Chapter 12
Harlow
The days blur together, indistinct, muddled, bleeding into one another.
It’s been weeks. I haven’t truly left the bedroom. Not in any meaningful way.
Physically, I’m improving. The bruises have vanished entirely, and my ribs no longer scream with every movement. There’s still pain, but it’s dulled now, manageable.
We’ve fallen into a rhythm, a quiet routine that hasn’t shifted in days. Mattia spends most of his time in here with me, curled up in the same armchair, his small legs folded beneath him.
He still doesn’t ask questions. He doesn’t speak much. He simply exists beside me.
Dante hasn’t left my side either. Not once. He remains here, day and night, even when I know he shouldn’t. There’s an entire world outside this room demanding his attention, power, obligations, men who follow his command, blood that needs managing, business that won’t pause for sorrow.
But he stays.
I imagine Mario and Leonardo are bearing the brunt of it all. They’ve been conspicuously absent, likely shouldering the weight of the empire while Dante sits quietly beside me, fingers tapping away at his laptop like none of it holds any consequence.
Sometimes, I wish they would just leave.
Leave me here, alone, in the silence, in the dark, in the slow suffocation of my own misery.
But they don’t.
They remain.
Morning after morning. Hour after hour.
The nights are the most unforgiving. But lately, even the daylight offers no relief, because the voices in my mind no longer sleep. If anything, they’ve grown more persistent. Sharper. More persuasive.
And yet, somehow, when it all becomes too much to bear, Dante always finds a way to bring me back. He speaks my name in a low whisper, anchoring me to the present. He then brings me to the library and plays the piano for me. That’s when the voices vanish entirely, when they’re finally silenced.
I hadn’t known he could play. And not just casually, he performs with a mastery that feels almost otherworldly, as though something sacred lives in his hands. Something untouchable.
It undoes me. Every single night.
Because when he plays, I see love in him. But I also see war. It’s as if each note tears at something inside him, as though he’s both surrendering to it and resenting it.
And I just sit there. A ghost in a chair. Wrapped in a blanket I didn’t ask for, watching a man pour pieces of his soul into keys that sing for someone who barely exists anymore.
When the music ends, we step outside. We sit beneath the stars like we’re waiting for them to fall. Just the two of us. Quiet. Lost. Then we return to bed. That is the extent of my world now.
A week ago, my cousins, Sofia and Elena arrived. They’ve barely left my side since. I don’t think they intend to. And I’m far too drained to stop them. Everyone walks on eggshells around me, careful, delicate, as if I might shatter at any moment.
As if I haven’t already.
I hate it.
I used to be strong.
This? This isn’t me.
But even the strongest break. Even they fall.
And I think I reached that point weeks ago. Somewhere between the screaming and the silence, I fractured.
Giovanni is returning to Naples today, along with my brothers. They left just a few days ago, and now they’re already coming back. Michael and my grandfather are visiting too.
I haven’t been told anything directly, but I can feel it, sense it in the shift of the air. They’ve found something. A lead, maybe.
On Piero.
Even thinking his name stirs something violent in my chest, and I push the feeling away. Because with it comes the voices, louder and more vicious.
Sometimes, I think I’m healing. That I’m inching closer to the woman I once was.
Sometimes, I think I might come back to myself.
But then the voices remind me I don’t deserve to. And grief crashes in like a tide of black water, dragging me under before I can catch my breath.
The memory of all those girls.
Their screams.
Their silence.
I can’t breathe without guilt tightening around my throat like a noose.
It always comes to this, they’re dead.
And I’m not.
And that should never have been the outcome.
Not after what I did…
A knock at the door cuts through the spiral of my thoughts.
Mattia is curled in the armchair, reading quietly. Dante sits beside me on the bed, legs stretched out, typing, but never fully focused. His eyes drift to me constantly, like he’s bracing for impact.
Bianca enters, carrying a tray.
“Buongiorno, signora,”
she says gently.
She sets the tray on the bedside table, her gaze flicking toward Mattia.
“Mangia. I made your favourite pie.”
He offers a small grin and nods.
Her eyes return to me, soft, but without pity. For that, I’m grateful. Then she leaves, and Dante closes the laptop, rising to his feet.
“Mattia,”
he says firmly.
“get your food.”
Mattia sets the book down, slips off the chair, and moves toward the tray. Dante takes one of the plates and approaches me.
“Leonessa,”
he says quietly.
“Please… try something. Just a bite.”
It’s become part of our ritual now. He offers. I refuse. He persists. I yield.
The doctor had to administer fluids by IV a few days ago, my body wasn’t absorbing enough to keep up. Today, I take a small bite. I don’t taste it. But I chew.
And my husband watches me as if it’s something sacred. As if I’ve handed him the sunrise. And just like that, the guilt coils again in my chest. I hate what I’ve done to him. He’s too good to me. Far too good.
After a few moments, he settles back on the bed, still watching.
“After breakfast,”
he says carefully.
“would you like to spend some time by the pool? With Elena and Sofia?”
I blink. It’s the first time he’s asked that. Usually, the girls come to me, sit by the bed, talk softly, wait for whatever version of me will show up that day.
He adds.
“Mattia has training this morning. And your family is arriving shortly, I’ll be meeting them off the estate. There are matters we need to address.”
So I was right.
They’ve found something.
My body tenses before I can stop it, fingers curling slightly around the edge of the blanket.
Dante… he’s leaving.
He hasn’t left me once since I returned. Not for a single moment.
And now...
I force the thought away.
It’s irrational. He has responsibilities. He can’t remain at my side indefinitely. He’s done more than enough. I can’t be this dependent, this burden. He doesn’t deserve to carry that weight.
He’s watching me closely, and I know he catches the shift in me. The unease. I school my expression and remind myself he asked a question. I give a small tilt of my head in agreement.
And he smiles.
That smile…
He gives a brief dip of his chin.
“Good. It’ll be good to get a little fresh air.”
Then he turns to Mattia.
“Vai. Go get dressed. You’re already running late.”
“See you later Harlow!”
He says bolting from the room without protest.
“I’ll change as well,”
Dante says, disappearing into the closet.
Minutes later, he reappears dressed in one of his tailored suits, dark, pristine, composed. The man he is to the world. The man I haven’t seen in weeks.
I start to rise from the bed, but he’s already crossing the room, hands steady as he helps me to my feet.
“Would you like to change into a swimsuit?”
he asks, his gaze careful.
I shake my head. No.
He doesn’t push.
We walk through the hall together and step out the back door. The summer heat envelops me immediately, warm and fragrant, but strange, like I’ve been gone too long to belong to it.
Ahead, by the pool, I spot Elena with a book in her lap and Sofia scrolling through her phone. When they look up and see me, they smile.
I don’t smile back. But I don’t walk away either. And for now… maybe that’s something.
Dante helps me settle into the chair, then gently places a sun hat on my head, I hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. His phone chimes. He retrieves it from the inside of his suit jacket and glances at the screen.
His jaw tightens.
He’s been checking it all morning. More than usual. More than any day before. And each time, I notice the subtle tension in his shoulders, the silent fury simmering just beneath his skin.
Piero.
It has to be.
I force the thought out of my mind before it can take root.
No.
I press my nails into my palm until I feel the sharp sting, the small bloom of pain. It helps. I welcome it.
But even then, Dante notices.
I assumed he was preoccupied with his phone, but when it comes to me, it seems his attention never truly wavers. His gaze lingers. His throat works as he swallows hard, jaw clenched.
“Your family has landed,”
he says at last.
“I’ll be meeting them shortly. We won’t be long, they’re all eager to see you.”
I incline my head slightly. Just enough to acknowledge him.
Sofia chimes in, cheerful as ever.
“Don’t worry, we’ve got her. We’ll lounge by the pool all day with snacks and sunshine.”
Dante doesn’t appear convinced. It’s as if leaving causes him actual pain.
His phone chimes again. He exhales, frustrated.
“I’ll be home before you go to sleep, leonessa.”
His words calm something restless inside me, and I resent how much they do. He steps closer, narrowing the distance between us, then leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead.
Emotion swells, hot and sharp. I force it back. I won’t cry. He makes me feel when all I want is to be numb.
You don’t deserve him.
The voice in my head whispers. My fingers curl into a fist.
Just for a fleeting second, it felt good to be touched by my husband.
Dante steps back, and the faintest smile touches his lips. Warm. Human. So unlike the lethal man everyone else sees.
Leonardo and Mario appear beside him. There’s an exchange of glances, silent, seamless. They speak volumes without words.
Leonardo glances around, his brows lifting as he takes in the scene.
“I’ve been so buried in work lately, courtesy of your husband, of course, I didn’t even realize we had guests in the house.”
His smirk lands somewhere between amused and mildly offended as he gestures toward Sofia and Elena.
Mario steps forward next, his expression neutral. He gives a small nod.
“Ladies. Make the most of the sun.”
Then he glances at Dante, a flicker of urgency crossing his face, subtle, but there.
“We should move,”
he says quietly.
Dante’s eyes find mine one last time, wild, aching. Then he turns and walks away, flanked by Leonardo and Mario, the three of them disappearing around the corner of the estate.
I watch them go. I don’t move until the last of them is out of sight. The silence shifts beside me.
“Elena, put the book down,”
Sofia says with a playful whine.
“It’s a pool day. That means sun, snacks, and sisterly bonding. Come on.”
Elena doesn’t look up.
“You can bond. I’ll tan and pretend I’m alone.”
Sofia lets out a dramatic huff, dragging a towel from the nearest lounger.
“You’re no fun. Harlow, back me up here.”
I don’t respond. But I think they’re used to that by now.
They don’t wait for an answer anymore, they just continue being themselves and for that I’m grateful.