies or enemies and sometimes, both at once.
“I’m not sure”
“You’ll be safe,” he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “I give you my word.”
That was the problem. She was starting to believe his word.
That evening, Izzy stood in front of the mirror, smoothing the fabric of a deep emerald dress she had borrowed from her friend Sofia. It clung to her in all the right places, the color making her eyes seem even more vivid.
When Marco’s car arrived a sleek black Maserati that purred like a predator she almost didn’t recognize him without his usual shadow of danger. Tonight, he was all charm: a perfectly tailored navy suit, cufflinks that caught the light, and a faint cologne that made her pulse quicken.
“You look…” He paused, his gaze sweeping over her in a way that felt both possessive and protective. “…dangerously beautiful.”
“And you look like trouble,” she replied, sliding into the car.
His smirk deepened. “Then we’re well matched.”
Ca’ Rezzonico was a masterpiece of old-world elegance crystal chandeliers, velvet chairs, and waiters who seemed to glide rather than walk. The soft murmur of conversation filled the room, blending with the clink of silverware.
Marco led her to a private table near a large window overlooking the canal. But they weren’t alone for long.
Two men joined them one in his forties with sharp blue eyes and a calm smile, the other younger, restless, with a gaze that flicked between Marco and Izzy like he was sizing her up.
“Isabella,” Marco said smoothly, “this is Lorenzo, an old friend of the family… and Matteo, my cousin.”
Lorenzo’s handshake was warm but firm. Matteo’s was cooler, his smirk a shade too knowing.
Over the next hour, the conversation flowed between Italian and English, business and banter. Lorenzo asked polite questions about her work, her life in Venice. Matteo, on the other hand, seemed intent on pushing boundaries.
“So, Isabella,” Matteo said, leaning forward, “how does it feel… being the woman who’s got Marco acting like a gentleman for once?”
Izzy arched a brow. “I didn’t know he wasn’t one before.”
Lorenzo chuckled, but Marco’s gaze on Matteo sharpened in warning. “That’s enough.”
It was a subtle shift, but Izzy felt the undercurrent. Whatever this dinner was really about, it wasn’t just introductions.
By the time dessert arrived a delicate lemon sorbet Marco’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly.
“I have to take this,” he said, rising from the table. “Lorenzo, keep her company.”
As Marco stepped away, Lorenzo leaned closer, his voice low. “Be careful, Isabella. Not everyone at this table has your best interests at heart.”
Her pulse spiked. “And which one are you?”
Lorenzo smiled faintly. “That’s for you to decide.”
When Marco returned, his expression was unreadable, but his hand brushed lightly against hers under the table a silent reassurance.
Yet as they left the restaurant, Izzy couldn’t shake the feeling that the game had shifted again.
And this time, she wasn’t sure whose side everyone was really on.
- Writer
