Chapter 9
Emilia
T he next day, the dining room buzzed with voices and the clinking of silverware against porcelain plates. Family meals were a Ricci tradition, one of the only things my father demanded we always do together. . No exceptions. It was supposed to be about unity, about showing strength as a family. But to me, it often felt like a battleground, a place where alliances were tested and grievances aired under the guise of civility.
I sat near the far end of the long mahogany table, picking at my salad while my brothers argued over the best way to handle a situation I hadn’t been fully briefed on. My father sat at the head, as he always did, a silent force of authority. His mere presence kept the chaos of my brothers from spiraling too far.
“So,” Tony said, his voice low but sharp enough to cut through the chatter. “Are we going to talk about why Dante was here yesterday?”
The room quieted slightly, tension rippling through the air like a warning bell.
“Because,” Tony continued, his dark brows furrowing as he leaned back in his chair, “I’m guessing it wasn’t for a friendly chat.”
My father set down his fork with deliberate calm, wiping his mouth with a linen napkin. “It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with,” he said, his tone measured, but firm enough to signal the conversation was over .
“Nothing?” Tony pressed, his dark brows furrowing. “If it’s nothing, then why involve Dante at all?”
Our father’s sharp gaze landed on Tony, silencing him before he could push further. “I said it’s under control.” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over the table. “Focus on what I’ve asked you to do, Tony.”
That should have been the end of it, but Marco, always the hothead, couldn’t leave it alone. “If it’s under control, then why does it feel like everyone’s walking on eggshells? What’s going on, Father? Does this have something to do with—”
“Marco,” our father interrupted, his voice low but edged with warning. “Enough.”
Marco’s mouth snapped shut, and the table fell into a heavy silence. I glanced between them, my curiosity burning, even as I felt the weight of their unspoken rule pressing down on me: This isn’t for you, Emilia.
Our father wasn’t shutting my brother’s out - he was shutting me out until he could speak with them in private.
“Is this about the business?” I asked carefully, breaking the silence. I kept my tone neutral, non-confrontational, but all eyes turned to me anyway.
“Why do you ask?” Tony said, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Worried about something, sorella?”
“No,” I said, forcing my voice to stay even. “But if there’s a problem, I’d like to know. I work in the business too, you know.”
“You work in part of it,” Marco said, his tone dismissive. “The clean part. This isn’t something you need to worry about.”
I clenched my fork tightly, heat rising to my cheeks. “If it’s about the real estate company, then yes, I do need to worry about it. That’s my domain.”
“You’re overthinking,” Giuseppe chimed in, his grin infuriatingly smug. “It’s nothing serious. Just some...irregularities. Father’s already handling it.”
Irregularities. The word hung in the air, vague enough to keep me guessing but heavy enough to make my stomach twist. I’d been noticing small discrepancies for months—minor errors in the accounts, amounts that didn’t quite add up. But I’d brushed them off, assuming they were simple mistakes. Now, I wondered if I’d been wrong.
“What kind of irregularities?” I pressed, looking to my father.
His expression didn’t change, but the sharpness in his eyes made it clear I was treading dangerous ground. “Emilia,” he said, his voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge, “just focus on your job. That’s all I need from you.”
“Why can’t she know?” Marco said, leaning back in his chair with a sneer. “She’s always so eager to prove herself. Let her take a crack at it.”
Tony laughed under his breath, but our father silenced them both with a single look. “This isn’t up for discussion,” he said, his tone final. He turned back to me, his expression unreadable. “If I need your help, I’ll ask for it. Until then, leave it to me.”
I swallowed my frustration, forcing myself to nod. “Understood.”
The conversation shifted after that, but I couldn’t shake the unease settling over me. I’d been dismissed, shut out, but I wasn’t blind. Something was wrong, and it was bigger than they wanted to admit. And if it was connected to the real estate company, then it was only a matter of time before I found myself tangled in it—whether they wanted me to or not.
As I sat there, pretending to listen to my brothers bicker, my thoughts kept circling back to Dante. His name had been brought up, even if no one had explicitly said why. He was tied to this somehow, and that alone was enough to make me uneasy. For all his charm and calculated ruthlessness, Dante wasn’t the kind of man who got involved unless there was something worth his time.
The afternoon’s sun was relentless, beating down on the patio and turning the stone tiles into a griddle. I decided to spend the rest of the day by the pool, hoping the sunlight would burn away the lingering frustration from the morning’s conversation.
Reclining on a lounge chair, I let the warmth seep into my skin, the faint scent of chlorine and sunscreen mingling in the air. The rhythmic sound of water lapping against the pool’s edge was almost hypnotic, and for a moment, I felt the tension in my body begin to ease. The world narrowed to the sun on my face, the heat licking at my skin, and the faint hum of cicadas in the distance.
But, of course, peace never lasted long in my world.
I sensed him before I saw him—the shift in the air, the way the sunlight dimmed as his shadow stretched across me. My eyes fluttered open, and there he was, Dante Conti, standing over me like he owned the place.
He wasn’t wearing his usual suit today, but somehow, the plain white T-shirt and dark jeans made him look even more effortlessly powerful. The fabric clung to his broad shoulders and chest, and the casual attire made him seem more dangerous, not less. Like a predator who didn’t need to dress up to instill fear—or command attention.
“Move,” I said flatly, shielding my eyes from the sun as I squinted up at him.
Instead of moving, he smirked, his lips curling just enough to make my blood boil. “That’s not very polite.”
I didn’t bother responding. Instead, I raised my hand and flipped him off, my middle finger standing proudly between us.
Dante chuckled, the sound low and rich, vibrating in the air between us. “You know,” he said, leaning in slightly, his shadow swallowing me whole, “I really should send a thank-you gift to whoever taught you how to do that.”
“Why are you here?” I snapped, sitting up and glaring at him. My irritation grew with every second he stood there, radiating smugness.
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he pulled a manila envelope from behind his back and held it out to me. “This is for your father,” he said, his tone shifting to something more serious. “Make sure he gets it.”
I stared at the envelope but didn’t take it right away. “What’s in it?”
“None of your business,” he replied, his voice firm, his dark gaze daring me to argue. “And don’t even think about opening it.”
I rolled my eyes but finally snatched the envelope from his hand, tossing it onto the small table next to me. “Anything else? Or are you done playing errand boy?”
Dante’s gaze swept over me, his eyes lingering longer than they should have, and his expression darkened ever so slightly. His jaw tightened for a moment before his lips curved into a slow, dangerous smirk.
“If you were mine,” he murmured, his voice low and simmering with a dangerous edge, “and you wore something like that around other men, I wouldn’t stop at just looking. I’d pull those tiny little bottoms down and redden your ass until you remembered exactly who you belong to.”
The heat of the sun was nothing compared to the fire his words lit beneath my skin. My cheeks flamed, a mix of fury and something far more dangerous coursing through me. I tilted my chin up, forcing my glare to meet his. “Good thing I’d never belong to you,” I said, my voice steady, though my pulse betrayed me with its frantic rhythm.
Dante’s smirk widened, his eyes glinting with amusement and something darker. “For now,” he said simply, his tone dripping with confidence, like he was stating a fact rather than teasing.
And then he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving me sitting there, fuming and flushed.
I watched him go, my eyes trailing over the broad lines of his shoulders as he strode back toward the house, completely unbothered by the chaos he left in his wake. My heart pounded in my chest, and I hated how much space he took up in my head. He was infuriating, arrogant, and far too perceptive for my liking.
And yet, I couldn’t deny the pull he had over me, no matter how much I wanted to.
Once he was gone, I picked up the envelope and carried it inside, setting it on my father’s desk as instructed. But as I stood there in the quiet of his office, staring at the envelope, curiosity began to gnaw at me.
Dante had said not to open it, but he hadn’t said anything about looking around.
I glanced at the door, ensuring it was closed, before turning my attention to the room. My father’s office was pristine, every surface meticulously arranged, the air smelling faintly of leather and cigar smoke. It was the kind of room that practically screamed secrets, and I couldn’t help but wonder what was hiding beneath its perfectly polished exterior.
I started with the desk, rifling through drawers and papers, but everything seemed normal—contracts, ledgers, nothing out of the ordinary. My frustration grew as I moved to the bookshelves, running my fingers along the spines of leather-bound volumes and pulling a few out at random. Still, nothing.
Eventually, I gave up, slumping into the chair behind the desk. The office felt like a gilded cage, just like the rest of the house—a prison filled with secrets I wasn’t privy to. My gaze drifted back to the envelope sitting on the desk, taunting me with its presence.
I reached for it, my fingers brushing against the edge, but I hesitated. Opening it would be reckless, and if my father or Dante found out, the consequences wouldn’t be pretty.
With a sigh, I pushed it away and stood, leaving the office with a heavy sense of defeat. As I stepped into the hallway, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the envelope—and the man who delivered it—held answers to questions I wasn’t ready to face.
But one thing was clear: Dante Conti wasn’t just here to drop off messages. And I had a sinking feeling I was about to find out why.