Amelia couldn't sleep after the confrontation with Dante. The letter's cryptic message haunted her, and his reaction only added fuel to her suspicion. Who was Victor Castellano, and what had Dante done to him?
The next morning, Dante was gone before she woke up. He left no note, no explanation, just an unsettling silence. Amelia decided she wasn't going to sit idly by anymore.
She spent the day wandering through the estate, probing for answers. The staff avoided her gaze, and the guards were unusually tight-lipped. But her persistence paid off when she stumbled upon Dante's office—its door slightly ajar.
Inside, she found a room filled with papers, maps, and photos pinned to the walls. Her breath hitched when her eyes landed on a picture of a man she didn't recognize. He was handsome but dangerous-looking, with a jagged scar running down his cheek. Beneath the photo, a name was scrawled in bold letters: Victor Castellano.
Her fingers traced the edges of the photo as she tried to piece everything together. But before she could dig deeper, a hand gripped her wrist.
"What are you doing in here?"
Amelia spun around to see Matteo, Dante's loyal right-hand man, his face dark with disapproval.
"I could ask you the same thing," she shot back, pulling her hand free. "Who is Victor Castellano, and why is Dante hiding the truth about him?"
Matteo hesitated, his eyes flickering with something she couldn't quite place—pity? Fear? "You shouldn't be asking questions, Mrs. Moretti. Some truths are better left buried."
But Amelia wasn't backing down. "If it's about me, I have every right to know."
Matteo's jaw tightened, but he didn't answer. Instead, he ushered her out of the room, locking the door behind them. "Stay out of this, Amelia. For your own good."
But Amelia had no intention of staying out of anything.
Later that evening, Dante returned home, his mood darker than usual. Amelia was waiting for him in the living room, the letter resting on the coffee table between them.
"We need to talk," she said firmly, her voice cutting through the tense air.
Dante didn't respond immediately. He poured himself a glass of whiskey, downing it in one gulp before turning to face her. "What now?"
"I found his picture," she said, her tone unwavering. "Victor Castellano. And I want to know the truth."
Dante's eyes flashed with anger, but he didn't deny it. "You've been snooping."
"I've been trying to protect myself," she shot back. "You won't tell me anything, and yet I'm the one being threatened. Don't I deserve to know what's going on?"
Dante ran a hand through his hair, the weight of his secrets evident in his expression. Finally, he sat down across from her, his gaze heavy.
"Victor was my partner once," he began, his voice low. "We built an empire together, but greed and ambition tore us apart. Five years ago, I made a choice—a choice that saved my life but cost him everything. He's been hunting me ever since."
"And me?" Amelia asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Why is he coming after me?"
"Because he thinks you're my weakness," Dante admitted, his words slicing through the air like a blade. "He's wrong, of course. I don't have weaknesses."
But Amelia wasn't convinced. If she wasn't Dante's weakness, then why was he trying so hard to protect her?
As silence settled between them, the lights flickered, followed by the unmistakable sound of glass shattering upstairs.
Dante was on his feet instantly, his gun drawn. "Stay here," he ordered, but Amelia wasn't about to sit back and wait.
"Dante—"
"Stay here, Amelia," he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument. And then he was gone, disappearing into the shadows as the tension in the air thickened.
Amelia's heart raced as she clutched the letter in her hands, realizing too late that she might have been wrong about Dante. He wasn't the only danger lurking in her life—there were others, and they were closer than she'd ever imagined.