Chapter 8 - A Dinner Invitation
The evening shadows lengthened across the manicured lawns of the Moretti estate as the grand grandfather clock in the foyer chimed seven times. I had just finished logging the final shipping manifests into the digital terminal when another knock sounded at my office door. This time, it wasn't Marco or a communications technician. It was Michael Moretti. Luca’s younger brother looked relaxed, wearing an open-collared linen shirt and slacks, a warm, genuine smile on his face. “Evening, Emily,” Michael said, stepping into the room. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.” “Not at all, Michael,” I replied, standing up from my desk. “Just finishing up the daily audit.” “Good,” he smiled. “Because my brother sent me down here with a very specific instruction.” I raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And what’s that?” “He wants you to join us for dinner in the private dining hall tonight,” Michael said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Not as staff, and not as an archivist. As an honored guest of the family.” I hesitated, looking down at my tailored blazer. “Mr. Moretti... I don't think that’s appropriate. I’m an employee—” “You’re the person who saved my life and exposed a federal conspiracy in the middle of a dinner party,” Michael interrupted gently. “Trust me, my brother doesn't take 'no' for an answer when he makes up his mind about these things. Besides, the chef has prepared a special Neapolitan pasta dish in honor of your grandmother Caterina.” My breath hitched. My grandmother’s Neapolitan recipes had been a sacred tradition in our small apartment for as long as I could remember. “All right,” I relented with a soft smile. “Lead the way, Michael.”
