Chapter 7 - The Uncle at DinnerVincent DeLuca came to dinner smiling.
He arrived at seven wearing a navy suit, a red pocket square, and the easy warmth of a man everyone called uncle whether they trusted him or not. He kissed Serafina on both cheeks, embraced Matteo with one arm, and brought Leo an antique tin soldier from Italy.
Leo hid behind Camryn.
Vincent noticed.
Everyone noticed.
“Ah,” Vincent said, smiling down at the boy. “Still shy with your old uncle?”
Leo whispered, “No.”
Camryn felt the child’s body press against her legs.
Matteo stood at the head of the dining room table, watching.
The dinner had been Serafina’s idea. A family meal, she called it. A return to order. A chance to discuss the “unfortunate confusion” caused by grief, old photographs, and a cleaning girl who had risen too quickly in the house.
Camryn had not wanted to attend.
Matteo had insisted.
“Why?” she had asked.
“Because snakes strike differently when they think the grass is low.”
She had stared at him.
“That is not comforting.”
“It was not meant to be.”
Now Camryn sat halfway down a dining table long enough to host a treaty negotiation. Leo sat beside her, his chair pulled close. Matteo sat at the head. Serafina at the opposite end. Vincent near the center, relaxed and charming.
Too relaxed.
The first course was served in silence.
Then Vincent lifted his wine.
“To Leo,” he said. “Our little lion has found his voice.”
Serafina’s mouth tightened.
Matteo did not drink.
Leo stared at the soup.
Vincent turned to Camryn. “And to Miss Jenkins, of course. The miracle maid.”
Camryn kept her expression neutral. “I’m not a miracle.”
“No? You arrived yesterday, and suddenly a child who has been silent for years begins speaking about doors, songs, and villains.” Vincent smiled. “That sounds miraculous to me.”
“It sounds like someone finally listened,” Camryn said.
Serafina set down her spoon. “Confidence is charming in women who understand their place.”
Matteo’s eyes moved to his mother.
Camryn placed a hand lightly on Leo’s chair before he could react.
Vincent leaned back. “Come now, Fina. The girl has spirit. Matteo always did enjoy dangerous women.”
The words slid across the table.
Isabella’s ghost entered the room.
Matteo’s face became unreadable.
Camryn saw Vincent watching him, feeding on the flicker of pain.
This was what he did.
Push.
Provoke.
Wait for Matteo to become cruel.
Then use that cruelty as proof.
Leo reached for Camryn’s sleeve.
“Cam,” he whispered.
“I’m here,” she said.
Vincent’s eyes dropped to the child’s hand.
“So attached already,” he murmured. “That can be unhealthy.”
Matteo spoke at last. “You sound like Dr. Varela.”
A tiny pause.
Vincent recovered quickly. “A brilliant woman.”
“She has been suspended pending investigation.”
Serafina gasped. “Matteo.”
Vincent’s smile thinned. “That seems extreme.”
“She admitted Leo was supposed to forget.”
The dining room stopped.
A maid holding a water pitcher froze beside the wall.
Vincent’s face remained calm, but his eyes changed.
Just enough.
Camryn saw the mask shift.
“Under pressure,” Vincent said, “people say strange things.”
“Do they?” Matteo asked.
Vincent lifted his glass. “Especially when threatened.”
Matteo smiled.
It was the first time Camryn had seen him smile.
It made the room colder.
“No threats,” Matteo said. “Only witnesses.”
Vincent looked toward Rocco, who stood near the door.
Then toward Camryn.
Then toward Leo.
His gaze lingered too long on the boy.
Leo suddenly whispered, “Red.”
Camryn turned. “What, sweetheart?”
Leo pointed at Vincent’s pocket square.
“Red man.”
Vincent laughed softly. “Children love colors.”
But Leo’s face had gone pale.
“Red man by Mama car.”
The glass in Vincent’s hand stopped halfway to his mouth.
Matteo rose slowly.
Serafina whispered, “Leo…”
The boy began to shake.
Camryn crouched beside him. “No fire. No boom. Just dinner.”
Leo’s eyes remained locked on Vincent.
“Red man said song,” he whispered. “Bad lady gave sleepy.”
Vincent set down his glass.
“Enough,” Serafina snapped. “This is grotesque. You are making a traumatized child perform at dinner.”
Camryn looked at her. “No one asked him to speak.”
Vincent pushed back his chair.
Matteo said, “Sit down.”
The command hit like steel.
Vincent’s charm disappeared.
For one second, Camryn saw the real man beneath.
Old. Angry. Cornered.
Then he smiled again. “Nephew, be careful. A man in grief can destroy his own house searching for ghosts.”
Matteo stepped away from the table.
“My house was destroyed two years ago.”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed.
“And now?” he asked.
Matteo looked at Leo.
“Now I’m rebuilding it.”
Vincent laughed quietly. “With a maid?”
Camryn felt the insult.
Matteo did not look away from his uncle.
“With the truth.”
Rocco moved closer to the door.
Vincent noticed.
Then everything happened at once.
A crash sounded from the kitchen.
The lights flickered.
Leo screamed.
Rocco drew his weapon but kept it low.
Camryn grabbed Leo and pulled him under the table as the dining room windows shuddered from a blast somewhere below the penthouse.
Not inside.
Downstairs.
The building alarm began to wail.
Through the chaos, Vincent leaned toward Camryn under the table, his smile gone.
“You should have stayed poor and invisible,” he whispered.
Then he straightened just as emergency lights flooded the room red.
Matteo saw only the end of the movement.
But Camryn had heard him.
And Leo had too.
The child clung to her neck, shaking violently.
May you like
“Red man,” he sobbed.
This time, nobody at the table pretended not to understand.
