The apartment was alive with voices, but Serena felt apart from it all.
Laughter drifted from the living room, where Chloe and Maya were teasing Jade about craving strawberries dipped in pickles, but none of it reached the hollow in her chest. She sat curled into the armchair in her father's old study, the one room her mother rarely entered anymore. Dust clung to the edges of the shelves, the air faint with the scent of leather and old paper.
On the desk lay the small box she had found a week ago while sorting through things—Vale's things. She'd carried it here tonight, heart hammering, hands trembling, because some part of her had known this wasn't just old paperwork. Inside were folded letters, brittle at the edges, and a single key. The label on the envelope had her name scrawled in his familiar looping hand: For when she's ready.
Serena wasn't sure if she was. She stared at it until the words blurred.
Her father had been gone for years, but this—this made him feel present again. His voice whispered through her memory, gentle but firm, the way he used to tell her bedtime stories that always sounded like parables. Stories about trust, loyalty, and choices. Stories she now realized weren't fairy tales at all, but lessons.
Her fingers finally broke the seal.
My Serena,
If you are reading this, I am gone. And if you are reading this, it means you are old enough to understand that truth is heavier than lies, and it will not let you rest until you carry it.
You may one day hear whispers about me, about debts and shadows. They will call me many things—friend, traitor, even coward. But know this: every choice I made was to protect you. There are men in this world who live by honor, even in darkness. And there are men who will bleed you dry with a smile. Learn the difference. It may save you one day.
—Vale
Serena's throat burned. Tears stung her eyes before she could stop them. He had known. He had lived in a world of shadows she had never understood, and he had still carried her on his shoulders as if she were light.
A knock on the doorframe broke the silence.
"Serena?" It was her mother, hesitant. "The girls are worried about you. You should come eat something."
Serena folded the letter quickly, wiping her cheeks. "I'm fine, Mom. Just… give me a few minutes."
Her mother studied her from the doorway, sadness shadowing her face. For a heartbeat, Serena thought she might step inside, sit beside her, and finally speak of Vale. But then she only nodded and withdrew.
The apartment grew quiet again. Too quiet.
A low voice came from the balcony. "You finally opened it."
Serena jerked to her feet, her pulse racing. Dante stood outside, framed by the city lights, his suit catching the silver glow of the moon. He had no right to be here, no right to know about her father's letters—and yet, some part of her wasn't surprised.
"You—" she began, her voice sharp. "You can't just appear wherever you want."
"I don't appear wherever," he said calmly, stepping inside as if he owned the air around him. "Only where I need to be."
Her heart pounded. "How do you know about this?" She held up the letter, her hands trembling.
Dante's eyes flicked to the folded paper, then back to her face. For once, there was no smirk, no teasing edge—just something heavy, unreadable. "Vale and I… we crossed paths."
Serena froze. "You knew my father?"
A beat of silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken truths.
"He was a man of honor," Dante said finally, his voice low. "In a world without much of it. He cared for you more than his own life. That's what made him strong—and vulnerable."
Her knees weakened, and she sank back into the chair. "Why are you telling me this? Why now?"
"Because you deserve to know that his choices weren't weakness. They were sacrifice."
Serena swallowed hard, her tears threatening to spill again. She wanted to believe him, but doubt gnawed at her. Dante wasn't family, wasn't a friend. He was a stranger—dangerous, magnetic, impossible to ignore.
And yet he knew her father.
The walls she had tried to build cracked, just a little.
But before she could speak, a burst of laughter came from the living room—Jade demanding that the baby be named after her, Chloe arguing it would be "a disaster for society."
The sound tugged Serena back to the present, grounding her. She folded the letter and tucked it against her chest. "You should leave."
Dante's gaze lingered on her, steady and unshakable. "One day, Serena, you'll realize I'm not here by chance."
And then he was gone, melting into the night as if he had never been there.
But Serena's heart knew better. He was everywhere now—in her thoughts, in her grief, in the shadows of her father's words.