Elena's POV
Morning came slowly to Bellagio Heights.
The mansion was too quiet, the kind of quiet that made her wonder if silence itself had ears. Elena sat on the edge of the bed, the heavy curtains drawn back just enough to let in a fractured beam of light. Dust floated like gold flecks through the air, the only proof that time hadn't stopped overnight.
Mateo still slept, tangled in the blankets, his tiny chest rising and falling in rhythm. She envied that ease. For her sleep had been a battle against every sound, the creak of wood, the whisper of wind, the low hum of voices in the distance. This place might have been built for safety, but it felt like a cage dressed in silk.
She needed to breathe. To see something beyond stone walls and guards who wouldn't meet her eyes.
The hallway outside her room stretched endlessly in both directions, lined with portraits of people whose eyes followed her no matter where she turned. She didn't know their names but she didn't have to. They were all part of him, the Moretti legacy. Cold. Powerful. Watching.
She passed a series of tall windows overlooking the gardens. Somewhere beyond them she saw movement, men in black, patrolling with purpose. Every step reminded her that this was not a sanctuary but a fortress.
She descended the marble staircase carefully, her hand brushing against the carved banister. The main hall opened before her grand and quiet, filled with too many secrets. There was no sign of Dante, though she could feel his presence like a shadow that refused to lift.
"Signora Marquez."
The voice startled her. She turned to find the same woman from the night before, refined, immaculate, eyes sharp enough to cut glass.
"Breakfast is ready" the woman said, gesturing toward a dining room that looked more like a museum exhibit.
"Thank you" Elena murmured. "And you are…?"
"Lucia" the woman replied. "Mr. Moretti's housekeeper."
Elena hesitated searching for warmth in the woman's expression but found only polite detachment.
Lucia studied her for a moment. "You should not wander too far from the main floor. The guards are… vigilant."
"That's one word for it," Elena muttered under her breath.
Lucia didn't react. "Mr. Moretti will join you shortly."
Of course he would.
Dante's POV
He watched her on the security feed before he entered.
Old habits. Control disguised as caution.
Elena moved through his home like a ghost, her steps light, her eyes alert. She didn't belong here, that much was obvious. Everything about her was too real for this place of curated perfection. She carried warmth like a defiance.
Dante leaned against the edge of the console, jaw tight.
She shouldn't fascinate him. Not after everything he'd done, everything he'd seen. But there was something about the way she moved, cautious, unbroken, protective of that child and that drew him in despite himself.
When he finally stepped into the dining room she was sitting by the window, stirring her coffee without drinking it. The sunlight hit her hair just right, turning the strands into threads of copper and gold.
He shouldn't have noticed that either.
"Sleep well?" he asked.
She glanced up, unimpressed. "About as well as someone locked inside a stranger's mansion."
"I told you," he said sliding into the seat across from her, "this isn't a prison."
"No?" Her gaze hardened. "Then open the gates."
Dante smiled faintly, not with amusement, but recognition. "You'd last an hour out there before someone tried to finish what they started."
She froze. "You think they'll come back?"
"I don't think" he said evenly. "I know."
Her eyes flickered to the window where two guards walked past, rifles slung over their shoulders. Her hand tightened around the coffee cup.
"You can hate me if it helps" he added quietly. "But stay alive long enough to do it."
Elena's POV
She didn't know what to say to that.
Hate him? She wanted to. It would make everything easier, the walls, the guards, the way her pulse reacted whenever he was near but hate required clarity and Dante Moretti blurred every line she tried to draw.
When breakfast ended she excused herself. He didn't stop her.
She found herself drawn down a long corridor lined with closed doors. One of them was slightly ajar. Curiosity got the better of her. Inside the air was colder, filled with the faint scent of cedar and whiskey.
It was his office.
Bookshelves lined the walls,leather-bound volumes and files stacked with surgical precision. A large desk sat near the window, its surface immaculate except for a framed photograph turned face down. She hesitated then reached out lifting it slightly.
A younger Dante. A boy, maybe twelve. Standing beside a man with the same eyes but a harder expression.
She set it back quickly, a pang of guilt sharp in her chest. Whatever story that picture told, it wasn't hers to read.
"Elena."
The sound of his voice behind her made her freeze.
She turned slowly. He was standing in the doorway one hand resting on the frame, his expression unreadable.
"I didn't mean to intrude," she said quickly. "I just…."
"Wanted to understand the man keeping you here?" he finished for her.
Her throat tightened. "Something like that."
He stepped closer, the distance between them shrinking with each quiet stride. The air changed, it was denser, charged. She could hear the faint ticking of the clock on the wall and her own heartbeat underneath it.
"Be careful what you look for" he said softly. "You might not like what you find."
"And what if I already don't?" she shot back, her voice low.
He was close enough now that she could see the faint scar near his collarbone, the tension in his jaw. His eyes held her there, dark, steady, unflinching.
For a moment neither of them spoke.
Then he exhaled, slow and deliberate and turned away. "Dinner's at seven" he said, his tone clipped. "Lucia will bring something for your son."
He left before she could answer.
.
Dante's POV
He shut the door to his office harder than necessary.
He shouldn't have followed her. He shouldn't care where she went, what she touched, what ghosts she tried to uncover. But seeing her standing there, sunlight tracing her silhouette, his world reflected in her eyes, had done something to him he didn't like.
He poured a drink he didn't need, staring out the window at the treeline beyond the walls.
She didn't belong in his world and he didn't belong in hers. But fate or whatever cruel force played puppet master to his life had decided otherwise.
He told himself again that she was under his protection. Nothing more.
The problem was, he didn't believe it anymore.
Elena's POV
That night she couldn't stop thinking about what he'd said, be careful what you look for.
The words followed her like a whisper.
After Mateo fell asleep she wandered onto the balcony, the chill air biting at her skin. The estate was quiet again, that same suffocating stillness. And yet when she looked toward the far side of the gardens she saw him.
Dante stood alone, half in shadow, his face lifted slightly toward the night sky as if listening for something she couldn't hear.
He looked… lonely. Not dangerous. Not cruel. Just a man carrying the weight of too many things unsaid.
For a fleeting moment, she almost stepped forward, almost called out. But then he turned his head, eyes catching hers across the distance. Neither moved. Neither spoke.
Only silence filled the space between them, heavy and electric.
Then he walked away, vanishing into the dark.
And the strangest thing was…
for the first time since the night she'd witnessed the unthinkable, Elena wasn't sure who she feared more, the men who wanted her dead or the one keeping her alive.