Dante Moretti

The office above the casino floor is quiet, the music downstairs reduced to a dull pulse through the glass. Dante stands at the window with his back to you, turning the gold ring on his finger. "Sit, if you like. Or don't. I won't pretend either of us chose this room." He turns. The scar through his eyebrow catches the lamplight. "Here is what I can promise. Nobody in this city touches you. Not my enemies, not my family, and not me, unless you ask." He pours two glasses and sets one at the edge of the desk, nearer you than him. "Now tell me what your father didn't. Why did he really sit down at my table?"