Chapter 16
She stands there in front of my desk—
shoulders squared, chin up, eyes burning like she’s already accepted the bullet if it means she gets the last word.
Alessandro is a storm behind her, waiting for me to unleash him.
The paper still lies on my desk like a wound that won’t stop bleeding.
And she’s standing there, fragile and furious, shaking but unbroken.
I should hate her.
I should want her gone, silenced, erased.
But I can’t stop looking at her.
At the bruise still faint on her temple from the night my men took her.
At the fire in her eyes when she tells me to ask her myself.
At the way her voice doesn’t shake, even when she’s terrified.
God help me, she’s the bravest damn thing I’ve ever seen.
And that’s what’s tearing me apart—
because she’s standing here, defying me,
and all I can think about is how much I want to touch her.
How much I want her to trust me again.
Her defiance shouldn’t move me.
But it does.
It’s breaking something inside me I didn’t know was still capable of cracking.
The woman I buried five years ago—my wife—was a duty, not a choice.
An alliance between families.
She was good, kind, loyal.
And I convinced myself that it was love.
That devotion and habit were enough to fill the void.
But what I feel now—standing here with Isabella DeLaurentis glaring at me like she’s ready to die before she bends—this isn’t habit.
It’s raw. Real.
It’s need.
And it terrifies me.
Because it means I’ve already given her a piece of me I never meant anyone to have again.
Alessandro breaks the silence first.
“She was on the phone,” he says, stepping closer. “Probably warning someone. We can’t risk it. Let me take her to the warehouse. I’ll get the truth.”
Her eyes flick to mine, wide and scared—but even now, she doesn’t beg.
She just stares.
Unflinching.
I feel the weight of that look straight through my ribs.
I drag a hand through my hair, my mind splitting in two directions—
the man who swore to protect his family at all costs,
and the man who can’t stand the thought of anyone touching her.
Alessandro’s right.
Logic says she’s a threat.
My family is at risk.
Sofia is at risk.
And yet—
when I imagine her chained to a chair in that dark concrete room,
bruised, terrified, broken—
something black and violent coils in my chest.
“I can make her talk,” Alessandro presses, reading my hesitation. “Let me do what needs to be done.”
I almost say yes.
The word is right there on my tongue—ready to fall, ready to fix everything.
And then her phone vibrates on the desk.
The sound cuts through the tension like a gunshot.
Alessandro turns toward it, but I move faster, grabbing it before he can touch it. The screen lights up—an incoming message preview.
Miles:
Timestamp and headers attached. Email sent 1:13 a.m. Like you asked.
My pulse stops.
1:13 a.m.
I remember exactly where I was at 1:13 a.m.
Sitting in the hallway outside her room.
Watching her sleep.
Listening to her breathe.
I scroll down, open the message.
The proof is there—
an IP trace, metadata, everything that clears her.
I stare at it long enough for the fury inside me to shift into something colder. Something sharper.
“Let her go,” I say quietly.
Alessandro looks up, confused. “What?”
I lift my head, my voice a growl now. “I said, let her go.”
“Dante, you can’t—”
“Now!” I roar, the sound shaking the walls.
He drops her arm instantly. She stumbles a step back, rubbing her arm, eyes wide.
I round the desk, every muscle in my body shaking with the weight of what I almost allowed.
“Never,” I snarl, pointing a finger straight at him, “fucking touch her again.”
Alessandro blinks, caught off guard. “She’s—”
“Out.”
“Dante—”
“OUT!”
The word cracks like thunder, and this time, he obeys.
He storms out without another word, the door slamming hard enough to rattle the pictures Sofia colored on the walls.
I stand there, breathing hard, the phone still in my hand, her gaze on me like heat.
For a long time, neither of us moves.
Then I finally look at her.
Really look.
And the only thing that comes out of me is a whisper, low and rough.
“I almost let him hurt you.”
She shakes her head. “But you didn’t.”
“No.” I swallow hard, my voice a rasp. “I never will.”