Chapter 6 - A Seat at Dante’s Table
Clara picked up the pen.
Dante caught her hand.
“No.”
Elena stared at the screen showing her father.
“Clara…”
Clara looked at her.
There was no demand in Elena's face.
Only terror.
Clara set the pen down.
“Julian wants my signature.”
Dante nodded.
“So we don't give it to him.”
“Not what I mean.”
She looked at the contract.
“He needs my signature. That means whatever I own cannot be transferred without my consent.”
Julian's voice came through the screen.
“Very good.”
Clara ignored him.
“If he could forge it, he would.”
Dante understood.
“So your signature must be independently verified.”
Clara looked toward the board members.
“Exactly.”
One man shifted.
Clara noticed.
“You.”
He froze.
“What's your name?”
“Gerald Knox.”
“You keep looking at the printer.”
“I don't.”
“You just did again.”
Dante turned toward him.
Gerald went pale.
Clara walked over.
“What verifies the signature?”
He said nothing.
Dante did not need threats.
He simply looked at him.
Gerald cracked.
“Biometric confirmation.”
“How?”
“Tablet.”
A device was brought out.
Clara smiled.
“Perfect.”
Julian's voice hardened.
“Sign.”
Clara did.
Elena gasped.
Dante stared at her.
Then Clara pressed her finger against the biometric pad.
ACCESS DENIED.
She smiled.
“I used my left hand.”
Julian's face changed.
Clara had signed with her right but pressed the wrong biometric finger.
The system required both signature and registered right thumb.
“You have thirty seconds,” Julian said.
The camera shifted toward Vittorio.
A gun appeared beside his head.
Elena sobbed.
Clara's smile disappeared.
She looked at Dante.
He gave the smallest nod.
Trust.
Clara pressed her right thumb.
ACCESS CONFIRMED.
Julian smiled.
Then the system flashed.
TRANSFER REJECTED.
Clara exhaled.
“What did you do?” Dante asked.
“I added a comma.”
He stared.
“What?”
“The legal signature on my inherited corporate records is Clara M. Bennett. The document says Clara Bennett. Their biometric system confirmed identity, but the transfer document doesn't match the registered owner.”
Julian stood abruptly.
For the first time, he lost control.
Dante smiled.
Clara looked at him.
“Now.”
Marcus's team stormed the Bellaforte warehouse simultaneously.
The feed shook.
Gunfire sounded off camera.
Elena screamed her father's name.
Then Marcus appeared on screen.
“Secure.”
Elena collapsed into a chair.
Vittorio was alive.
Julian disappeared from the feed.
Dante turned toward the locked doors.
“They'll open.”
They did.
Adrian stood outside.
Clara stared at him.
“You lied.”
“Yes.”
“You said you selected me.”
“I needed you to trust me more than Julian.”
“You failed.”
“Apparently.”
Dante stepped between them.
“Where is your brother?”
Adrian shook his head.
“He'll have contingencies.”
Clara looked at the rejected transfer.
“So do we.”
By afternoon, Clara was sitting at the head of a conference table inside Moretti Holdings.
She noticed the irony.
Twenty-four hours earlier, she had been mistaken for Dante's bride.
Now twelve executives were waiting for her to explain why their empire might collapse.
She did.
No theatrics.
No intimidation.
Numbers.
She showed them how Valmont had accumulated voting rights.
How Bellaforte created artificial debt.
How marriage agreements created proxy triggers.
How shell entities hid the beneficiaries.
When she finished, nobody spoke.
Dante stood at the far end.
“What do you need?”
“Full access.”
“To what?”
“Everything.”
Several executives objected.
Dante silenced them.
“She gets it.”
Clara looked at him.
“Personnel files too.”
“Yes.”
“Family trusts.”
“Yes.”
“Your private accounts.”
A pause.
“Yes.”
She smiled slightly.
“That hurt.”
“A little.”
For three days, Clara barely slept.
Dante barely left.
They worked side by side.
Elena remained involved, helping trace Valenti structures.
Something unexpected happened between the two women.
The hostility disappeared.
They had both been dressed for roles chosen by other people.
They understood each other better because of it.
On the fourth night, Clara found Dante asleep at the conference table.
She placed a jacket over him.
His eyes opened.
“You're terrible at sneaking.”
“I wasn't sneaking.”
“You were.”
“You looked cold.”
He sat up.
“You've been awake thirty hours.”
“So have you.”
“I own the building.”
“That doesn't make insomnia a corporate benefit.”
He smiled.
A real smile this time.
Clara looked away too quickly.
That bothered her.
Dante noticed.
That bothered her more.
“You don't like me,” he said.
“I didn't say that.”
“You imply it frequently.”
“I think you're controlling.”
“True.”
“Arrogant.”
“Sometimes.”
“Dangerous.”
His expression changed.
“Also true.”
Clara looked at him.
“But?”
He waited.
She sighed.
“But you're not what I expected.”
“Neither are you.”
“That sounds suspiciously complimentary.”
“It was.”
Their eyes held.
The room became too quiet.
Clara stood.
“I need coffee.”
Dante caught her hand.
Not forcefully.
She stopped.
He released it immediately.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Staying.”
Clara looked at him.
“I stayed for the audit.”
“Of course.”
“And Elena.”
“Of course.”
“And because someone threatened my mother.”
“Obviously.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“You're enjoying this.”
“A little.”
She walked toward the door.
Her phone chimed.
An encrypted email.
Clara opened it.
One photograph.
Dante kissing a woman.
Timestamp: two nights earlier.
Clara stared.
Dante came beside her.
His face hardened.
“That isn't recent.”
“The timestamp says it is.”
“It's false.”
Clara enlarged the image.
Something was wrong.
Then she saw it.
Dante's watch.
He had worn a different watch every day she had known him.
The one in the photograph was visible in a framed picture on his office shelf.
A photograph taken five years ago.
“Manipulated,” Clara said.
Dante nodded.
“Someone wants me to distrust you.”
“No.”
He looked at her.
Clara read the attached message.
She felt cold.
“They want me jealous.”
Dante's gaze changed.
The message said:
HE WILL CHOOSE THE EMPIRE EVERY TIME.
ASK WHAT HAPPENED TO THE LAST WOMAN WHO THOUGHT OTHERWISE.
Clara slowly looked at him.
“Who was she?”
Dante's face closed.
“Clara.”
“Who?”
He did not answer.
That was answer enough.
She stepped backward.
Then the conference-room door opened.
Elena stood there holding an old photograph.
Her face was white.
“You both need to see this.”
She placed it on the table.
The woman beside Dante in the manipulated photograph was there again.
Only this photograph was ten years old.
May you like
And written beneath her face were two words:
JULIAN'S WIFE.
