Chapter 5
5
EMILIA
T he knock at the front door was sharp and deliberate, echoing through the quiet house like a warning. I froze, my hands gripping the hem of my cardigan as unease curled in my stomach. It was late—too late for visitors, especially the kind who knocked like they owned the place.
My father’s voice called out from his study, gruff and impatient. “Emilia, get the door.”
I hesitated, my stomach twisting with unease. There was something about the knock that set my nerves on edge, something that felt like a harbinger of bad news. But I pushed the feeling aside, forcing myself to move toward the door.
When I opened it, the last person I expected to see standing there was Dante Conti.
But here he was.
Dante Conti stood on my doorstep, his presence consuming the space like a storm cloud that didn’t belong here. He didn’t say a word, didn’t need to. Tall, sharp-edged, and dressed in a dark suit that fit him too perfectly, he looked like he belonged in some high-stakes boardroom—not standing at my door in the dead of night. His expression was unreadable, his dark eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my breath catch.
But he wasn’t alone.
His brother Luca leaned casually against the doorframe to Dante’s left, his grin lazy but his sharp gaze anything but. Rafe, Dante’s other brother stood to the right, arms crossed over his chest, silent but no less imposing. Behind them, two men loomed, their postures stiff, their hands resting a little too close to the weapons strapped to their sides. Soldiers.
The heavy weight of all their eyes sent a chill down my spine.
I gripped the edge of the door, my knuckles turning white as a flood of emotions crashed into me—anger, grief, and something sharper, something I didn’t want to name. It had been a month since I’d seen him. A month since the wedding. A month since he’d left me standing alone in the garden, my heart splintered apart while he turned his back and walked away.
I swallowed against the lump rising in my throat, my chest tightening.
He looked untouched by it all. Untouched by me, by the wreckage he’d left behind. No dark circles under his eyes, no hesitation in his posture. He stood there like a man who hadn’t lost a single night of sleep over what he’d done.
And god, did that really piss me off.
“Sorry, we don’t want whatever cheap shit you’re selling.” I said, my voice flat as I gripped the edge of the door.
His dark eyes flicked to mine, and for a moment, I thought I saw something—something raw and unguarded—flash across his face. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by the cold, calculated mask he always wore.
“Good evening, Emilia,” he said smirked, his voice smooth and infuriatingly calm. “I’m here to speak with your father.”
My head rolled with annoyance, and I tightened my grip on the door. “He’s busy.”
Dante raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a faint smirk that made my blood boil. “I’m sure he’ll make time for me.”
I moved to shut the door, but with one hand and an infuriating air of indifference, Dante kept it open. The strength in his grip was effortless, a silent reminder of just how outmatched I was.
“Emilia,” came my father’s voice again, this time closer. I turned to see him striding down the hall, his expression lighting up when he caught sight of Dante. “Ah, Dante. Good to see you, my boy. Come in, come in.”
I stared at my father, my mouth falling open in disbelief. “You’re inviting him in?”
“Of course,” my father said, waving Dante and his entourage inside. “This is business, Emilia. Let them through.”
Dante stepped past me without so much as a glance, his brothers and guards following close behind. The air shifted as they entered, the weight of their presence settling over the house like a storm cloud.
I turned to my father, my voice low and sharp. “What’s this about?”
“Not your concern,” he said dismissively, already leading Dante and his men toward his study.
But before I could retreat to the safety of my room, Dante’s voice stopped me cold.
“No,” he said, his tone calm but firm. “She can come too.”
My stomach dropped, and I turned to him, my eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?”
Dante met my gaze, his expression unreadable. “You should be there for this, Emilia.”
A thousand thoughts raced through my mind, each one more horrifying than the last. What was he planning to say? Was he going to tell my father about the wedding? About the stolen moments we’d shared—the way he’d pressed me into the couch in the family room, his hand slipping between my legs while his lips devoured mine. The way he’d kissed me like he was starving, like I was the only thing that could satisfy him?
Oh God. Was he going to tell my father I was a whore in front of his brothers and guards?
I swallowed hard, my chest constricting as I followed them down the hall, my feet moving on autopilot. My father’s study was a large, imposing room, the kind that smelled faintly of leather and cigars. The walls were lined with bookshelves, and a massive oak desk dominated the center of the space.
Dante moved with the kind of deliberate confidence that made the room feel smaller, his every step a reminder that this wasn’t just a visit—it was an invasion. He pulled out a chair from the massive oak desk, the scrape of its legs against the hardwood floor sharp and grating in the heavy silence. His dark eyes flicked to mine, and he gestured to the seat with a faint, almost mocking smile.
“Emilia,” he said, his voice smooth and predatory. “Take a seat.”
My stomach twisted, the knot of anxiety tightening with every second. I glanced at my father, hoping for some kind of intervention, but he was already settling into his own chair behind the desk, oblivious to the tension radiating off me. Luca and Rafe leaned casually against the far wall, their postures deceptively relaxed, while the guards stationed themselves near the door, their expressions blank but watchful.
I hesitated, my feet rooted to the floor, but Dante’s gaze didn’t waver. He didn’t say anything else, and didn't need to. The unspoken command hung in the air, heavy and suffocating, and I hated how easily he could make me feel like a cornered animal.
With a deep breath, I forced myself to move. My legs felt like lead, every step a battle against the urge to turn and run. When I finally reached the chair, I sat stiffly, my back straight and my hands folded tightly in my lap. It was the only way to keep them from trembling.
Dante’s smirk deepened, a flicker of amusement crossing his face as he shrugged off his suit jacket. He draped it over the back of the chair with a casual elegance that made my skin crawl, then rolled up his sleeves with deliberate precision. The motion exposed the strong lines of his forearms, and I couldn’t help but notice the faint glint of a gun holstered at his side. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen him armed, but something about the sight of it now, in this room, made my throat tighten.
“What do you want?” The words slipped out before I could stop them, sharp and brittle in the charged silence. My father shot me a warning look, but I didn’t care. The weight of Dante’s presence, the way he moved around the room like he owned it—it was too much.
Dante chuckled softly, the sound low and dangerous. He didn’t answer right away, instead moving to the other side of the desk. His fingers brushed over the papers scattered there, his movements slow and methodical, as if he had all the time in the world. The tension in the room was suffocating, every second stretching into an eternity as he toyed with us—no, with me .
When he finally spoke, his voice was like velvet wrapped around a blade. “My accountant finished their audit a month ago.”
My heart skipped a beat, the words hitting me like a slap. I glanced at my father, but his expression was unreadable, his focus entirely on Dante. I could feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on me—Luca’s, Rafe’s, the guards’—but it was Dante’s gaze that burned the most. He wasn’t looking at me, not yet, but I could feel the anticipation in the air, the way he was building toward something.
Dante picked up a piece of paper from the desk, his fingers tracing the edges as he continued. “The discrepancies started six months ago. Small amounts, at first. Barely noticeable. But they grew.” He paused, his eyes flicking to me for the briefest moment before returning to the paper. “Patterns emerged. Dates. Amounts. Always during the morning shift.”
My chest constricted, my breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts. I gripped the edge of the chair, my nails digging into the wood as I fought to keep my composure. He was doing this on purpose—drawing it out, savoring every second of my discomfort. And I hated him for it.
“When only certain employees had access,” Dante continued, his tone maddeningly calm. He set the paper down and looked up, his dark eyes locking onto mine. The corners of his mouth curved into a faint smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “Using specific employee codes.”
The air in the room seemed to freeze, the weight of his words settling over me like a lead blanket. My father’s brows furrowed, confusion flickering across his face as he leaned forward. “Who was it?” he demanded, his voice sharp.
Dante didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
The silence was deafening, a suffocating weight that pressed against my chest and made it hard to breathe. My father’s question hung in the air, unanswered, as Dante’s dark eyes bore into mine. There was no mercy in his gaze, no flicker of hesitation or doubt. He was enjoying this—watching me squirm, watching the walls of my carefully constructed life crumble around me.
“Emilia,” my father barked, his voice sharp and impatient. “Whose code is he talking about?”
I bent over the desk and looked at the paper.
4852.
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. My throat was dry, my tongue heavy, and my mind raced as I tried to piece together an explanation that made sense. But there was nothing. No excuse, no justification, no plausible way to explain what Dante was suggesting.
“I—I don’t know,” I stammered finally, my voice barely above a whisper. “It’s not possible. I did everything by the book. Someone must have?—”
“Don’t,” Dante interrupted, his voice cutting through mine like a blade. He leaned forward, his hands braced against the desk as he loomed over me, his presence overwhelming. “Don’t insult my intelligence, Emilia. We both know who had access to that code.”
My stomach twisted, nausea rising in my throat as I shook my head. “No,” I said, my voice trembling. “I didn’t?—”
“Enough,” my father snapped, his face darkening with anger. He turned to Dante, his hands clenched into fists on the desk. “Who is it? Who’s responsible?”
Dante didn’t answer right away. Instead, he straightened, his movements slow and deliberate as he adjusted the cuffs of his shirt. The tension in the room was unbearable, the air thick with unspoken accusations and barely contained fury. And then, finally, he spoke.
“Her code,” he said, his voice calm but cold, his gaze flicking back to me. “The discrepancies all trace back to her code.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut, stealing the air from my lungs. I felt my father’s eyes on me, burning with disbelief and fury, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. My hands twisted nervously in my lap, my fingers trembling as I tried to process what Dante was saying.
“That’s impossible,” I said, my voice shaking. “I didn’t—someone must have?—”
“Stop lying,” Dante said sharply, his tone laced with frustration. He stepped around the desk, closing the distance between us as he loomed over me. “The evidence is right here, Emilia. Every transaction, every discrepancy, every pattern—it all points to you.”
“I didn’t do it!” I cried, my voice breaking as I finally looked up at him. “I swear, Dante, I didn’t?—”
“Then explain it,” he demanded, his voice rising as he leaned closer. “Explain how your code was used. Explain how the money disappeared under your watch.”
“I don’t know!” I said, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. “I don’t know how it happened, but it wasn’t me. Someone must have?—”
“Enough!” my father roared, slamming his hand down on the desk. The sound echoed through the room, silencing everyone. His face was red with anger, his eyes blazing as he turned to me. “Do you understand what you’ve done? Do you have any idea the position you’ve put this family in?”
“I didn’t do it,” I whispered, my voice trembling as I shook my head. “I didn’t?—”
“Then who did?” he demanded, his voice thunderous. “Who else had access to your code? Who else could have done this?”
“I don’t know,” I said again, my voice barely audible. My hands were trembling, my chest tight with panic as I looked around the room. Luca and Rafe were watching me with a mix of curiosity and suspicion, their arms crossed as they leaned against the wall. The guards stood silently by the door, their expressions unreadable. And then there was Dante, his dark eyes locked onto mine, his face a mask of cold, calculated control.
“Bullshit,” my father spat, his voice dripping with venom. He stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor as he pointed a finger at me. “You’ve disgraced this family. You’ve jeopardized everything we’ve built. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
“I didn’t do it,” I said again, my voice breaking as tears spilled down my cheeks. “I swear, I didn’t?—”
The room erupted into chaos.
My father’s voice thundered in rapid-fire Italian, his words a torrent of curses and accusations that I couldn’t even begin to process. My brothers burst into the study, their footsteps heavy against the hardwood floor, and the moment they saw my father’s expression, their hands instinctively went to the weapons holstered at their sides. Guns were drawn, the metallic click of safeties being disengaged slicing through the air like a warning shot.
“Che cazzo sta succedendo qui?” Marco, my oldest brother demanded, his voice sharp as his dark eyes darted between me, Dante, and my father.
“It’s her code,” my father spat, his finger jabbing toward me like a dagger. “She’s the one who’s been stealing from us!”
“That’s not true!” I cried, my voice cracking as I shot to my feet. My legs felt like jelly, barely able to hold me upright, but I refused to sit there and let them condemn me without a fight. “I didn’t do anything!”
“Then explain the evidence,” Dante said, his voice calm and cutting, like a blade sliding between my ribs. He hadn’t moved from where he stood, but his presence was suffocating, his dark eyes fixed on me with a predator’s intensity. “Explain how your code was used to siphon off hundreds of thousands of dollars. Explain how the money disappeared under your watch.”
“I don’t know!” I shouted, my hands trembling as I turned to him. Tears blurred my vision, but I refused to let them fall. Not here. Not in front of him. “I don’t know how it happened, but it wasn’t me. Someone must have?—”
“Enough!” my father roared, slamming his fist down on the desk. The sound was deafening, silencing everyone in the room. He turned to me, his face red with fury, his voice trembling with barely contained rage.
“I didn’t do it,” I whispered, my voice trembling as I shook my head. My chest was tight, my throat constricting as panic clawed at the edges of my mind. “I swear, I didn’t?—”
“Papà, calmati,” Tony said, stepping forward with his gun still drawn. His voice was steady, but his eyes were hard as he glanced at Dante. “What’s going on here? Why is she being accused?”
“Because the evidence doesn’t lie,” Dante said, his tone colder than I’d ever heard it. He reached for the papers on the desk, holding them up as if they were a death sentence. “Every discrepancy, every missing dollar, every transaction—it all points to her. Her code, her shifts, her access.”
“That’s impossible,” I said, my voice rising with desperation. “I’ve done everything by the book. I’ve followed every protocol I was trained on. Someone must have stolen my code or?—”
“Or you’re lying,” Dante said, cutting me off with a sharpness that made my stomach twist. He stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate, and for a moment, I thought he might actually reach for me. “You think I don’t know how this works, Emilia? You think I haven’t seen this a hundred times before? People get greedy. They make mistakes. And when they’re caught, they blame everyone but themselves.”
“I’m not lying!” I shouted, my voice cracking as I took a step back. My hands clenched into fists at my sides, my nails digging into my palms as I fought to keep myself from breaking down. “I don’t know how my code was used, but I didn’t steal anything. I swear to God, I didn’t?—”
“Then who did?” my father demanded, his voice like a whip. “Who else had access to your code? Who else could have done this?”
“I don’t know!” I cried, my voice breaking as tears spilled down my cheeks. “I don’t know how it happened, but it wasn’t me. Please, you have to believe me?—”
“Papà, basta,” Marco said, stepping between us. His gun was still in his hand, but his voice was calmer now, though no less tense. “Let’s figure this out before we start pointing fingers.”
“There’s nothing to figure out,” Dante said, his voice cold and final. He turned to my father, his expression hard.
"A Conti trained me! I followed every fucking protocol." I would beg this man who held and broke my heart to show mercy on me.
Il Diavlo.
Everyone knew what the Conti's did to those who stole from them. I would be no exception. I fixed my gaze on Dante. "Dante.. please..."
The silence that followed my plea was deafening. My father’s face was a storm of fury, his jaw clenched so tightly I thought it might snap. My brothers stood frozen, their guns still drawn, their eyes darting between me and Dante as if they were trying to decide who to aim at. And Dante… Dante just stood there, his dark eyes locked onto mine, his expression a carefully controlled mask that revealed nothing.
“Dante,” I whispered again, my voice trembling. “Please. You know me. You know I wouldn’t—couldn’t—do this.”
For a moment, I thought I saw something flicker in his gaze—hesitation, doubt, maybe even guilt. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by the cold, unyielding man I knew all too well. The man who had walked away from me a month ago without so much as a backward glance.
“You think I don’t want to believe you?” he said, his voice low and dangerous, like the calm before a storm. “You think I don’t want to find another explanation for this? But the facts don’t lie, Emilia. The money is gone. The code is yours. And someone has to answer for it.”
"I didn’t do it!” I cried, my voice breaking as tears spilled over. “I don’t know how my code was used, but it wasn’t me. Dante, you have to believe me.”
He stepped closer, his presence suffocating, his dark eyes boring into mine with an intensity that made my knees weak. ‘Belief doesn’t change the facts,’ he said, his voice like steel. ‘And it sure as hell doesn’t bring the money back.’
“Then find out who did it!” I shouted, my desperation bubbling over. “You’re the great Dante Conti, aren’t you? Il Diavlo! The man who always knows everything, who’s always ten steps ahead. So figure it out! Prove it wasn’t me!”
His jaw tightened, his lips pressing into a thin line as he stared at me. For a moment, I thought he might actually listen, might actually consider the possibility that I was telling the truth. But then he turned away, his movements sharp and deliberate as he walked back to the desk.
“This isn’t about what I want to believe,” he said, his back to me. “This is about what the evidence says. And right now, the evidence says you’re guilty.”
“Dante,” Marco said, his voice steady but edged with tension. “If she says she didn’t do it, maybe we should?—”
“Enough,” my father snapped, cutting him off. He turned to me, his eyes blazing with fury.
“I didn’t do it,” I said again, my voice trembling as I looked at him. “I swear, Papà, I didn’t?—”
And if my father believed I’d stolen from them, if Dante believed it… I wouldn’t live to see another sunrise.
“Papà, please,” I begged, my voice barely above a whisper. “You have to believe me. I didn’t?—”
“Enough!” he shouted, his face red with rage. “You’ve disgraced this family!”
"Maybe the daughter should wait somewhere else." Rafe said checking his watch as if this was a casual Sunday afternoon discussion.
"Maybe you should wait somewhere else." My brother Tony spit out towards him.
"Tony!" I gasped.
"Emilia, go wait in the family room." My father said without looking at me.
I froze, my father’s command slicing through the room like a blade. My legs felt like they were made of lead, refusing to move even as my instincts screamed at me to run—run far away from this room, from this moment, from the suffocating weight of Dante’s gaze. But I couldn’t. Not when every fiber of my being was caught in the gravity of what was happening.
“Papà,” I whispered, my voice trembling as I took a hesitant step toward him. “Please, let me explain?—”
“Go,” he snapped, his voice thunderous, his eyes burning with a fury that made my stomach twist into knots. “Now, Emilia. Before I lose what little patience I have left.”
I swallowed hard, my throat dry as sandpaper. My gaze darted to Dante, hoping—praying—for some sign of mercy, some indication that he would step in, that he would stop this. But his face was a mask of cold indifference, his dark eyes unreadable as they flicked to mine for the briefest of moments before turning back to the papers on the desk.
He wasn’t going to help me. Not this time. Not ever.