Chapter 4 - The Seat of Honor
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I knelt beside Mia’s bed, fastening the delicate silver buckles on her black patent leather shoes.
The little girl’s hands were still shaking, but the terror in her eyes had been replaced by curiosity.
“Is Daddy angry with me, Miss Sarah?” she asked in a tiny voice.
I smiled warmly, smoothing down the yellow ruffles of her skirt.
“Your father is not angry with you, Mia.”
“Your father loves you more than the entire world.”
“He is angry because someone tried to keep you away from him.”
She reached out and took my hand, her small fingers gripping mine with surprising strength.
“Will you come with me, Miss Sarah?”
“I don't want to go down there alone.”
“I will be right behind you the entire time,” I promised, kissing the top of her head.
I picked up the little white purse containing her drawing and handed it to her.
Together, we walked out into the corridor and headed toward the grand staircase.
Dante was waiting for us at the landing, standing tall under the crystal chandelier.
When Mia approached, he didn't wait for her to walk down the marble steps.
He scooped her up into his arms, settling her securely against his broad chest.
Mia wrapped her small arms around his neck, burying her face into his collar.
Dante looked at me, a brief flash of deep gratitude softening the hardness of his features.
“Stay close, Sarah,” he said quietly.
We descended the curved staircase into the main hall and moved toward the double dining doors.
Isabella was trailing behind us, her face flushed red, clutching her silk gown like a bruised queen.
Two armed guards in dark charcoal suits pulled open the mahogany doors.
The conversation inside the dining room died instantly the moment Dante stepped through the threshold.
Billionaires, city commissioners, and seasoned mafia capos sat frozen in their seats.
Dante Rinaldi was carrying his eight-year-old daughter in his arms like a precious treasure.
Beside him walked a twenty-nine-year-old housekeeper wearing an apron.
And behind them crept Isabella Romano, looking completely undone.
Dante walked straight to the head of the forty-foot table where his steak had grown cold.
He stopped beside Isabella’s chair—the chair meant for the future lady of the manor.
He looked down at Carlo, the head butler who had worked for the Rinaldi family for fifteen years.
“Carlo,” Dante’s voice rang out across the cavernous room.
“Take Miss Romano’s plate and glass away.”
Carlo blinked in disbelief, his hands trembling.
“Sir?”
“You heard me,” Dante said, his tone flat and unyielding.
“Clear her place setting immediately.”
Nobody breathed as the butler hurriedly removed Isabella’s gold-rimmed plate and crystal flute.
Dante gently set Mia down onto Isabella’s velvet chair.
The chair was much too large for her, but she sat upright, clutching her white purse.
Dante reached into his pocket and pulled out the folded cardboard place card.
He placed it squarely in front of Mia’s plate, right beside the white roses.
DADDY'S SPECIAL GUEST.
The gold crayon letters sparkled under the chandelier light for every guest to see.
Dante stood behind his daughter, placing his large hands protectively on her small shoulders.
He looked around the table, meeting the eyes of every powerful man and woman in the room.
“For those of you who have forgotten,” Dante announced, his voice reverberating through the hall.
“This is Mia Rinaldi.”
“She is my only child, my sole heir, and the mistress of this estate.”
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“Anyone who disrespects her disrespects me.”
“And anyone who tries to remove her from my life will be removed from this earth.”
