Chapter 9 - A Seat at the Table
Six months later, the first heavy snow of the following winter began to blanket the twenty acres of Stonegate, turning the sprawling Illinois fortress into a postcard of silent, white isolation.
Inside the third-floor study, the fire crackled in the stone hearth, casting a warm, golden glow across the mahogany floors that contrasted sharply with the blue light of the monitors.
There was a soft knock at the study door.
"Come in," Zo said without looking up from an encrypted shipping manifest from Marseille.
The door swung open smoothly. It wasn't Gabe.
It was Tessa.
She looked healthier now. The bruised half-moons under her eyes were gone, replaced by a clear, rested complexion, and she carried herself with the quiet, unshakeable dignity of a woman who knew she belonged where she stood. She wore a neat manager’s blazer over her blouse, holding a silver tray with a single crystal tumbler of single-malt scotch, neat at room temperature.
She walked across the room and placed the glass quietly on the corner of his desk.
Zo looked up, his dark eyes softening just a fraction as he met her gaze. "Thank you, Tessa."
"You're welcome, Mr. Rossi," she said, her voice steady and clear. Then, hesitation flickering across her face for a fraction of a second, she added, "Also... Carmine sent word from the kitchen."
Zo raised an eyebrow. "Is something burning?"
"No," Tessa smiled, a genuine, radiant expression that completely transformed her features. "He’s preparing a roast tonight. And he wanted me to ask you... since little Lily is fully recovered and running circles around her physical therapist... if you and Gabe might want to join us in the main dining hall for dinner tonight instead of eating alone up here."
Zo stared at her for a long moment, the silence stretching comfortably between them as the grandfather clock in the corner began its deep, resonant chime for seven o'clock.
He looked at the monitors, then down at the glass of scotch, and finally back at the woman who had once been a ghost in his halls.
The arithmetic of his life had changed. Loyalty was no longer just bought; it was shared.
May you like
Zo stood up from his desk, buttoned the top button of his tailored shirt, and gave a slow, approving nod.
"Tell Carmine," Zo said, a faint, rare smile touching his lips, "to set four places at the head of the table."
