Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
VIRGILIO
R age boils in my veins as I grip the steering wheel, knuckles aching from the pressure. The road to our secret meeting spot feels like an endless, torturous stretch.
My mind races with thoughts of Dante—how could he betray me like this? Telling Zoe was a mistake, and now I’m paying the price.
It's been two days since she walked out of my life. Two agonizing days since she left, and she hasn’t picked up any of my calls or responded to my messages. My heart feels like it's being ripped apart by her silence. I never imagined feeling this devastated, not after everything I've endured. But this? This is different. This is a pain that stabs at my soul.
I love Zoe. I've loved her since we were kids, since those fleeting moments of happiness we snatched from the jaws of our respective hells. Her laughter, her passion for life and everything about her made me feel alive. Now, that light is gone again, and I'm left stumbling in the dark.
I didn't mean to hurt her. God knows I didn't. Every action, every decision was meant to protect her, to shield her from the ugliness that surrounds my life. Yet, in trying to keep her safe, I've pushed her away. The irony stings worse than any physical blow I've ever taken.
I glance at my phone again, hoping against hope for a message from her. Nothing. The emptiness on that screen mirrors the void inside me. How did everything go so wrong? How did we end up here?
I slam my hand against the steering wheel in frustration, feeling utterly powerless for the first time in years. The walls I've built around myself are crumbling, and all I can do is watch as everything falls apart.
I love you, Zoe. If only I could tell you that now—if only you’d listen.
The car roars as I push down on the accelerator, needing to get to Dante and demand answers—to make sense of this chaos somehow. But even as I drive faster and faster, I know deep down that no explanation will bring Zoe back into my arms.
I pull into the secluded building where Dante and I have met countless times before. I slam on the brakes, sending a cloud of dust into the air. The car door swings open violently as I step out, slamming it shut behind me. Dante is already there, his car is parked perfectly, mirroring the infuriatingly calm expression I know Dante will have on his face.
I burst through the door, my footsteps echoing ominously in the cavernous room. Dante stands by the window. The sight of his calm demeanor is gasoline to the wildfire of my rage. I stride towards him with purpose, each step fueled by anger and betrayal.
Without hesitation, my fist connects with his jaw. The rush of adrenaline and satisfaction courses through me, but it’s fleeting. Beneath the surface, hurt and confusion rage like a storm.
Dante stumbles back, catching himself against the window frame. He raises his hands in a placating gesture, a bruise already forming on his face. His expression remains infuriatingly calm.
"I deserve that," he says evenly, not moving to defend himself. His composed response only fuels my fury further.
I grab him by the collar, lifting him slightly off his feet. "Do you have any idea what you've done?" My voice is a growl, every word laced with venom.
Dante's green eyes lock onto mine, unwavering. "Virgilio?—"
I don’t think; I just react. My second punch lands in Dante’s stomach, and he doubles over, a grunt of pain escaping his lips. Satisfaction rushes through me, brief but potent. Yet it doesn't last. Nothing does when it comes to the tangled mess of our lives.
Dante straightens, quicker than I expect, catching my fist as I attempt a third strike. His grip is firm but not painful. "Stop," he commands, his voice steady despite the anger radiating off me in waves.
For a moment, we stand locked in a silent battle of wills, our breaths heavy and mingling in the charged air between us. He releases my fist and steps back, maintaining eye contact.
I stare at him, my chest heaving with rage and frustration. “How could you?” The words tumble out, raw and unfiltered. “How could you betray me like that?”
Dante's eyes soften slightly, though his posture remains resolute. “It wasn’t meant to be like this,” he says quietly.
“Then what the hell was it meant to be?” I demand, taking a step closer.
Dante runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “I didn’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice,” I snap back. “And you made the wrong one.”
He shakes his head slowly. “No, Virgilio. The choices were never simple or easy.” He looks away briefly before meeting my gaze again. “We’re in this mess because of Benedetto. Everything we’ve done has been about survival.”
I glare at Dante, the rage simmering beneath my skin like a wildfire. "Go fuck yourself," I spit out, the words cutting through the thick tension between us.
Dante takes a deep breath, his expression unyielding. "I know you're pissed," he says calmly. "But I told her because she needed to know the truth."
"The truth?" I scoff, my voice rising. "You think dumping all of this on her helps anyone? You've only made things worse!"
Dante steps closer, his eyes locking onto mine with a fierce intensity. "Everything will be fine once our father is dead," he says, each word deliberate and heavy with conviction.
I clench my fists, fighting the urge to swing at him again. The mention of Benedetto brings a fresh wave of anger crashing over me. “You think that justifies what you did? What you told her?”
Dante’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t back down. “She deserved to know. Keeping her in the dark was never going to protect her in the long run.”
“And now she’s gone!” I shout, my voice echoing in the empty room. “You drove her away!”
Dante’s expression hardens just a fraction. “She’s strong, Virgilio. Stronger than you give her credit for.”
I shake my head, feeling a bitter laugh bubble up in my throat. “This was never about underestimating her strength. This was about keeping her safe from our world—from him.”
“And how long do you think you could have kept that up?” Dante asks, his tone measured but unrelenting.
“Long enough,” I snap back, though even as I say it, I know it’s a lie.
Dante sighs, rubbing his temples as if trying to ease a persistent headache. “Look… once we succeed with our plan and Benedetto is out of the picture for good... you can beat the shit out of me as much as you want.”
I blink, taken aback by his offer. It feels like an olive branch wrapped in barbed wire—painful but necessary.
“But for now,” Dante continues, his voice steady and resolute, “we have to focus on what matters: taking our father down.”
I clench my fists, the tension rippling through my muscles. My voice trembles with suppressed emotion as I look him in the eye. "Do you have any idea what this has cost me? What is it still costing me?"
Dante's hand remains on my shoulder, his grip firm but not aggressive. "I know, Virgilio," he says softly, his eyes reflecting a depth of understanding that only comes from shared suffering. "Believe me, I do."
I shake my head, pulling away from his touch. "No, you don't," I snap, my voice raw. "You don’t know what it’s like to watch the person you love walk away because of choices we made—choices I made to protect her."
Dante’s expression tightens, and for a moment, I see a flicker of pain in his eyes. "You think this is easy for me?" he asks quietly. "You think I don’t know what you feel? That day I lost my life, and I lived in the dark ever since. Now, every memory I get back feels like a dagger twisting in a wound that never got the chance to heal."
My anger falters for a moment as his words sink in. But the pain is still too fresh, too sharp to let go completely. I run a hand through my hair in frustration, pacing the room like a caged animal. "But now she's gone," I mutter, more to myself than to him.
"We can fix this," Dante insists, following my movements with his eyes. "Once Benedetto is out of the picture, we can start over. We can make things right."
I stop pacing and turn to face him, my chest heaving with emotion. "And what if we don't succeed?" I ask bitterly. "What if all of this—everything we've sacrificed—ends up being for nothing?"
Dante's jaw sets in determination. "We won't fail," he says with conviction.
I let out a slow breath, feeling the fight drain out of me. The truth is, I'm exhausted, physically and emotionally. The constant battle against our father’s shadow has worn me down in ways I can barely articulate.
Dante places both hands on my shoulders now, grounding me with his presence. "I know it wasn't fair," he says softly. "I'm sorry, brother."
His apology is a fragile offering of reconciliation.
"But we have to stay focused," Dante continues gently but firmly. "Once our father is dead... things will be different."
I search his eyes for any hint of deception or delusion but find only sincerity.
"Fine," I say at last, nodding reluctantly as I meet his gaze once more. The tension in my expression remains but shifts into something more resigned than angry.
"But this isn't over," I add quietly.
Dante nods in agreement, understanding that while we may have reached an uneasy truce for now, the wounds between us—and within us—will take much longer to heal.
We stand there for a moment longer in silence. Together we'll face whatever comes next because that's all we've ever known how to do: survive.
And maybe—just maybe—find a way to live again, once this nightmare finally ends.