Serena slammed the bedroom door behind her and pressed her back against it, her chest heaving. The walk home had felt like miles, every step heavier than the last. Ethan's words still echoed in her mind, cruel and sharp, and then—Dante.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to banish the memory of his steady gaze, the way his hand had brushed her elbow, grounding her when she wanted to fall apart. Why does he feel… safe? And why does that scare me more than Ethan's betrayal?
"Serena?"
Her mom's voice pulled her back. The door creaked open slightly, and her mother peeked in. "You've barely touched your dinner. Are you okay, sweetheart?"
Serena forced a smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "I'm fine, Mom. Just tired."
Her mother studied her with that knowing look only moms had but didn't press further. "Alright. But don't keep it all in, Serena. You'll break if you try to carry everything alone."
When the door clicked shut, Serena finally let herself collapse onto the bed. She curled into her pillow, the faint smell of her perfume clinging to the sheets. She hated herself for thinking about Dante instead of Ethan. Hated the way his voice had seemed to slip past her walls, as if he could see her pain better than the boy she'd loved for years.
Who are you, Dante? she thought, staring at the ceiling until sleep pulled her under.
Across the city, Dante sat in his office, the dim glow of a desk lamp casting sharp lines across his face. Andres leaned casually against the leather sofa, tossing a pen in the air like a bored teenager.
"You scared the kid today," Andres said with a grin. "Ethan, right? He looked like he wanted to crawl out of his skin."
Dante didn't look up from the file on his desk. "He's sloppy. Weak." He flipped a page, his jaw tightening. "And yet, he managed to get close to her."
"Mm," Andres hummed, catching the pen and pointing it like a dagger. "Jealous much?"
Dante's eyes lifted, sharp as a blade. "Careful."
Andres only laughed. "Relax, boss. I'm just saying… you've been watching her like she's more than just business. Don't tell me the infamous Dante is getting soft."
Dante leaned back, finally closing the file. His gaze drifted to the city lights outside, but his mind was elsewhere—on a girl with trembling hands around a cappuccino cup, eyes still swollen from tears.
"It's not softness," he said slowly. "It's necessity."
Andres raised a brow. "Necessity?"
"Her father's bloodline ties her to everything we're dealing with," Dante explained, his tone colder now. "Vale's secrets didn't die with him. Serena is the loose thread. And if Ethan is who I think he is, then he's part of the knot I need to unravel."
Andres whistled low. "So Ethan isn't just some boy who broke her heart. He's playing a bigger game?"
Dante nodded once. "Find out who he's working for. Every connection. Every motive. I want answers by tomorrow."
Andres stood, stretching lazily. "Consider it done. But…" He gave Dante a sly grin. "You can dress it up however you like—bloodlines, business, legacy—but I've seen the way you look at her. You're protecting her, not just using her."
For a moment, silence lingered.
Dante's jaw clenched, but he didn't argue. Instead, he reached for a glass of whiskey, swirling it slowly.
"She has no idea what kind of world she's been dragged into," he murmured, almost to himself. "And she doesn't know she's already mine to protect."
Andres smirked, but wisely kept his reply to himself. He left the office with his usual careless stride, leaving Dante alone with his thoughts.
The mafia boss took a slow sip of whiskey, eyes narrowing at the dark city skyline.
Ethan made her cry. That won't happen again.