Chapter Thirty-Six
Pointedly ignoring the table filled with Salemites after his satisfying entrance, Stefano led Brady and Greta to table in a secluded corner of the restaurant, aware that the residents from Salem could watch their every movement. Hell, from this point, he could see them as well. And he did, grinning when he noticed that they were huddled together and most likely regrouping after their initial contact. "Perfect," he decided inexplicably, barely resisting the urge to clap his hands in child-like glee. "Absolutely perfect."
"Hmm, Father?" Greta asked quizzically, giving her father a curious side-glance. She hooked her arm through his and waited for him to answer. When he didn't, she gave her head a haughty toss and questioned again, more impatiently this time, "What is perfect, Father?"
Stefano tore his gaze from the table in the center of the room and stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Oh, this evening," Stefano answered her easily. "This evening is going along swimmingly." He held out his daughter's chair and gently pushed it in after she had taken her seat.
With a narrowing of his brilliant blue eyes, Brady recognized the signs in his boss quickly, aware that something monumental had occurred. Something that Stefano hadn't informed either of them about. Yet. But he intended to change that shortly. "Who were you intimidating?" Brady questioned with blinding insight as he joined them at their small table in a secluded, darkened corner of the restaurant. He placed the menu on the table and stared intently at his boss, his own eyes purposefully hooded.
Stefano couldn't have been more pleased with the two people he had crafted so carefully. Nothing had been left to chance this time, as his beloved daughter would soon discover, he thought sarcastically. He chanced a glance towards her again and nodded in recognition of her ashen features. She was strong, as he well knew, but he was completely expecting his revelations to break her, to crush her hopes and her dreams. After all, she was not invincible.
"Stefano?" Brady prodded again after earning a careless shrug from Greta. Neither of them had a remote inkling about Stefano's blatant delight. He was used to Stefano losing himself in his thoughts, although it could be damn irritating. Like right now. He attempted to follow his gaze but couldn't find the person who was holding his undivided attention through the extensive crowd dining at the fashionable restaurant.
Stefano chuckled deeply before he reluctantly dropped his study of his youngest daughter. He faced the two people at his table instead, deciding he liked this view much better. "Like I said, this evening is now perfect."
Greta leaned her elbows on the table and laid her head on the cradle of her hands, pursing her lips in slight annoyance. There were times when her father could be an enigmatic puzzle that she couldn't figure out. This, regrettably, was one of those times. With an inward sigh of resignation, she forced her voice to remain gentle and reminded her father, "You told us in the ride over here that you had a surprise for us, Father. What is it?"
With a flourish of his hands, Stefano indicated the table located in the center of the room. "Do you see that large table located in the center of the room? The one with five people; three men, two women?" Instead of focusing on the table, he watched Greta's and Brady's expression with the intensity of a hawk, searching for any possible reactions.
Greta glanced briefly towards it, unconcerned about the occupants as of yet. "Interesting," she announced in a bored tone, covering her mouth as she pretended to stifle a yawn. Her lack of curiosity couldn't have been stated better.
Stefano couldn't resist a chuckle at his daughter's dry tone. "You will think so soon, I know that, darling," he contradicted smoothly, looking forward to it. His ultimate triumph was finally at hand.
Greta gifted her father with a tiny smile. She casually sipped from her white wine and waited for her father to continue. Like Brady, she was also used to her father's ways. He would share the news with them when he was good and ready, after leading them through a roundabout route. Extremely annoying, but a specialty of Stefano DiMera.
Brady stared at the table for an extensive moment, taking in the details rapidly. He credited his time in the Marines for his ability to immediately recall places and people. Some credited the skill to a photographic memory; he claimed it was plain dumb luck. Anyway, he noticed the three stoic men and the two women with them. The one woman appeared to be older, possibly mid-thirties, but was extremely beautiful. The other woman was dressed on ivory and had her hair swept up. He had only gotten a short glimpse because she had turned her face away from him. He could only see her back, but he could tell from the limited view that she was pretty. How attractive she was remained to be determined. Moving on from the women, he studied the men quickly. The men were all dark haired, dark eyed, and seemed pissed off about something. He'd bet anything that "something" had to do with his boss, Stefano DiMera. His mouth twisted into a sharp grin as his interest grew.
"What do you think of the party of five over there?" Stefano addressed Brady. He carefully hid his delight as he wiped all expression from his face. This evening served two purposes for him. One, it was a test for Brady and Greta, an unnecessary test, but a test all the same. Two, and more importantly, he would reveal the reasons behind the transformation of the former Salemites to Chloe, the deceptive bitch who he had the misfortune to father.
Without looking back at the group, Brady threw back his brandy like a seasoned pro and offered his views after the liquid left a welcome trail of fire from his throat to his belly. "Everyone at the table seems edgy, as if they could explode at any minute. For the least amount of provocation. That could possibly make them dangerous. The woman in burgundy is concerned. Must be married to the man next to her. She kept touching his hand, as if seeking reassurance. All three men are determined, angry, and royally pissed off; no pun intended, Greta," he added in a side note and then continued with his lecture. "The other woman, dressed in the ivory gown, well, I didn't get a chance to study her."
Greta chuckled wryly with a dramatic fluttering of her eyelashes. "Why, I can't believe that Benjamin "Brady" Bradley, the world's most notorious connoisseur of women, actually did not get a clean look! The world must have stopped changing." She pressed her hand to her heart, feigning disbelief.
Brady captured the princess's other hand and grinned roguishly at her dry tone. Arching a high eyebrow, he countered smoothly, "Connoisseur of women, eh? I think I like that title."
Stefano nodded approvingly as he watched the byplay between Brady and Greta closely. The two had a tight relationship, without any type of romantic entanglements. That was the way he had designed it in order to further the rest of his plan. However, his that part was on hold until after dealing with the pesky problems of the sudden, but expected, tourists. His creations were such a joy to him, almost warmed his cold heart. "Back to the subject at hand. Brady, I must commend you. That was a sound analysis."
Greta didn't have Brady's ability to read people basically at first sight. She threw another interested look at the table and immediately met the gaze of a very handsome, dark-haired man. He was staring at her so intently that Greta had to quickly break their contact, despising herself for the weakness because a DiMera wasn't supposed to be weak. In anything. "Who are they, Father?" she questioned, ignoring the odious man from across the way.
Stefano grinned ferally, content with the question. His usually sharp gaze had missed the extreme look between Ethan and Greta but he would have been pleased by the results. "Well, they are from Salem. You have heard me talk about Salem, yes?" he prodded, leading them expertly to the end of the maze.
"Ahh, yes." He purposefully ignored the table and leaned against his chair. Aware that the restaurant designated a "no-smoking" place, he pulled out a cigar and lit it easily. Smoke soon permeated the air but Brady ignored it and the angry glances aimed his way, secure in the knowledge that the owner wouldn't dare to defy a guest of Stefano DiMera. "The town in the states where the Bradys and the Blacks live," he recalled leisurely.
Greta's lack of interest evaporated as she stiffened in her chair. "The families that have a vendetta against you, for no reason," she hissed out heatedly. Her mouth settled into a firm line while her eyes began to blaze a fire of unquenchable anger. When let loose, her temper was a fierce one.
Stefano pulled out his own cigar and followed Brady's example. Puffing on it, he informed them, "The man at the head of the table, with the beginning of silver shooting through his hair, is the head of the Black clan."
Brady scratched his chin, the smoke billowing around him in gentle wisps. "John Black," he stated quickly, the name coming to him quickly and easily. Stefano had shared much of his time with them when he had resided in Salem.
Stefano studied Brady closely, pleased when Brady didn't show an iota of recognition towards his father or the last name he had stolen from him. "Yes, that man is John Black."
In an un-princess like maneuver, Greta brought her hand down hard on the table. The table settings tinkled angrily in response. "Why the hell is he here?" she hissed at her father, a frown settling between her eyebrows and marring her beautiful features.
"That remains to be seen," Stefano answered her, patting her manicured hand soothingly. "Although it pleases me to witness your reaction, Greta, darling."
"The rest?" Brady broke in impatiently, breaking Greta's and her father's stare of appreciation.
Stefano turned back to his employee, who he had fashioned in the most careful way. "You were right on the money, Brady. That couple is married. The man who is embracing the woman is Bo Brady. The woman is his wife, Hope."
"Ohh," Greta glared lividly at the couple. She had heard so many horrible tales about this crew. "I want them out of here, Father. Now." Her tone broached no argument.
Stefano airily waved away Greta's request. "There is nothing to worry about, Greta, nothing at all. I am not in the least bit concerned about their presence here. In fact, maybe I will greet them." He placed his linen napkin on the table and prepared to stand.
Greta placed a restraining hand on her father's arm, preventing him from leaving the table, her anger disappearing momentarily. "No, Father. I will not let you go over to that den of vipers!" she exclaimed imploringly.
Greta had reacted exactly as Stefano had predicted. "I am touched by your concern," he said, smiling gratefully towards her. Then, he added, as he settled back into his chair, "I suppose you would like to know the identity of the other two people."
"Only to prevent any problems," Brady answered, his expression purposefully blank. He wasn't too concerned in the group. His interest would only grow if they proved to be a problem, a very likely occurrence.
"Well, I am very interested," Greta practically seethed out. She shuddered when she recalled the intense look the unidentified man had shared with her. He had seemed to be looking for her soul. A silly thought, but one Greta couldn't easily chase away.
"You are also aware of the other man. I have shared some of his history with you earlier. He is closely involved with the Bradys and the Blacks and has helped them fabricate "evidence" against me. Luckily, that evidence has never been considered the truth for very long," he added in an aside. He kept the joy he felt at rewriting history out of his voice, not an easy feat.
Sympathy automatically filled Greta's eyes and she forgot her livid fury at the unidentified man. She reached across the table and patted her father's hands comfortingly. "Forget about them, Father. We won't let them anywhere near you, will we, Brady?"
Brady smirked arrogantly, able to read his employer correctly. "Not unless you want them near, Stefano."
Thrilled, Stefano patted Greta's hand and disclosed the identity of the last man. "Your support means so much to me, Greta and Brady. That man is Ethan Sinclair, the ISA agent."
"James Bond extraordinaire," Greta replied sarcastically. She leveled a glance at Ethan that should have had him disappear in a blinding flash of fire; it was that potent. Ethan returned it easily, with no visible effect for the dangerous emotions simmering behind it. Angrily, Greta broke their contact for the second time, damning the man to eternal hell in the process. "The other woman?" she inquired in a near screech, searching for a distraction from that damn man from across the room. She turned her head and focused all of her attention on her father.
Stefano's features darkened degree by degree, resembling the ominous coming of sudden summer storm. He breathed in deeply before growling out, "She is the person who has hurt me the most out of inhabitants of Salem. She turned her back on and sided with them, even helping them create false information about me. She was even ready to help them capture me and throw me in jail on those trumped-up charges." His voice lowered dramatically, plainly showing the unlimited depth of his anger for the woman. "She has betrayed me, deceived me. Hell, she even shot me! She is a traitor who has spit repeatedly on the DiMera name."
Greta narrowed her eyes into dim slits, understanding who the woman was from her father's description. "You mean…"
"Yes," Stefano affirmed, practically spitting out the name. "She is your sister, Chloe Lane Black."
"Another Black," Brady mused as he tapped his cigar against an unused bowl on the table. That was all the name meant to him. He chewed on it a moment before he admitted, "I find it amazing that a DiMera could possibly marry into a family that despises her own."
Stefano hid the malevolent grin. The newly recreated Brady wouldn't understand the pure pleasure behind it. "The ultimate betrayal. She will never be forgiven. Never."
Greta kept her eyes trained on the woman. She pivoted around in her chair and pleaded with her father, "Let me go enlighten her to the truth."
"No," Stefano answered imperiously. He waited for a beat and then announced, "I will deal with her." With that, he shared a pointed look with Brady, a look that spoke volumes. Satisfied that Brady had understood the unvoiced order, he slowly rose from his chair and left their table without a backward glance.
Greta scowled after her father and threw her napkin down in disgust. She was stopped in the process from standing up when Brady placed a restrictive hand on her. "Dammit, Brady!" she swore at him, her eyes battling with his. "Let me go with my father!"
Brady sneered coolly at the irate princess. He had a lot of experience dealing with her royal temper. "Not on your life, Princess." "Princess" was a title he used only when superseding her wishes.
Greta stared back into the incredibly piercing blue eyes and read the steel will barely below the surface, a steel will that she could never bend. As much as she hated to admit defeat, she slouched back in her chair and accused him dispiritedly, "He ordered you to keep me here, didn't he?"
"Yep," he answered with an insolent grin that only inflamed her more.
"And you won't go against my father's wishes," Greta interpreted on a wispy sigh of regret. It was useless to push Brady when he had been given an order from her father. Although he was her bodyguard, he only followed orders from Stefano. "Damn," came out, softly uttered this time.
Brady's lips curled into a contented smile, realizing that Greta would obey her father's orders perfectly. She'd hate it but she wouldn't interfere. "If it helps, Greta, I would give my right arm to find out what's happening over there."
"Doesn't help," Greta muttered under her breath, shooting Brady a glare that should have frozen him on the spot.
In an attempt to distract her from the royal snit she was in, Brady leaned across the table and asked her, "What do you think your father is saying to your traitorous sister?"
The sulk dropped from her face while Greta eagerly contemplated the conversation. With a cunning smile, she answered positively, "Everything she deserves."