32. Jacklyn
32
JACKLYN
“ T here you are!” Allegra’s voice cuts through the hum of the room, her energy a sudden burst that makes everyone around us take a breath. She locks eyes with me, and I feel it—the shift, the pull. Without waiting, she slides an arm around my waist, pulling me closer as though this is where I belong. She tips her head to the side, leaning against me just enough to make it feel like an unspoken gesture of reassurance.
"I thought I'd find you here," she says with a teasing smile, her voice light with the kind of warmth only Allegra can convey. She glances around the room for a split second, as if confirming the scene, before turning back to me, her attention fully focussed on me.
Then she leans in, her head tilting gently against my shoulder, the movement instinctive, like she’s done it a thousand times. The world falls away, the noise of the room dimming as I focus on the sensation of her closeness. Her cheek brushes against my arm, and I can feel the heat of her touch seep through the fabric of my shirt, soft but firm. She doesn’t need to say anything to make me feel it—this quiet, unexpected comfort.
Her presence wraps around me, and for a moment, I let myself sink into it. Allegra has a way of making everything else seem less urgent, less heavy. She gives off this energy—this rare, unforced warmth—that makes everything feel lighter, even in the thick of tension.
When she pulls back slightly, I catch the glint in her eyes, something almost maternal in the way she looks up at me. It’s the kind of gaze that sees the weight I carry, the things I don’t speak aloud, and yet, she doesn’t press for answers. She just offers her presence, quiet and steady, like a refuge from everything else.
Then, as only Allegra can, she shifts gears, her mood flipping effortlessly. With a grin, she gestures to the woman beside her. "This is Mia," she says, drawing the woman closer.
Mia Andrade is a contrast. Her delicate features are at odds with the strength she holds in her stance. She’s not the kind of person who draws attention with noise or gestures, but there’s something in the way she carries herself that demands it. Her eyes are steady, sharp, like she’s always assessing. She doesn’t immediately offer the warmth Allegra does; instead, she holds her ground, scanning the room as if already reading the dynamics.
"Jacklyn," Mia says, her voice quiet but deliberate, as her hand extends toward me. There’s no rush, no eagerness, just a calm composure that makes me take a second look. She’s sizing me up, and though her smile is polite, there’s something else beneath it—something almost calculating, as if she’s trying to figure out what kind of person I am, what side of me she’s seeing.
I return the handshake, my eyes narrowing slightly, trying to gauge her. There’s a quiet intensity in her gaze—hard to pin down, but it’s there, lurking beneath the surface. I’m not sure if I should respect it, or if I should be wary.
Allegra, however, doesn’t seem to notice the tension. She’s already back in her own rhythm, her energy bouncing between us like it’s a natural flow. "Mia and Brando are getting married next weekend," she announces, her voice bright, filling the space between us. "You’ll be at the wedding, won’t you, Jacklyn? It's just a small, intimate family affair."
Before I can protest, Allegra shoots me a look—a look that tells me it’s no use arguing. There’s no fighting it when Allegra gets an idea in her head. A brief, awkward silence follows, and I watch as Mia’s gaze drifts across the room, landing on her fiancé. Brando catches her eye at the same moment, and for a moment, there’s this quiet, unspoken understanding between them.
“Soulmates,” Allegra whispers, leaning toward me as if sharing a secret. “It’s like they feel each other’s eyes from across the room. It’s so bizarre.”
“I heard that,” Mia mutters with a half-smile, her eyes narrowing at Allegra but softening with affection.
Allegra chuckles but waves them off, turning back to me. “Anyway, Scar doesn’t want anyone leaving the estate to do any shopping. So, I’ve got my stylist coming tomorrow with a few dresses for the wedding. I still don’t have one, and I’m sure you’ll need one too. Any color preference?”
I haven’t even opened my mouth to argue against a dress before she shoots me a sharp look and I clamp my mouth shut. I glance over at Mia, who’s now silently observing, her eyes still flicking between me and the others in the room. She looks, but she doesn’t speak—there’s something knowing in the way she watches.
Allegra excuses herself to feed baby Scarlett and I watch as Mia’s gaze shifts over to Brando again, and the moment lingers between them, subtle but undeniable.
"She’s a lot of energy for a woman with a six-month-old," I say, raising an eyebrow, confused by Allegra’s sudden rush to leave us alone.
Mia laughs softly, shaking her head. “Her heart’s in the right place,” she says, her eyes locking with mine. There’s a note of something—amusement, maybe sympathy—in her tone. "But I think she kind of orchestrated this whole thing knowing we'd end up alone for a few minutes."
I raise an eyebrow, unsure what she means by that. But Mia doesn’t hesitate to explain.
“Allegra told me you were kidnapped. She thinks we have some things in common,” she says, her words blunt, no pretenses.
My stomach tightens. "You were kidnapped too?" The question leaves my mouth before I can stop it.
Mia nods, her gaze distant for a moment, as though she’s weighing how much to reveal. “It’s a different kind of trauma,” she says softly. “The pain, the fear—it never really goes away. Parts of it do, but..." She trails off, her thoughts taking her elsewhere. "I lost my sisters in the process, so in a way, I’m still not whole. But this family," she adds, her voice softening, "the love they’ve shown me... has helped me heal. Day by day, it gets easier to live with what happened.”
I absorb her words, the heaviness in her voice settling between us. There’s a quiet strength in Mia, a kind of resilience that mirrors my own in some way. She doesn’t need to explain it all for me to understand. We’re both walking through the aftermath of things that broke us—and, in our own ways, we’re learning how to heal.
The silence between us grows comfortable, almost understanding, as Mia waits for me to speak, to share. I don’t have the words, not yet, but I nod—acknowledging what she’s offered, silently recognizing the bond between us. Even without saying it, I know that, in some way, we’re both survivors in this unforgiving world.
Dante Accardi moves with the fluidity of a man who is both predator and king. His every step exudes confidence, his movements as deliberate as a master chess player making his next move. Even without looking, I can feel the change in the atmosphere, as though the space has suddenly become smaller, more intense as he comes to stand beside me. There’s no mistaking it: Dante Accardi is a king among kings, a force unto himself.
He doesn’t speak immediately, but I feel his gaze on me, like a quiet, unyielding force. I don’t turn around, not yet. There’s something in the air tonight—something that demands resolution.
Finally, his voice breaks through the silence, calm and steady. “You did what you had to do,” he says, a statement, not a question. The way he says it isn’t exactly praise, but it carries a weight of respect, a quiet understanding that feels as heavy as any compliment.
I turn slowly, finally meeting his eyes. His gaze is sharp, but there’s a flicker of something beneath the surface—a knowing look, almost paternal. Even though we are less than a decade apart, Dante has become something of a surrogate in my life. Without a father figure to guide me, he’s become the elder brother, the protector, the one who understands the cost of power, of leadership, in ways that no one else does. In his presence, I can exhale, knowing that if anyone can make my situation better, it’s him.
“I didn’t have a choice, Dante,” I say, my voice quieter than I intended. There’s something about him that softens the edge of my own determination. His presence doesn’t just fill the room; it pushes me to confront the reality I’ve been avoiding. “My family was fractured. Someone had to take charge.”
Dante steps closer, the weight of his gaze unwavering as he studies me, not just my words but my actions, the decisions I’ve had to make. The small movements of his lips suggest a smile, but there’s a gravity to it—one that feels more like acknowledgment than kindness. "I respect that," he says, his tone steady, but there’s something deeper beneath the words, a kind of quiet approval. "Not many could do what you’ve done, Jacklyn. Stepping up like you did... in the face of so much chaos. Most people would have crumbled under the pressure."
I can feel the compliment, but it doesn’t settle comfortably inside me. Respect is one thing, but respect from Dante carries a weight that feels almost too heavy for me to bear. It’s not just about taking charge; it’s about carrying the consequences of every action, every choice. The family’s future rests on my shoulders now, and no amount of praise can lighten the burden.
“Doesn't matter,” I reply, my words a little sharper than I intend. “What matters is keeping it all together. I can’t afford to crumble.”
“No, you can’t,” Dante agrees, his voice calm but firm. “But you also can’t do it alone.” He moves closer, his eyes never leaving mine. “You’re not meant to carry that weight on your own. Even the strongest need help, Jacklyn. It’s what keeps the empire standing. You can’t let your pride stand in the way of that.”
The words strike me like a blow, not because I don’t know the truth, but because hearing it from Dante feels different. He isn’t telling me something I don’t know; he’s just reminding me of the things I’ve been too stubborn to acknowledge. I’ve spent so long pretending I don’t need help—pretending that I can hold it all together, that I can lead without faltering—but that’s not the reality. An empire is a delicate thing. One wrong move, and we could lose it all.
“I never asked for this,” I mutter under my breath, barely louder than a whisper.
Dante hears it anyway. He steps closer, his eyes softening just a fraction, though his presence still commands the room. “No one ever does,” he says quietly, his voice carrying a hint of something older—something that speaks to the weight of years lived in the shadows of power. “But when you inherit it, when it’s thrust upon you, you have to accept it. And you’ve done that. You've stepped into a role that no one else could. That’s not something most people are capable of. But it’s also made you a target.”
I want to argue, to tell him that I don’t need his approval, but I know better than that. Dante doesn’t hand out compliments lightly. And the truth is, part of me needs to hear this, even if it makes me uncomfortable.
He seems to sense the shift in my thoughts, as though he can read me like a book. “But that’s what I’m here for,” he continues, his voice taking on a different tone, one that’s still calm but tinged with something more strategic. “To help people like you take charge without being consumed by the weight of it all. It’s my job to make your ascension to the throne a seamless one.” He steps even closer, his gaze steady. “It’s about making sure the empire doesn’t just survive—it thrives. And for that, you need more than just strength, Jacklyn. You need strategy. You need balance. And you need a partner.”
I shake my head slightly, the tension in my chest tightening. This again. It’s too much, too soon after everything that’s happened for me to be thinking about a marriage of convenience for the sake of saving my family legacy.
“I’m not asking you to listen,” Dante says, his voice low, almost soothing. “I’m asking you to understand. We’re not just about rules—we’re about control. About keeping everything in line so you don’t have to break yourself trying to keep it all together.” His eyes hold mine, the depth of his gaze almost unnerving. “You can’t carry it all alone. And you shouldn’t have to.”
There’s a moment of silence between us, one that stretches, growing heavy with the weight of his words. And for a brief, fleeting second, I allow myself to wonder if maybe, just maybe, he’s right. I’ve spent so much time proving myself, so much time pushing back against everything and everyone, that I’ve forgotten what it’s like to lean on someone else. To accept help.
I take a slow breath, letting the tension bleed from my shoulders. “And if I don’t take the help?” I ask, almost daring him to answer.
Dante’s smile is small, knowing, but it’s there. "Then you’ll burn yourself out before you can even get started," he says, his voice soft, almost a whisper. “You saw what happened the last time you refused my recommendation that you marry; even under my protection, they still killed your most loyal soldiers.” He pauses, impressing the silence upon us before he makes his next point. “If they try again, who’s going to keep the family together when you’re gone, Jacklyn?”
The finality of his words hits me harder than I expect, a jolt of reality that cuts deeper than I care to admit. Dante Accardi’s help may be an answer, or it may be a curse. But the truth is, I’m not in this alone. I can’t be. Not anymore.
Dante takes a step back, his gaze never leaving mine. “I’m here for a reason, Jacklyn. Take the help I’m extending to you.”
I nod, just barely. There’s too much to think about, too many layers to untangle. But for the first time in a long while, I allow myself to accept that maybe I don’t have to carry all of this weight on my own. Maybe it’s as simple as just saying ‘yes’.