POV: Rosalind
I hosted dinner at home the next evening to keep Luca close and away from outside contact, setting the table for three even though I didn't know if Daniel would show.
The table looked almost festive. Cloth napkins. The good plates. Candles I'd never used. I was performing normalcy with desperate precision—like if I just arranged things correctly, they'd stay in place.
Luca arrived at seven carrying a bottle of wine. He kissed my cheek, set the bottle down, then moved to the windows. Not obviously. Just... checking. Drawing curtains. Testing locks. Instinct, not paranoia.
When had my son learned to do that?
"Smells good," he said.
"Chicken. Your grandmother's recipe."
"The one with the lemon?"
"And rosemary." I pulled the roast from the oven. "Pour the wine? I don't know when your father will be home."
Luca poured three glasses anyway. Set them at each place like an act of faith.
"How's work?" I asked.
"Busy. Quarter-end reporting. Everyone's stressed."
"Are you stressed?"
"I'm twenty-one and working in finance. Stress is the baseline." He leaned against the counter. "But I'm managing. My supervisor says I have good instincts for pattern recognition."
"Your father will be pleased."
"Will he?" Something flickered in Luca's eyes. "I'm not sure he wants me developing instincts that let me see patterns he'd prefer I miss."
Before I could respond, I heard Daniel's car.
Luca heard it too. His shoulders straightened. Both of us tracking the sound of the engine cutting, the door closing, footsteps approaching.
Daniel entered through the side door and immediately locked it behind him. He looked tired but crossed to me and kissed my cheek like the room wasn't tense.
"Sorry I'm late," he said.
"We waited." I gestured to the table. "Everything's ready."
We sat. Served food. For ten minutes, we talked about nothing important. The weather. A documentary Luca had started. A painting I wanted to hang. Normal conversation.
Except nothing was normal, and all three of us knew it.
Midway through the meal, Luca set down his fork and looked at Daniel directly.
"What's going on, Dad?"
Daniel didn't deflect. Just set down his own fork and met his son's eyes with controlled honesty.
"People from the past want access," Daniel said. "And I'm shutting it down."
"What kind of access?"
"To information. To networks. To leverage they think I still possess." Daniel took a sip of wine. "Old partnerships that ended years ago. Some people accepted those endings. Others didn't. Now they're trying to renegotiate terms that were closed."
"By approaching Mum's winery."
"Among other things."
"And me." Luca's voice was calm. Too calm. "Someone offered me protection."
Daniel's fork froze halfway to his mouth.
The silence stretched. Heavy. I watched Daniel's face go carefully blank.
He set down his fork. Slowly.
"When?" Daniel's voice was quiet. Controlled.
"Two days ago. Different person from before. Said they could ensure nothing 'unfortunate' happened to the family if I accepted their support."
"What did you say?"
"I told them I didn't need protection from strangers. That if they approached me again, I'd report it." Luca's jaw tightened. "They said I should reconsider. That declining help was choosing risk."
Daniel's hand clenched. "Did they give a name?"
"No. But they mentioned the winery. Said it would be a shame if something disrupted Mum's business."
"Luca—" Daniel's voice cracked slightly. Recovered. "Never take calls from unknown numbers again. If someone approaches you in person, you walk away. Immediately. No conversation. Just leave."
"I'm not a child, Dad."
"I know you're not. That's why I'm telling you this as an adult who understands consequences." Daniel leaned forward. "These people don't make idle threats. They demonstrate capacity first, then escalate. The protection they're offering isn't protection. It's participation. Once you accept their help, you're complicit."
"So what do I do? Just wait for them to leave?"
"You stay away from anything they can use. You avoid patterns they can track—"
"You want me to hide." Luca's voice was sharp. "You want me to stop living because you made deals with people who won't let them stay dead."
"I want you to stay safe."
"By being managed like a child? By letting you make decisions without consulting me?" Luca stood. Not angrily. Firmly. "I'm twenty-one, Dad. Old enough to know I'm being used as leverage. Old enough to have my own opinions."
Daniel stood too. He moved around the table and put his hand on Luca's shoulder—firm, not gentle. The kind of grip that communicated authority and fear.
"You're my son," Daniel said quietly. "And I will do whatever it takes to keep you out of this. Even if that means managing you like a child. Because the alternative—where you get pulled into my mistakes—is not acceptable."
I watched Luca's face harden. But he didn't move away.
"How bad is it?" Luca asked.
"Bad enough that I need you to trust me. Just for a little while longer."
Luca looked at his father's hand. Then at me. Then back to Daniel.
"Alright," he said. "But when this is over—when you've 'shut it down'—we're having a conversation about what you've been protecting me from. All of it."
"Deal." Daniel squeezed once. Then let go.