Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ZOE
I sit on the edge of my bed, lost in thought, when the door creaks open. Dante steps in, carrying a garment bag draped over his arm. He doesn’t say a word, he just walks over to the bed and lays it down carefully. His eyes meet mine for a brief moment—there’s something unreadable there, something that makes my skin prickle.
"I’ll give you some time to get ready," he says, his voice smooth but with an underlying edge I can't quite place.
I nod silently as he turns and leaves the room, closing the door behind him. The sound of the lock clicking sends a shiver down my spine. I know this is part of our deal, part of what I agreed to when I decided to spend this week with him. But it doesn’t make it any easier.
With hesitant fingers, I unzip the garment bag. The soft swish of fabric is almost mocking in its gentleness. Inside is an outfit complete with accessories and lingerie—a perfectly coordinated ensemble designed to make me look... perfect.
I feel a mix of embarrassment and resentment wash over me as I take in the sight. It’s beautiful, sure—Dante has impeccable taste—but it’s not what I would have chosen for myself. Virgilio never imposed his will on me like this.
I run my fingers over the delicate lace of the lingerie and feel a familiar knot tightening in my stomach. This kind of controlling behavior reminds me too much of my time with the Bratva—the way I was dressed up and stripped down like a doll for the men who bought me. The thought alone makes my skin crawl.
But I made a deal to save Virgilio’s life, and I’m determined to see it through, no matter how much it hurts. Taking a deep breath, I start to undress and slip into the outfit Dante chose for me. The fabric is luxurious against my skin, but it feels like a costume—another layer between who I am and who I have to pretend to be.
As I put on each piece—first the lingerie, then the dress, then the accessories—I can’t help but feel like I'm losing bits of myself in the process. Each item is another reminder that I'm not in control here; Dante is.
Once I'm fully dressed, I glance at myself in the mirror. The reflection staring back at me is stunning—flawless even—but it's not really me. It's an image crafted by someone else’s hands, for someone else’s pleasure.
I think back to Virgilio again, to how he made me feel valued and seen as an individual rather than an object to be adorned and displayed. A pang of longing shoots through me—I miss him so much it hurts.
But there’s no time for self-pity now. I've made my bed and now I have to lie in it. Smoothing out imaginary wrinkles in the dress, I take one last look at myself before heading towards the door.
I follow Dante through the doors of an elegant restaurant, its exclusivity apparent from the moment we step inside. The soft lighting casts a golden glow over the rich decor—plush velvet chairs, dark wood tables, and intricate chandeliers that sparkle like a thousand tiny stars. And yet, I can’t shake the feeling of discomfort gnawing at my insides.
This isn’t me. I feel like I’m wearing someone else’s skin, pretending to be a person I’m not. Every step I take in these heels feels forced, every swish of the luxurious dress against my legs reminds me of the disguise I’m trapped in.
Dante pulls out a chair for me, his movements smooth and practiced. “Please, sit,” he says, his voice low and polite. I comply, feeling out of place in this opulent setting.
A waiter approaches almost immediately, menus in hand. Dante takes one and hands the other to me with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. We scan the options in silence before Dante orders for both of us—some fancy Italian dish with a name I can’t pronounce.
I hate it here. The plates that arrive are beautifully presented but laughably small. I poke at my food with my fork, trying to make each tiny bite last longer. Despite my efforts, hunger gnaws at my stomach.
“How’s your meal?” Dante asks suddenly, his green eyes locking onto mine.
“It’s good,” I lie, forcing a smile. It’s not that the food isn’t delicious—it is—but it’s not nearly enough to satisfy me.
Ever since Virgilio took me away from that hell I barely survived in, I had to learn how to eat again. At first my stomach was not used to receiving food regularly and sometimes I contorted in the pain of the cramps it caused. Then, slowly, I began to eat more and more, until I could digest a proper meal and feel satisfied.
These small portions remind me of the portions of food I was forced to live on, how food and hunger pangs were used to control me and punish me.
“If you want anything, just ask,” he adds as if reading my mind.
The thought of asking for more makes my cheeks burn with embarrassment.
“No, really,” I insist softly. “I’m fine.”
He studies me for a moment before nodding slowly. We lapse back into small talk—safe topics that won’t reveal how utterly out of place I feel. He mentions an art exhibit opening soon and suggests we attend together.
“Sure,” I say mechanically. With Dante, everything feels like an act—a performance where we both play our parts perfectly but without any real connection.
The meal drags on painfully slowly, despite its brevity on actual sustenance. Dante orders dessert—another minuscule masterpiece—and offers me a bite from his plate. I take it reluctantly, feeling like a child being fed by an overbearing parent rather than an equal partner sharing a moment.
As much as Dante tries to be good to me, he simply isn’t good for me—not in the way Virgilio is... was? The thought alone makes my chest tighten.
We finally leave the restaurant; Dante's hand rests lightly on the small of my back as we exit into the cool night air. All I can think about is getting back to my room where I can strip off this facade and breathe freely again, even if just for a moment.
"Would you like to go for a walk?" Dante asks, his tone casual.
I hesitate, then nod. "Sure, a walk sounds nice."
We walk in silence for a while, the cool night air is different to the suffocating atmosphere of the restaurant. Nonetheless, each step feels like I'm dragging my feet through quicksand, every fiber of my being wanting to pull away from Dante's presence.
"So, Zoe, what did you think of the dinner?" he asks, breaking the silence.
"The food was great" I reply, keeping my voice neutral.
"You seemed a bit distant," he notes, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Is everything okay?"
I force a smile. "Just tired, I guess. It's been a long day."
"Yeah, I get that." He nods, his expression softening just a bit.
We walk back to the car in silence. When we reach it, Dante opens the door for me, his movements as smooth and practiced as ever. He leans in close, his breath warm against my cheek. My heart races, not with excitement but with anxiety and dread. I know what's coming, and I can feel the pressure of his intentions looming heavily on me.
As he leans in, I instinctively turn away, my face tilting towards the dark sky instead of his lips. For a moment, there's nothing but the sound of our breathing and the distant hum of traffic. The space between us feels like an ocean, and the rejection pollutes the air between us.
I hesitate, searching for the right words to avoid hurting his ego. "Dante, you are an amazing person. Anyone would be lucky to have you."
He frowns slightly and chuckles. Although it doesn't have a pleasant sound. "That was a very nice way to let me down."
"I promise you, this is not about you. I’m just…. You deserve someone who can give you all of themselves without reservations."
"I see."
I look away, unable to meet his intense gaze. "You're important to me… But not like that."
"Very well," he says, his voice carrying a hint of surprise and something else—disappointment, maybe? "This has been a wonderful evening."
I don’t respond. Instead, I slide into the car, feeling the luxurious leather seats beneath me as I fasten my seatbelt. The soft click of the buckle sounds final, like a lock being secured. Dante closes my door and walks around to his side.
As he settles into the driver's seat and starts the engine, I stare out the window. The tension is suffocating, and I feel a knot forming in my stomach. I can't help but feel guilty for turning away, but I know it was the right thing to do. My heart is a tangled mess, and I can't give him what he wants.
He glances at me briefly before pulling out of the parking lot. The silence stretches between us like a taut string ready to snap. Why does this have to be so complicated? Dante is everything someone would want—handsome, strong, attentive—but my heart doesn't respond the way it should.
"I'm taking you back to my brother," he says, eyes fixed on the road ahead.
My heart skips a beat. "No," I blurt out, panic lacing my voice. "Please, don't take me there."
He frowns slightly but doesn't take his eyes off the road. "Why not? It was part of our agreement."
"Because..." I struggle for words, my thoughts a tangled mess of fear and anxiety. "I don’t want you two to meet and fight. If anything happened because of me?—"
"Zoe," he interrupts gently but firmly. "This is what needs to happen."
I shake my head desperately. "No, please! I’m begging you. Virgilio... He means too much to me." My voice cracks on the last word, and I feel tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.
Dante’s grip on the steering wheel tightens; I can see his knuckles turning white in the dim light from the dashboard. He takes a deep breath as if trying to steady himself.
"You’re worried about him," he says quietly after a long pause.
"Yes," I whisper back. "And you too."
He lets out a bitter laugh. "You think I’ll kill him because you turned me away?"
I look down at my hands clenched tightly in my lap.
The week I promised we would be together has not come to an end yet. If Dante is taking me back now, he might not keep his promise to disobey his father's orders to kill Virgilio. I can't bear the thought of being the cause of this rift and Virgilio's potential death.
"Please," I repeat softly, unable to find any other words that might sway him.
Dante’s jaw works as if he’s grinding his teeth together in frustration or thought, it’s hard to tell which. How did things get so twisted? How did I find myself caught between two brothers?
Virgilio's life hanging in the balance because of me sends a cold shiver down my spine. If Dante chooses his father's orders over his promise to me, the consequences will be devastating.
Dante's scoff cuts through the tension in the car like a knife. "You really think I’d kill Virgilio? It was all part of our plan."
I turn to him, eyes wide, my heart pounding in my chest. "What?" The word barely escapes my lips, more breath than sound.
He glances at me briefly, the corners of his mouth curling into a bitter smile. "We agreed to pretend I chose Messina’s side to get back at our father from the inside."
My mind races, struggling to process his words. "You... you’re lying," I stammer, though doubt has already crept into my voice.
"Am I?" Dante says with a shrug, his tone almost bored. "Think about it, Zoe. Do you really believe Virgilio would let anyone else have you?"
I can’t breathe. My lungs feel like they’re filled with lead. Virgilio... lied to me? Used me as bait against their father? The man who promised to protect me, who said he loved me—he let this happen?
The realization is like a punch to the gut. My hands tremble as I grip the edge of my seat, trying to steady myself. "So... he agreed to give me to you?" I whisper, my voice cracking.
Dante’s smile fades slightly as he looks back at the road ahead. "To maintain my cover, yes," he says simply.
The betrayal leaves me numb and shivering inside. How could Virgilio do this? How could he let Dante try to win my heart while pretending to care for me? Every moment we shared feels tainted, a lie built on deception and manipulation.
"Why are you telling me this now?" I ask, my voice hollow.
Dante lets out another scoff. "Because I'm pissed off too," he admits bluntly. "Virgilio always gets what he wants. Tonight’s no different."
The car slows down as we approach Virgilio’s estate.
"There you go, sweetheart," Dante says with a smirk as he stops the car in front of the gates.
I don’t wait for another word; I’m out of the car in a fraction of a second. The cold night air hits my face like a slap as I rush towards the estate, each step fueled by anger and hurt.
Virgilio lied to me—used me—and now everything is crumbling around us. But I won’t be their pawn anymore; I won’t let them control my life any longer.
As I reach the front door and pound on it with clenched fists, only one thought echoes through my mind: I will find out the truth—no matter what it takes.
I storm into Virgilio's room, the door slamming behind me with a deafening crash. My eyes blaze with fury, and my movements are quick and forceful. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, each beat an anthem of anger and heartbreak. I need answers, and I need them now.
Virgilio stands up abruptly from his chair. He moves towards me, but I step back, raising my hand to stop him. "Don’t," I say sharply, my voice trembling with emotion.
"Zoe," he begins, his voice soft but urgent. "Please, let me explain."
I cut him off with a glare that could melt steel. "Explain? Explain what, Virgilio? How you used me? How you and Dante played me like some pawn in your twisted game?" My voice rises with each word, the pain in my chest almost unbearable.
Virgilio’s face contorts with regret as he takes another step forward. "It’s not like that," he insists, his tone pleading. "I had no choice?—"
"No choice?" I scoff, the sound bitter and hollow. "You always have a choice! You chose to lie to me, to manipulate me!"
His hands reach out as if to touch me, but I step back again, shaking my head. "Don’t you dare," I warn him.
"Zoe, please," he tries again. "It was the only way to keep you safe."
"Safe?" I laugh humorlessly. "Do you think I feel safe now? Knowing that the one person I thought I could trust has been lying to me all along?"
He flinches at my words, pain flashing in his eyes. "I never wanted to hurt you," he says quietly.
"But you did," I whisper back, my voice breaking. "You hurt me more than anyone else ever could."
Virgilio runs a hand through his hair in frustration, his green eyes filled with anguish. "I know," he admits softly. "And I hate myself for it."
I step closer to Virgilio, my fists clenched so tightly my nails dig into my palms. The sting is grounding, keeping the flood of emotions at bay. I glare at him, my eyes burning from the unshed tears that blur my vision. Virgilio stands there, his posture tense, his hands raised slightly in a placating gesture.
My body is trembling with the effort to hold myself together.
Virgilio takes a tentative step closer, reaching out to touch my arm. The moment his fingers brush against my skin, I jerk away violently, crossing my arms protectively over my chest. His touch is like fire, burning through the thin veneer of control I’ve managed to maintain.
His shoulders slump in defeat, and for a moment, I almost feel sorry for him. Almost. But the betrayal is too raw, too consuming.
"Why?" The word escapes me in a whisper, barely audible over the sound of my own heartbeat thundering in my ears. "Why did you do this?"
He looks at me with those green eyes that once held so much warmth and now only reflect his regret. "I thought it was the only way to keep you safe," he repeats softly.
"Safe?" I scoff again, shaking my head incredulously.
Virgilio’s face contorts with pain as he struggles to find the right words. "I never wanted you to be hurt," he says finally, his voice breaking. "I thought if I could just keep you close?—"
"Keep me close?" My voice rises again, cutting through his explanation like a knife. "You mean keep me under your control."
"No," he insists desperately. "No, it’s not like that. Zoe, please believe me."
I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. The tears I've been holding back finally spill over, hot and relentless down my cheeks. "How can I believe anything you say now?" My voice cracks under the weight of my anguish.
Virgilio reaches out again but stops short when he sees me flinch. He drops his hand back to his side and looks at me with such profound sorrow that it almost makes me want to reach out and comfort him.
Almost.
"I know I've lost your trust," he says quietly. "And I don’t deserve your forgiveness."
"Damn right you don’t," I snap back.
"But please," he continues, undeterred by my anger. "Please know that everything I did was because I care about you more than anything."
My chest tightens, and I can barely breathe. The betrayal cuts so deep that it feels like I'm drowning in it. Virgilio stands there, his face a mask of regret and sorrow, but all I can see is the man who shattered my trust.
"Everything you did?" I spit out, my voice raw and broken. "You think caring about me justifies lying to me? Using me?"
He opens his mouth to speak, but the words die on his lips.
"Zoe, please," he starts again, his voice a whisper. "I thought I was protecting you."
My hands clench into fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms. I want to scream at him, to make him feel even a fraction of the pain he's caused me. But instead, something snaps inside me—a raw, primal urge takes over.
Before I can think it through, I close the distance between us in two quick strides and crush my lips against his. It's not a gentle kiss; it's fierce and demanding, full of anger and need. My teeth clash against his as I pour all my hurt and confusion into the kiss.
Virgilio's hands come up to push me away gently. "Zoe," he mumbles against my mouth, trying to break free. "We need to talk?—"
I don't let him finish. My hands grip the back of his neck tightly, pulling him closer. "No talking," I whisper fiercely between kisses. "Just this."