Dante's POV
Silence.
Thick. Suffocating.
Her words claw through the air, curling around me like a noose.
"Ask your father."
I don't move.
I don't speak.
I just stare.
I watch her watch me, her lips still split from my teeth, her eyes still burning with a fire she has no right to hold.
My pulse is calm. My breathing steady.
But inside—
Inside, I am already breaking her.
Because she does not get to say that.
Not to me.
Not after everything.
I lift my hand—and slap her.
Her head snaps to the side. A sharp gasp shatters from her lips, her body jerking forward as pain explodes across her face.
She sways, her breath shaking, but she doesn't fall.
Not yet.
I watch her fingers tremble against the sheets, gripping them like they can save her.
They can't.
I step forward. Slowly.
She flinches.
Good.
I grab her by the throat and yank her to her feet, forcing her to face me.
And then I punch her.
Once.
Hard.
Her body crumples, a strangled sound tearing from her lips as she collapses onto the bed.
She doesn't move.
Blood trickles from the corner of her mouth, trailing down her chin, staining her throat.
I breathe it in.
She stares at the floor, shoulders shaking, eyes unfocused.
"You don't get to say that name to me." My voice is low. Flat. "You don't get to speak about things you don't understand."
A knock at the door.
My assistant.
He steps inside, face blank, suit perfect. Always ready.
Without a word, he pulls out a handkerchief and holds it toward me.
I take it.
The cloth is white. Pure.
Untouched.
I drag it over my wrist, wiping away the thin streak of blood that isn't mine.
Then I drop it.
It lands at Alessa's feet, a stain of red blooming in the perfect fabric.
I turn to my assistant. "Take her downstairs."
A pause.
His expression doesn't change. "The chamber?"
"Yes."
A flicker of something cold moves through his gaze. Approval.
I face her again, tilting my head, watching as she trembles.
"You think you know why, little rabbit?" I murmur. "Then there's no need for me to hold back anymore."
She shudders.