Chapter 29
29
DANTE
M orning came too fast.
The first thing I registered was warmth—soft skin pressed against mine, the faint scent of her hair on the pillow, the slow, steady rhythm of her breathing. Emilia was curled into me, her bare leg tangled with mine, her arm draped across my chest like she’d claimed me in her sleep.
And maybe she had.
I didn’t move.
Not yet.
The light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows was pale and gold, casting long shadows across the sheets. It caught on the curve of her shoulder, the slope of her hip, the delicate line of her spine as the sheet slipped low across her back. Her skin glowed in the morning sun, kissed in gold, and I had to clench my jaw to stop myself from waking her the way I wanted to—with my mouth on her, my hands gripping her hips, her name a low growl in my throat.
She looked like a painting. Like something I’d kill to keep untouched.
I watched her breathe, slow and even, the tension that usually coiled in her body finally at rest. She looked peaceful. Safe. And I hated that I was about to leave her.
But I had to.
Because peace was a luxury I couldn’t afford. Not when Rocco’s name was still burning in the back of my skull like a brand.
I leaned down, brushing a kiss against her temple. She stirred, murmured something I couldn’t make out, and shifted closer, her lips brushing my chest before she settled again.
I stood there for a moment, just watching her, my chest tight with something I didn’t want to name.
Then I slid out of bed slowly, grabbing my shirt and phone from the floor, and slipped out of the room.
The penthouse was quiet. Still. The kind of silence that felt like it was holding its breath.
I didn’t bother with breakfast. Just threw on a suit, tied my tie with muscle memory, and headed out.
Because there were things that needed doing.
And I was done waiting.
The Conti estate was a fortress—stone and steel and legacy. It had been in our family for generations, carved into the hillside like a monument to power. It was where we held our meetings, where decisions were made and enemies were buried.
This morning, it felt heavier than usual.
The war room was exactly what it sounded like—a long table, high-backed chairs, and walls lined with maps, monitors, and weapons we didn’t pretend were for decoration. The air smelled faintly of leather, espresso, and something metallic beneath it all. Blood, maybe. Or memory.
My brothers were already there when I walked in.
Rafe sat at the head of the table, his fingers steepled beneath his chin, posture perfect, expression unreadable. He looked like a man who’d been born to rule—because he had. He’d inherited our father’s calm, but none of his cruelty. At least not on the surface.
Luca was sprawled in his chair like he owned the place, one boot propped on the edge of the table, a toothpick between his teeth and a smirk playing on his lips like he was waiting for someone to give him a reason to start shit.
They all looked up when I entered.
The room fell into silence.
I didn’t waste time.
“It’s Rocco,” I said.
No one spoke for a beat.
Then Rafe leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. “You’re sure?”
I nodded once. “Emilia recognized him. From the photo at the estate. From the album. From her father’s office.”
Luca’s brow furrowed. “She’s certain?”
“She’s not the type to guess,” I said. “She remembered his face. The day she was given the wrong paperwork. He was there. Standing in the corner. Watching.”
Luca let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Well, shit.”
“Yeah,” I muttered, dropping into the chair across from Rafe. “That about covers it.”
“She told you this last night?” Rafe asked.
“After the gala. She was shaken. I thought someone had touched her. Hurt her.” My jaw clenched at the memory. “But it was worse. She saw him. And he saw her.”
Luca sat up straighter now, the smirk gone. “And he said something?”
“No. But he tried to pull her aside. I stepped in before he could.”
Rafe’s fingers tapped against the table, slow and deliberate. “If it’s him, we need proof. We can’t move on blood without it.”
“I know,” I said, pulling out my phone. “That’s why I’m calling Valentina.”
Luca groaned. “Do we have to?”
I shot him a look. “She’s the best chance we have at tracing the money. And she already suspected Romanov was involved.”
That shut him up.
I dialed her number and put the call on speaker.
She answered on the second ring, her voice smooth and amused. “Dante. Calling me before noon? I’m flattered.”
“Cut the shit, Valentina,” I said. “We have a problem.”
“I assumed,” she replied. “You only call when someone’s bleeding or about to be.”
“It’s Rocco.”
There was a pause. “Your cousin?”
“Yes.”
Another pause. “Tell me everything.”
I gave her the rundown—Emilia’s discovery, the photo, the album, the connection to her father’s office. She listened without interrupting, but I could hear the gears turning in her head through the silence.
When I finished, she exhaled softly. “I suspected Aleksander Romanov was involved. This confirms it.”
“How?” Rafe asked, leaning forward.
“Because Rocco’s been quietly moving assets through shell companies tied to Romanov’s banking network,” Valentina said. “I didn’t have a name before. Now I do.”
“Can you trace it?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. “But it’s buried deep. I’ll need time.”
“You don’t have time,” I snapped. “I’m not executing blood without proof.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then: “Understood.”
“Find me the trail, Valentina,” I said. “I want names. I want dates. I want the fucking wire transfers.”
“You’ll have them,” she said. “But Dante?”
“What?”
“If Romanov’s involved, this isn’t just about money. It’s about power. And Rocco didn’t do this alone.”
I clenched my jaw. “I know.”
“We’ll talk soon,” she said. “And Dante?”
“What?”
“Don’t kill him yet.”
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone for a long moment, then set it down on the table.
The silence in the room was thick.
Rafe was the first to speak. “So what’s the play?”
“We wait for Valentina to bring us proof,” I said. “And then we decide how to handle it.”
“Public or private?” Luca asked.
I didn’t answer right away.
Because that was the question, wasn’t it?
A public execution would send a message. A warning to anyone else thinking about betrayal. But it would also fracture the family. Blood killing blood didn’t go unnoticed.
A private one? Cleaner. Quieter. But it wouldn’t have the same impact.
“He’s family,” Rafe said. “But he’s also a traitor.”
Luca leaned back, his eyes on the ceiling. “If we do it publicly, we risk backlash. If we do it privately, we risk looking weak.”
I rubbed a hand over my jaw. “We wait. We get the proof. And then we decide.”
They nodded.
But I could feel the tension in the room. The weight of what was coming.
Because no matter how we handled it, one thing was certain:
Rocco Conti was a dead man walking.
Later, I stood alone in the hallway outside the war room, staring out the tall, arched window that overlooked the estate grounds below.
The sky was a dull gray, the kind of overcast that made the world feel like it was holding its breath. The trees swayed gently in the breeze, the gravel driveway empty, the silence outside a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside me.
My reflection stared back at me in the glass—sharp suit, tighter jaw, eyes that looked more like my father’s every day. I hated that. I hated how much of him I saw in myself when I was like this—cold, calculating, ready to do what needed to be done no matter the cost.
But this wasn’t about business.
This was about betrayal.
Blood betrayal.
And that was something even I wasn’t numb enough to shrug off.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, the vibration sharp against my thigh. I pulled it out, expecting another message from Valentina or one of the guards.
It wasn’t.
It was her.
Emilia.
You okay?
Just two words.
Simple. Unassuming.
But they hit me harder than anything I’d heard in that war room.
I stared at the screen for a long moment, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. I could still see her face from this morning—soft with sleep, tangled in the sheets, her body warm against mine. I could still hear the way she’d said my name when I kissed her awake, the way she’d smiled like we had all the time in the world.
We didn’t.
And she knew it.
She’d seen the truth last night. She’d handed it to me with shaking hands and steady eyes, and now I was standing here, on the edge of a decision that would change everything.
A cousin. A traitor. A man I’d grown up with.
And I was going to have to kill him.
Because of her.
Because she trusted me to make it right.
Because she believed I would.
I typed the words slowly, deliberately.
I am now.
I hit send.
The message delivered, and I stared at it for a long time, the blue bubble glowing faintly on the screen.
I am now.
It wasn’t a lie.
Because no matter what came next—no matter how bloody, how brutal, how personal—it didn’t matter.
She was with me.
She was the only thing that mattered.
Not the legacy. Not the name. Not the empire.
Her.
And I’d burn down the world before I let anyone take her from me again.
Even if that meant starting with my own family.
Especially if it meant starting with my own blood.
I slipped the phone back into my pocket and turned away from the window, the weight in my chest shifting from guilt to resolve.
Rocco had made his choice.
Now I’d make mine.