Dante led Hayla through the gilded hallways of the Moretti estate, a mansion she remembered only from stories and fleeting teenage visits. Now, everything felt larger, darker, and more intimidating. The chandeliers were dazzling, but the shadows they cast seemed to hide secrets.
"You've changed," Dante said, finally breaking the silence. His voice was quiet, but it carried a weight that made her heart skip a beat.
Hayla straightened, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "People change. Life changes."
"Some things don't," he countered, a shadow of a smirk tugging at his lips. "Like the way you avoid answering me."
She caught herself flinching. How could he still read her so easily after all these years? "I'm not avoiding. I just… I didn't expect to see you tonight."
Dante's expression softened, but only slightly. "Neither did I. But I'm glad you're here."
That small admission made her stomach twist in ways she hadn't felt since she was sixteen, the way her world used to tilt whenever he was near. But she forced herself to stay grounded. He was dangerous. A mafia kingpin, and she was—well, she was smart enough to know better than to fall back into his orbit without caution.
They walked into the garden, the night air cool against her skin. Lanterns swayed in the breeze, casting golden circles of light across the manicured lawn. Dante stopped near a fountain, hands in his pockets, studying her with an intensity that made her uneasy—and undeniably drawn to him.
"Why did you leave?" she asked finally, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. "You… just disappeared. No explanation. Nothing."
Dante's jaw tightened. He looked away toward the dark skyline of Ravenna, shadows of the city stretching like fingers into the night. "I had my reasons. Dangerous ones. I thought leaving you behind… would keep you safe."
"Safe?" she echoed, incredulous. "From you? From this life?"
He met her gaze then, his eyes dark, filled with regret and something deeper she couldn't quite name. "From me. From everything I couldn't protect you from. I never wanted to hurt you."
Hayla felt the old walls around her heart waver. She had spent a decade convincing herself she had moved on. Yet here he was, the same boy she once loved, standing in the moonlight, speaking truths she had longed to hear and feared to hear all at once.
"I spent ten years wondering why," she whispered. "Why you left. Why I wasn't enough."
"You were more than enough," he said, stepping closer, the scent of him—cologne and something darker, almost like danger—filling her senses. "I wasn't enough for what I was getting myself into. And I… I never stopped thinking about you."
Her heart pounded. The years apart melted into nothing, leaving only the raw ache of lost time. And though she knew the world they were stepping back into was dangerous, thrilling, and forbidden, a part of her—the reckless, hopeless part—wanted to believe him.
"Dante…" she began, but he silenced her with a hand gently pressing against hers.
"No more words. Not yet. Just… let me show you," he murmured, his gaze unwavering.
And in that moment, standing under the night sky, surrounded by whispers of their past and shadows of mafia secrets, Hayla Coleman realized something terrifying and exhilarating: maybe some loves don't fade, no matter the years, no matter the danger.