Chapter 4 - “Last year, somebody attempted to take territory that was not his. He used violence to send a message. I returned it with interest. This scar is what happens when you move too slowly and your opponent has better aim than anticipated.”
His voice remained emotionless.
“I stayed in a hospital for 3 days and told everyone I had influenza. Only Sofia knew. She was terrified and made me promise to become more careful. I promised, lied, and continued exactly as before.”
“Why? You have money and power. Why not step away and allow someone else to handle the violence? You have a sister who loves you.”
“If I withdraw, someone else assumes control. That person might not respect the restrictions I established. He might not care about civilians or collateral damage.”
Dante looked at me with intensity.
“I built the organization to protect Sofia and ensure we would never be hungry or powerless again. It has become larger than that. Hundreds of people depend upon me. Families need the income. Operations keep the city functioning in ways the legitimate world refuses to acknowledge but still uses.”
“That is a noble description of organized crime.”
“It is the truth. I am not a good man. I do terrible things, but I do them for reasons. I do not target civilians or involve innocent people unless there is no alternative. I keep worse men away from my territory because they possess no such restraint.”
He paused.
“That is the reality you are choosing. Not a romantic version of danger. I have killed and will do so again to protect what belongs to me.”
“I know.”
The certainty had existed since he ordered me to remain in the hotel room.
“I am not naïve. I know what you are. The question is whether you can accept that I know and remain anyway.”
“Why would you choose this?”
He sounded genuinely confused.
“Why choose me?”
“Because I have spent 6 months watching you pretend control meant absence of feeling. Because beneath everything you have shown the world, you care more than you admit. Because you protect people, carry responsibilities no 1 else sees, and are trying despite believing you cannot.”
My hand remained against his scar.
“I don’t need you to be good in the way ordinary people define goodness. I need you to be honest with me.”
His control began to fracture.
The kiss came with everything we had avoided for 6 months. It was not restrained, but neither was it careless. It carried fear, relief, and the knowledge that both of us understood crossing the boundary would change everything.
He asked more than once whether I was certain.
I told him yes.
We moved toward the bedroom, leaving the blood, threats, and armed men beyond the closed door.
Later, lying beside him, I understood that the night had not solved anything. It had not changed his profession, eliminated his enemies, or removed the complications between our families.
It had only made denial impossible.
“I think I’m falling in love with you,” he said in the darkness. “I may have been since the hotel. Perhaps before. I don’t know when it began, but I cannot stop it despite knowing I should.”
I was too exhausted to open my eyes, but I answered.
“Good. I’m falling too. I have been for months. I was waiting for you to catch up.”
His arms tightened around me.
“We are both terrible at this.”
“Probably, but we are terrible together. That is something.”
I fell asleep before he could respond.
In the morning, sunlight filled unfamiliar windows. Dante lay beside me, already awake and watching.
“How long have you been staring at me like a criminal?”
“20 minutes. You snore. It is both endearing and concerning. You might seek medical advice.”
He almost smiled.
“You also speak in your sleep. You said something about pizza and my terrible opinions. You remain argumentative while unconscious.”
“I stand by my unconscious opinions. Pineapple on pizza is valid, and you are wrong.”
“What time is it?”
“8:00 a.m. I have meetings at 10:00.”
He checked his phone.
“You have nothing scheduled. I cleared your calendar when it became apparent you would remain here.”
His expression became serious.
“We need to discuss what happens next.”
“After coffee. I am not functional before caffeine.”
I began searching for my clothes.
“Where is my dress?”
“Somewhere on the floor. I’ll find it. Coffee first, then security arrangements, the consequences of your public connection to me, boundaries, expectations, and every conversation we should have held before sleeping together.”
“A charming morning.”
I wrapped myself in a sheet.
“Dante?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for last night—for protecting me, telling me about the scars, and not behaving strangely afterward. I know this is complicated and perhaps happened too quickly, but I don’t regret it.”
“Neither do I.”
He crossed the room and kissed me.
“Go shower. I’ll make coffee, find your dress, and determine how to tell Marco I slept with his sister without being killed.”
“You’re telling Marco?”
“He will learn eventually. He should hear it from me. He is my best friend, and I owe him the truth even if it results in violence directed at my face.”
“That is a terrible plan. He will absolutely try to kill you.”
“Probably.”
“For the record, I will be very upset if he succeeds.”
“Noted.”
He looked resigned.
“I will attempt to survive.”
I showered in a bathroom larger than my bedroom, used products smelling like Dante, and emerged wearing his robe because my dress remained missing.
He was speaking Italian on the phone. His expression softened slightly when he saw me. He ended the call.
“Marco knows.”
He announced it as though describing an incoming natural disaster.
“Someone told him I brought you here last night. He is on his way and extremely angry. We have approximately 15 minutes to prepare.”
“Who told him?”
“Antonio. He is Marco’s cousin. Evidently family loyalty exceeded loyalty to me.”
Dante looked pained.
“Marco spent the night believing you were in danger. He will be angry that I failed to protect you and angrier when he discovers I protected you successfully but also slept with you.”
“This will be a disaster.”
I looked around.
“Where is my dress? I cannot confront my brother in your robe.”
“He will know regardless. Neither of us lies convincingly where this is concerned.”
Dante found the dress and handed it to me.
“Dress. I’ll make more coffee. We will attempt not to die.”
I was dressed and caffeinated when somebody pounded on the door.
Dante and I looked at each other.
Neither of us knew whether the conversation could end without violence.
He opened the door.
Marco entered, saw me, saw Dante, and understood immediately.
“You slept with my sister.”
It was an accusation rather than a question.
“You brought her here, placed her in danger, and then slept with her.”
“Yes.”
Dante did not deny it.
“Those events occurred in that order. I do not apologize for protecting her. I am sorry you learned this way.”
Marco turned to me.
“Did he hurt or force you? If he did, I will kill him regardless of our friendship.”
“No. I’m fine. I wanted to be here and wanted what happened.”
I moved between them.
“This is consensual and real. We have been dating, in a manner of speaking. You need to calm down before either of you does something we all regret.”
“Dating?”
Marco repeated the word as though it were foreign.
“How long?”
“2 weeks officially,” Dante answered, “and approximately 6 months unofficially if unresolved tension counts.”
His honesty was dangerous.
“I care about her. This is not casual. I’m not using her. I’m trying not to destroy this despite every instinct telling me I will.”
Marco looked between us, cycling through anger, protectiveness, and the realization that his best friend and sister were together.
“If you hurt her—”
“You will kill me. I know. Take your place behind the other people who want me dead.”
Dante did not retreat.
“I have no intention of hurting her. I intend to keep her safe, remain honest, and avoid sabotaging this the way I sabotage everything else. That is the best I can offer.”
“It isn’t sufficient. She deserves better than a man whose life may get her killed.”
“You’re correct. She does. She chose me anyway. Unless you plan to imprison her and make decisions on her behalf, you must accept that she can evaluate danger herself.”
Dante’s voice remained controlled.
“I’m not requesting permission. I’m informing you and hoping you can accept it without ending our friendship.”
The silence stretched.
Eventually, Marco exhaled.
“Fine. You can date my sister. If anything happens to her because of you, the friendship ends.”
“Understood.”
Dante extended his hand.
“Thank you for not killing me immediately. That required more restraint than expected.”
Marco shook it and looked at me.
“Are you certain? You can still leave without judgment.”
“I’m certain. Frightened, but certain. He is worth the risk.”
I smiled despite the tension.
“Can we stop behaving as though I’m helpless and eat breakfast like adults who are not threatening one another?”
“Fine. Breakfast.”
Marco pointed at Dante.
“I’m watching you. If I see anything I dislike, we will have another conversation.”
“Understood.”
Dante headed toward the kitchen.
“How do you feel about omelets? I prepare excellent omelets.”
The crisis passed as abruptly as it had begun.
We ate breakfast while Marco glared at Dante and Dante pretended not to notice. I sat between 2 dangerous men trying to remain civil for my benefit and wondered how my life had become so complicated so quickly.
Looking at Dante, watching him manage my brother’s protectiveness with patience, I did not regret the hotel, the danger, the previous night, or that morning.
Every complication had led there.
3 weeks after Marco discovered the relationship, life felt almost normal.
Almost.
Normal did not include armed guards outside my apartment, Dante insisting that somebody drive me to work every morning, or the way his body tensed whenever his phone rang as though he expected to receive news of my death.
“You’re doing it again.”
I sat across from his desk, where we were supposedly reviewing contracts. Dante was actually staring at his phone, waiting for it to betray him.
“Doing what?”
“The thing where you imagine every possible catastrophe while pretending you are fine. You develop a line between your eyebrows whenever you are convinced something terrible is approaching.”
I closed the laptop.
“What is wrong? Do not say nothing. We agreed to remain honest.”
He put down the phone.
Exhaustion had become familiar in his face.
“There has been discussion. People are asking about you and whether using you would provide leverage against me.”
My stomach tightened.
“How much discussion?”
“Enough that I tripled your security without telling you because I knew you would consider it excessive. Enough that I have considered removing you from the office and placing you somewhere secure until the danger passes.”
“You cannot imprison me every time somebody mentions my name. That is not sustainable or a life.”
“It is preferable to the alternative.”
His voice hardened.
“I know what happens when people I care about become targets. I will not permit it to happen to you.”
“You do not possess the right to make that decision alone. I understand the risk and appreciate the protection, but I will not live inside a cage because you are afraid.”
“It is not a matter of whether something may occur. It is a matter of when. My world does not deal in hypothetical consequences.”
He stood.
“I will not lose you because I failed to treat a threat seriously.”
“What is your plan? Confine me forever? Never allow me beyond your sight? Construct a fortress and call it love?”
Anger rose through me.
“That is possession, not protection.”
“Call it whatever you wish. You will remain alive.”
His expression became absolute.
“I made arrangements. Beginning Monday, you will work remotely. You will no longer come to the office.”
“We are supposed to be partners. Partnership requires discussion, not unilateral decisions followed by an expectation of obedience.”
“This is not a discussion. I am keeping you safe through whatever method is required.”
His voice rose slightly, a rare fracture in his control.
“You do not understand what these people will do to send a message.”
“I understand, and my independence remains part of who I am. You cannot remove it because you are frightened.”
I gathered my things.
“I need distance. I’m going home.”
“No. You will stay here, where I can protect you.”
He moved toward the door as though prepared to stop me physically.
“Move.”
My voice became cold.
“I am leaving. You may send guards, follow me, or use whatever precautions you consider necessary, but you will not keep me here against my will.”
Something crossed his face—hurt, perhaps, or recognition that he had crossed a boundary.
He stepped aside.
“Fine. Luca will drive and remain outside your building. That is not negotiable.”
“Fine.”
I walked past him.
“I may see you tomorrow, assuming I decide I can continue working for a man who equates controlling me with protecting me.”
I left before he could respond.
Luca followed me silently into the elevator and then the car. I stared through the window, trying to determine whether I was unreasonable for demanding autonomy or Dante was unreasonable for attempting to remove it.
My phone rang.
Dante.
I declined the call. It rang again. I declined again.
On the 3rd call, I answered.
“What?”
“I’m sorry.”
His voice was wrecked.
“I’m handling this badly. I’m terrified, and terror makes me controlling. I know that is unacceptable, but I do not know how else to keep you safe.”
I remained silent.
“Please do not leave or abandon this. I will determine how to protect you while respecting your autonomy. Do not give up on me yet.”
“I’m not giving up. I’m creating enough space for us to calm down before we say something permanent.”
My voice softened.
“I understand your fear. You cannot transform it into control. That is neither love nor partnership. It is you making every decision according to the worst possible outcome instead of trusting me to navigate danger.”
“I don’t trust the world to leave you untouched. That is different.”
He paused.
“Come back. We can determine a compromise together. I will attempt to become less controlling. You will attempt to understand why I am terrified.”
“Tomorrow. Tonight I need space. I need to consider whether this can be sustained and whether the cost of loving you is too high.”
The silence became suffocating.
“You are considering leaving me.”
“I am considering whether remaining is possible when every day produces another threat, restriction, and reason for you to construct walls around me.”
The truth hurt both of us.
“I love you. I don’t know whether love is sufficient if the price is allowing fear to change my entire life.”
“I love you too. That is why I am terrified.”
His voice broke.
“You are right. I cannot imprison, control, or make unilateral decisions and demand that you accept them. I will improve. I promise.”
“I’m exhausted. We will discuss sustainable solutions tomorrow. Tonight, I need quiet.”
“Tomorrow.”
“I love you. Be safe.”
“I love you too.”
I ended the call before the tears began.
Luca drove me home and remained outside the building.
The apartment felt empty and cold, nothing like the home I had begun creating with Dante during the previous weeks.
While preparing tea, I received a message from an unidentified number.
You should listen to him. The threats are more serious than he admits. If you stay, you become a permanent target. Leave while you still can. A friend.
I deleted it and tried to forget.
I could not.
Somebody possessed my number, understood the threats, and knew enough to issue a warning. That should have terrified me.
Instead, it made me angry—angry at the life I had entered, angry that loving Dante required constant fear, and angry that I appeared forced to choose between safety and independence.
I fell asleep on the sofa while still dressed.
At 3:00 a.m., Marco called.
Calls from Marco at that hour were never harmless.
“Gia, where are you?”
He sounded panicked.
“At home. I was asleep. Why?”
“Remain there. Lock the doors. Do not leave or open them for anyone except Dante or me.”
I heard movement on his end.
“There was an incident. Somebody attempted to take Sofia. The guards stopped them, and she is unharmed, but the attackers mentioned you. They said you would be next.”
My blood became cold.
“They failed to take Sofia. She is at Dante’s residence with guards, but this is escalating. You need to—”
The line disconnected.
I attempted to call Marco back. There was no answer. Dante’s phone went directly to voicemail.
Then my door exploded inward.
I did not think. I ran toward the bedroom and window, toward anything that might provide escape from the 3 men entering my apartment.
I nearly reached the window.
Hands seized me.
I screamed, fought, drove a knee into 1 man, and clawed another. There were 3 of them, however, and they were trained while I was only terrified and desperate.
Something struck my head.
The world went dark.
I awoke inside a moving vehicle with my wrists secured by plastic ties and pain pounding through my skull. 3 men sat ahead of me, speaking a language I did not understand.
It was real.
The exact event Dante feared had occurred after I accused him of being controlling.
My phone was gone. My apartment disappeared behind us. I did not know our destination or what they intended to do.
The vehicle suddenly swerved. Metal struck metal. Glass shattered, and pain seemed to exist everywhere.
When I could think again, I heard unfamiliar voices, shouting, and gunfire.
Somebody pulled me from the wreckage.
I attempted to focus.
“I have you. You are safe. Stay with me.”
Dante’s voice.
His hands touched me, and his face appeared above mine with more terror than I had ever seen there.
“Sofia?”
My voice barely worked.
“Safe. She is at home with guards. This attack concerned only you.”
He examined me for injuries.
“Where are you hurt? What did they do?”
“They hit me. Took me. The car crashed. I don’t know.”
I began shaking as shock settled over me.
“You came.”
“Of course I came. Luca contacted me when they entered your building. I followed and attempted to intercept them. When the vehicle crashed—”
He stopped and swallowed.
“I believed I had lost you. I believed I was too late.”
“You weren’t. I’m alive.”
Tears came.
“You were right about the threat and the danger.”
“I don’t care about being correct. I care that you are alive.”
He lifted me and carried me toward another car.
“You are going to a hospital. Afterward, we will have a very different discussion about security.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t listen. I’m sorry I left angry.”
“Stop. This is not your fault.”
His voice was broken.
May you like
“It is mine for failing to deal with the danger, allowing you to leave when I knew it was unsafe, and failing to protect you. I’m sorry.”
He held me in the car.
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