The dining room was warm, the chandelier overhead casted a soft light across the long table.
It had been set for four with bright white plates, gleaming silverware, multiple crystal glasses at every place. Mila forced herself not to cringe and turn around. Eating in her room by herself was looking better and better with every passing minute.
But the smell of roasted meat and herbs that filled the air was making her stomach rumble, and she wasn't willing to give it up just to be able to eat in peace.
Dante sat at the head of the table, his suit jacket removed and his sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looked relaxed for the first time since she met him. There was an easy smile on his face as he sipped from his glass of red wine and his shoulders were loose.
Uncle Vincenzo sat to his right, ready to top up Dante's wine the moment the glass touched the table while Marco was sitting on his left. There was only one place that didn't have a body next to it, and it was right beside Marco.
At least she knew him better than she knew Vincenzo. Walking over to the open seat, she caught the attention of all three men at the same time.
"Mila," Vincenzo called out, standing immediately. His smile was practically beaming, and it took her aback for a moment. They had just met, there was no way he was this nice... right? "Please, sit. You must be starving after the day you've had."
He gestured to the chair beside Marco, and Mila moved toward it. Dante's eyes followed her as she sat down, and there was something approving in his expression like she had just passed another test she didn't know about.
She smoothed her hands over her lap and tried to ignore the way her shoulders had tensed the moment Vincenzo stood.
It wasn't fair to him. He was being kind, even welcoming. There was no reason for her to feel this uncomfortable around him just because he screamed 'father figure' with every move he made.
And yes, she had more than enough Daddy issues to sink a ship, and not in the way most people think of when they think of 'Daddy issues'.
Vincenzo poured wine into her glass without asking before returning to his seat. "I hope you like lamb," he continued, actively trying to include her in the conversation...like she was a welcome guest and not... whatever she was. "It's one of Dante and my favorites, so the kitchen makes it whenever I'm home."
"It smells wonderful," Mila replied, her voice coming out steady and polite. She picked up her napkin and placed it in her lap, trying to remember all of the table manners she learned back when she was 10 for a few months.
"Good. Good." Vincenzo lifted his glass in a small toast. "To family dinners. It's been too long since we've had one."
Dante and Marco raised their glasses as Mila lifted hers and took a small sip. The wine was smooth, warming her throat on the way down. She didn't know good wine from bad wine, but she knew that anything in this house couldn't be all that bad.
The staff brought out the food then. Plates of lamb, roasted vegetables, potatoes with rosemary. Everything was plated beautifully, arranged with care. Mila waited until everyone else had been served before picking up her fork.
"So, Mila," Vincenzo said, cutting into his lamb. "Dante tells me you've been helping him with the financial files. That's no small task. How are you finding it?"
"It's detailed work," Mila replied, taking a small bite of the meat. "But manageable. The records are thorough."
"That's good to hear. Dante's always been meticulous about documentation. Even as a boy, he kept everything organized. It drove me crazy sometimes." Vincenzo's smile was fond, affectionate as he glanced at Dante. "Do you remember that summer you reorganized my entire office? You were what, thirteen?"
"Fourteen," Dante answered with a hint of amusement in his voice. "And it needed it. You had files from three different years mixed together."
"I had a system."
"You had chaos."
Vincenzo laughed, shaking his head before he turned his attention back to Mila. "He's always been like that. Even when he was young. Always trying to fix things, make them better. He has definitely made me proud."
Mila nodded and took another bite of lamb. She chewed slowly, buying herself time since she didn't know what to say to that.
"What about you?" Vincenzo continued, keeping the conversation alive all by himself. "Where are you from originally?"
"Here and there," Mila replied after a minute. "I grew up in the city."
"Do you have family nearby?"
The question was casual, but Mila's grip tightened on her fork. "No. My parents died when I was young. I was in foster care after that until I aged out."
Vincenzo's expression shifted immediately. Not pity, exactly, more like understanding. "I'm sorry to hear that. That must have been difficult."
"It was a long time ago," Mila shrugged. "I probably had more brothers and sisters than anyone ever should have."
"Still," Vincenzo said. "Losing your parents young—that's not something you just get over. It shapes you."
Mila nodded, looking down at her plate. "Everything shapes a person, good or bad. I've learned to be careful with who I trust," she continued. "It's kept me safe."
"I'm sure it has." Vincenzo picked up his wine glass and took a slow sip. "But you're safe here. You know that, don't you? Dante's good people. He wouldn't have brought you into his home if he didn't trust you. And if he trusts you, then so do I."
The words were kind, reassuring even.
Everything about Vincenzo's tone and expression said he meant them. But Mila's skin prickled anyway. Her shoulders stayed tense as he looked at her from over his glass.
She told herself it was her own fault, that she was reading into things that weren't there, that this was just what happened when someone tried to be fatherly toward her.
This was the biggest issue she had. Since the men who were supposed to protect her in foster care had done the opposite, now she couldn't accept kindness without being suspicious of it first.
She was working through it with her therapist, but it wasn't an easy hurdle to overcome.
But her suspicions weren't fair to Vincenzo. He was being kind and welcoming. He didn't deserve her thinking the worst about a man who she knew nothing about. "I know," Mila said finally. She forced a small smile. "Thank you."
As if sensing her unease, Vincenzo asked Dante about the office, changing the subject away from her. The conversation flowed naturally around her, and Mila didn't bother to interject.
She tried to relax into the warmth of the room and failed. She hated that she couldn't. Hated that her body stayed tense even when there was no reason for it. Hated that she was sitting at a table with people who had welcomed her, and all she could feel was the urge to leave.
It wasn't them. It was her.
And she knew that.
By the time dessert was served—a rich chocolate torte with fresh cream—Mila had managed to loosen her grip on her fork, letting her shoulders drop slightly. She wasn't relaxed, but she wasn't as rigid as she'd been at the start of the meal.
Vincenzo finished his dessert and set his fork down with a satisfied sigh. "That was excellent. I'll sleep good tonight, that's for sure. There is nothing better than having a full stomach."
Coming to his feet, he left the dining room, his footsteps fading down the hallway. Marco excused himself shortly after, taking his empty glass with him. And then it was just Mila and Dante, sitting across from each other at the long table.
Dante leaned back in his chair, his wine glass in hand. He looked at her for a long moment, his expression thoughtful. "You did well tonight."
Mila blinked. "I didn't do anything."
"You were polite. Respectful. My uncle likes you." He took a sip of wine. "That matters. I trust his opinion more than I trust most peoples."
Mila didn't know what to say to that. She picked up her napkin and folded it carefully, setting it on the table beside her plate. "He seems like a good man."
"He is." Dante's voice was firm even as he had a soft smile on his face. "He gave up everything to raise me. He wanted to be a professor, but stepped into my father's role without complaint. He couldn't even have his own family, not when he knew that he would be putting a target on their backs. He sacrificed everything and I wouldn't be here without him."
Mila nodded. She could see it in the way Dante looked at his uncle, in the way Vincenzo had spoken to him.
There was love there. Real love.
And she was the one who couldn't trust it.
"I should go upstairs," Mila said. She stood, smoothing her hands over her pants. "It's been a long day."
"Of course." Dante didn't move to stop her. He just watched as she turned and left the dining room, her footsteps quiet on the carpet.
Mila climbed the stairs slowly, her hand trailing along the banister. The house was quiet, but her chest still felt tight.
She told herself it would pass, that she just needed time. That eventually, she'd learn to trust the good things in front of her instead of waiting for them to turn bad.
But no matter how many times she repeated it, she didn't believe it.