Dante didn't hesitate. He left the house with purpose, his mind laser-focused on the danger that loomed just outside their doorstep. His right-hand man, Marco, was already waiting by the car, the same stoic expression on his face that had always been there. But tonight, there was something different in Dante's eyes—something darker, a weight of responsibility that he could never fully escape.
As they headed out into the night, Dante's thoughts lingered on Amelia, on the woman who had somehow found her way into his heart, despite his best efforts to keep her at a distance. It was a cruel twist of fate that she had been thrust into this world, a world where love didn't come easily, and safety was always just out of reach.
But tonight wasn't about her. Not directly. Tonight, he had to face his father his dangerous, unpredictable father, who had been growing restless, watching Dante's every move. The Mafia world was ruthless, and there was always someone waiting for you to slip up. His father's expectations loomed over him like a dark cloud, a constant reminder that there was no room for mistakes.
Before he left, Dante had one more thing to do. He turned to Eva, the maid who had been with the Moretti family for years. She was trustworthy, reliable, and Dante had always known he could count on her in moments like these.
"Eva," Dante said, his voice low but firm. "I need you to stay with Amelia tonight. Watch over her. Keep her safe. No one is to come near the house unless I say so."
Eva's eyes flickered with a hint of concern, but she nodded immediately, understanding the gravity of the situation. "Of course, sir. I'll make sure she's safe."
"Good," Dante replied, his voice almost softening. He hesitated, then added, "She doesn't know what's really going on. I don't want her getting involved in any more of this."
Eva gave a knowing nod. "I'll keep her distracted. You don't need to worry."
Dante turned away, his jaw tight with determination. He couldn't afford to worry about her right now, even if it tore him up inside to leave her in the dark. He had to focus on what was ahead.
Without another word, he strode out the door, his footsteps quick and purposeful. Marco was already behind the wheel of the car, waiting for him. Dante slid into the passenger seat, and Marco started the engine without hesitation. The drive was quiet, each mile taking him further from the home he'd spent so much time in, but he couldn't let himself think about that now.
The road stretched ahead, the city lights flickering in the distance as they sped toward their destination. Dante's thoughts were a mix of concern for Amelia and the storm that was waiting for him with his father. Every moment counted now, and he couldn't afford to let anything get in his way.
His father's mansion wasn't far from the city, a grand, imposing building that had been in the Moretti family for generations. It was a place Dante had learned to fear, despite the luxury it afforded. Inside, his father was always watching, always calculating, always a step ahead.
As they pulled up to the gates, the guards opened them without question, and the car rolled into the driveway. Dante barely glanced at the towering structure as they parked. He was already preparing himself for the confrontation ahead. His father wasn't someone who took kindly to disobedience, and tonight, Dante knew he had some explaining to do.
Marco followed him inside, silent and alert as they made their way through the opulent halls. They were greeted by the heavy silence that hung in the air, a silence that Dante had come to associate with his father's presence.
When they reached the study, Dante didn't knock. He opened the door without hesitation, stepping into the dimly lit room where his father was sitting behind his massive desk.
Vittorio Moretti, the head of the family, was a man of few words. His sharp gaze cut through the room like a knife as he looked up at his son, his hands steepled in front of him.
"You're late," his father said, his voice low and measured. It wasn't a question—it was a statement.
"I had things to take care of," Dante replied, his tone just as steady.
Vittorio's eyes narrowed. "Things? Or people?"
Dante didn't flinch. He had faced this man countless times before, but the weight of tonight felt different. It was as if the entire world was holding its breath, waiting for Dante to make his next move.
"Amelia is under my protection," Dante said, his voice hardening. "I'll do whatever it takes to keep her safe."
Vittorio leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping lightly against the surface of his desk. "And what of your responsibilities, Dante? What of the family business?"
Dante clenched his jaw. He knew where this conversation was going. "The family business is under control."
Vittorio's lips curled into a slight smirk. "Is it? Because it seems to me that you've been distracted, my son. You've let your emotions cloud your judgment."
Dante's fists tightened at his sides, but he kept his cool. "I'm not letting anything cloud my judgment. I've done what's necessary."
His father's gaze turned cold, his tone taking on a sharper edge. "I hope so, Dante. Because if you've chosen her over this family, then you've made your decision. But know this—once you make a choice in this life, there's no turning back."
Dante's heart pounded in his chest, the weight of his father's words settling like lead in his stomach. He had known this moment would come, but hearing it from his father—his flesh and blood—felt like a finality he wasn't prepared for.
"I'll handle it," Dante said quietly, his voice strained with the effort of keeping his emotions in check. "But don't test me, Father. I will protect her. And nothing you say will change that."
Vittorio didn't respond immediately. Instead, he watched his son with a look that was almost calculating. It was a silent acknowledgment that the battle for dominance wasn't over—not by a long shot. But for now, he said nothing more.
"Very well," his father finally replied. "But remember this—this is your world now. If you choose to play the game with her, be prepared for the consequences."
Dante nodded once, and without another word, turned and walked out of the room, Marco trailing behind him. As they left the mansion, the weight of his father's words lingered in the air like a suffocating fog. But Dante couldn't let himself be distracted. Amelia's safety, his family's future, and his place in this world were at stake.
And tonight, it seemed, everything would change.
****
The next morning, Amelia woke with a slow groan, the remnants of exhaustion still heavy in her bones. The events of yesterday replayed in her mind—Dante's departure, the overwhelming tension, the feeling of something lurking just beyond their grasp. She couldn't shake the worry gnawing at her, but for now, she was grateful for the peace of the morning.
As she tried to shake off the fog of sleep, there was a soft knock on the door. Amelia sat up in bed, her heart racing slightly. She wasn't sure what she expected, but it wasn't the familiar face that entered.
Eva, the maid, stepped into the room with a tray of tea in hand. Her expression was bright, and there was an air of normalcy about her, as if nothing had happened. As if Dante hadn't left the house in the dead of night and the weight of the world didn't hang heavy in the air.
"Good morning, Miss Moretti," Eva said, her tone light and cheery as she set the tray down on the nightstand. "I made you some tea. I thought it might help you feel better."
Amelia couldn't help but stare at Eva for a moment, the woman's carefree demeanor almost unsettling given everything that had happened. But Amelia didn't say anything. Instead, she smiled faintly, accepting the tea. Her thoughts were still tangled, but for now, she needed to focus on the calmness of the moment.
"Thank you, Eva," Amelia said quietly, her voice soft. "I'm feeling a bit better."
Eva nodded, then began to step back toward the door, as if everything were perfectly ordinary. "If you need anything, Miss Moretti, just let me know. I'll be in the kitchen."
As Eva left the room, Amelia stared down at the tea in her hands, wondering what Dante was doing, and where he had gone. There were too many unanswered questions, too many things she didn't understand.
But for now, all she could do was wait. And hope.