The walk down to Dante's office felt like a never ending stroll to hell itself, Every click of my heels on the polished marble floors echoed like a gunshot in the devastating silence of his mansion. I kept my head high , my shoulders back , trying to embody Sophia Morales- Confident, capable and completely unbothered. A part of me still couldn't believe I was actually doing this, even though I kept trying I couldn't tie down the excitement of seeing him again after so long, after years of staying hidden. Although technically I was still hidden behind the cloak of Sophia Morales but at least I could look at those eyes again, at my Dante.
Kyle led me to a set of double doors carved from obsidian wood. "He's waiting for you. Don't be nervous. He doesn't bite. He winked.
I smiled faintly "Noted"
He pushed the doors open, and the air changed. It was colder, It was familiar, charged with a silent, potent vibe that smelled of expensive cigar smoke, aged whiskey and pure, undiluted authority and a heart-striking familiarity.
And there he was.
Dante Moretti.
The boy I loved was gone. Erased. In his place was a king carved from ice and shadow, seated behind a gigantic desk that looked like it was stripped off a single petrified tree.
My breath hitched, caught in my throat like a trapped mouse. God, he's more. Everything was more. The boyish softness had been cut off, leaving a brutal, devastating structure of sharp jawline, blade-straight nose, and those lips… God those lips set in a thin line of unwavering power. His shoulders seemed to fill the space, the fine black wool of his suit stretching over a frame that was pure, hardened muscle. His hands once calloused from holding mine now rested on his desk, his fingers pressed together. They were the hands of a man who was described to me as the Mafia King, my Dante, a Mafia King?
He didn't look up.
He was reading a file—my file, the one Ellie and I painstakingly forged–With thorough intensity that was more intimidating than any threat. The silence stretched, thickening, I could literally feel the weight of it on my skin.
Finally, he spoke. His voice was low, resonant that vibrated through the floor and up my bones. It was deeper than I remembered, weathered by years and authority, stripped of all warmth.
"Sophia Morales."
He said the name like he was tasting it, testing its validity on his tongue. He still hadn't looked at me.
"Yes, sir" I said, my voice thankfully steady, betraying none of the storm inside me.
"It says here you were recommended by Alberto Ricci" He flipped a page. "A good man, shame about the gambling debts"
It was a test. A trap. Ricci was in a shallow grave because of my father.
"A shame. Sir," I replied , layering my tone with respectful neutrality. "I didn't know him well. He was a friend of my uncle's"
Finally, he moved. He leaned back in his chair, the leather squeaking under his weight, and lifted his gaze.
It was like being struck.
His eyes– the same, that sharp shade of dark espresso– were no longer the warm, laughing pools I'd drowned in. They were cold, calculating and they were pinned on me. They traveled over me, from the blonde wig to the stupidly high heels, a slow, meticulous inspection that felt more invasive than ever. I felt utterly, completely seen and yet completely invisible. He was looking at an object, an applicant, a potential tool. Not a person. Certainly not me, not Ava.
"Your qualifications are… adequate," he stated, his tone implying they were anything but a compliment. "Kyle tells me you're handy with a gun."
"I can hold my own, Mr Moretti."
A ghost of a smirk, there and gone. It never reached his eyes, not like it used to. "This isn't a security guard position, Miss Morales. This is my life. My business. My every waking moment. You will see things. You will hear things. You will hear things. You will become a shadow. And shadows," he said, leaning forward, his voice dropping into a deadly whisper, "do not have agendas of their own. Do you understand?"
The command in his voice was absolute and calm, infinitely more terrifying.
"Perfectly, sir."
"Loyalty is the only currency I accept. The only one. Betrayal…" He let the word stretch between us. "Betrayal is a stain I erase. Permanently."
My heart was a frantic drum against my ribs. He knows, does he know? This is a game, a game I had to win for survival.
He held my gaze for a second longer, I saw a flicker of something– a fracture of the boy who'd whispered my name under the bleachers. Or was it just my own desperate hope, reflected back at me?
It was gone before I could be sure.
He looked down at the file again, the dismissal clear. " Kyle will show you your duties. You start now."
I turned to leave, my legs feeling like water.
"And, Miss Morales?"
I froze, my hand on the door handle.
His voice was cold steel once more.
"Welcome to your nightmare."