5. Dante
Chapter 5
Dante
W alking up the steps of the Castello di Ferro feels like walking to the chopping block.
Only, I’m the one holding the prisoner roughly by the arm.
The tranquilizers seem to have worn off, but her body is still weak, and the fight in her seems to cower away under the shade of the looming castle. Useful, as I’m not sure I have it in me to chase after her if she makes a break for it now.
Although, I suppose that’s one of the benefits of living in a castle—it’s always fortified with people who are paid to do the dirty work for you.
The double wooden doors are opened for us on our approach, and I do my level best to ignore the looks of shock from the help that gawk in our direction.
It’s been nine years since I last set foot in this place—four years galavanting across the globe, five with the Brooklyn mafia.
It’s still not enough time for me ever to want to be walking these halls again.
But it’s too late now, regardless of what Carmen said.
Carmen “ he has very nice arms” Rubio.
I don’t think she realizes she said that out loud, but it immediately went straight onto my list of ways to antagonize her at the next available opportunity.
I file the thought away for later the second I see who’s waiting for us on the other side of those doors.
“Dante Grasso.”
My shoulders sag at the sound of her Italian annunciation.
Evelina Grasso seems to have barely aged a day. If it weren’t for the tastefully styled streak of gray in her dark hair, I would have thought I’d gone back in time.
My mother was always beautiful, but the years have been especially kind to her, amplified, as ever, by her immaculate wardrobe and graceful mannerisms.
She stares at me with matching near-black eyes, before holding out her hand before her delicately.
I turn to one of the men at her side and nod toward my captive. “Hold on to this for me?”
The man bursts into action immediately, and I bite back a smirk as Carmen grumbles against her new captor. But my attention is trained on my mother as I bow my head, take her hand, and place a reverent kiss on the back of it.
When I step back, her eyes are assessing, ery obviously appraising every inch of me, her lips pursing in that infuriatingly indiscernible way that suddenly makes me feel like a child again.
I clear my throat. “Hello, mother.”
For a fleeting moment, a soft smile graces the older woman’s lips.
Then…
“ ?Chingada madre! ”
Her face hardens again as she takes in the Spanish cursing coming from the woman at my side. A cool sneer already replacing any lingering softness.
“This is your hostage? No?” Evelina takes a step forward to assess Carmen herself. “I have no quarrel with the Spaniards.”
“She’s Mexican,” I reassure her.
Evelina hums slightly before returning to me. “ Non mi avevi detto che era bella. ”
You hadn’t told me she was beautiful.
I wish the floor would swallow me whole.
“I didn’t think it was particularly relevant,” I reply in English before snapping at the man restraining Carmen. “Take her to the dungeons, get her settled in. I’ll see to her later.”
The look on Carmen’s face is something quite priceless.
“You’re not serious,” she hisses, caramel eyes molten with anger.
I chose not to address her out of sheer spite. “Feel free to ignore any questions she has and trust that whatever sob story she comes up with is entirely false. This woman is, in fact, a sexual deviant who enjoys preying on vulnerable men.”
“I’m going to murder you.”
The string of curses that leave her mouth is swiftly cut off the second she’s dragged away by my mother’s guard to the dungeons below.
The holding cells beneath the castle were, in fact, dungeons at some point in the Castello de Ferro ’s long and quite boring history. They span pretty much the entire footprint of the property at ground level.
These days, most have been removed to make space for an extensive gym and sauna facility. But there are still a few cells that have been refurbished for purposes such as this.
Not that I suspect the Grasso de Ferro has had much use of them these last few years. The Italian mafia tends to do such business in the city of Modena.
Evelina has always liked to keep a healthy work-life balance.
The Castello de Ferro is, first and foremost, our family home.
“Come, amore mio, ” the matriarch summons me to her side with a graceful waft of her hand. “We have food prepared.”
My mother walks slightly ahead of me, her heels tapping an unrelenting rhythm against the stone floor. She doesn’t really need to escort me. I know this place like the back of my hand.
Yet, the air inside the castle feels heavier than I remember. It’s warm, sure, but it clings to me, wrapping around my neck like a collar.
Nine years. It feels like nothing has changed.
The high, vaulted ceilings still echo every sound, amplifying even the softest shuffle of footsteps. Sunlight streams through the tall, arched windows, gilding the polished floors with streaks of gold.
I used to think this place was beautiful—majestic, even—but now it feels suffocating.
Tapestries hang on the walls, their rich colors muted by age. I used to trace my fingers over them as a kid, pretending I was one of the knights embroidered there, sword raised, charging into battle.
Now they just look like ghosts of the past, threadbare and sagging.
We turn a corner, and the familiar scent of waxed wood and lavender polish hits me. It’s so specific to this place that it pulls me back before I can stop it.
Suddenly, I’m twelve again, sprinting down this hallway with my cousins just to see who could reach the library doors first.
The hallway widens as we approach the sunroom. Glass panes stretch from floor to ceiling, framing views of the gardens below. It’s still as stunning as I remember, I’ll admit that much.
The light is softer here, and the air smells faintly of rosemary from the pots arranged in neat rows by the window. My mother has always been proud of this room—of its elegance and order, the underlying domesticity that hangs in the corners.
She pushes open the glass doors, and the sound of her voice pulls me back to the present.
“Sit,” she says, gesturing to the small table set for two. The china is pristine, the silverware gleaming.
Everything is perfect, and I absolutely hate it.
“Welcome home, Dante,” she says, pouring us both a cup of tea.
Home. The word tastes bitter.
“Welcome indeed.” And suddenly, the half day of travel feels heavy in my bones. I swipe up my cup and sit back in my chair, taking an indulgent gulp.
My mother watches me through narrowed eyes. “I have many things to discuss with you.”
“Can they perhaps wait until I have recovered from my jetlag?”
“No.”
“Right then,” I concede with an exacerbated sigh. It was worth a try. “By all means, proceed.”
Evelina nods once. “We begin your transition to the position of don as of tomorrow morning. You will be accompanying me as I meet with the Ferraros and the De Lucas to discuss the current constructions in Modena...”
I take another long drink of tea as she continues to list her itinerary for the week. Names and places I only vaguely remember or can only pick up from contextual clues. She speaks as if I’ve never left, as if these people are universally known.
It’s infuriating, and I can already feel the headache forming from all the awkward conversations I’m going to have tomorrow. Talking with all these people who likely know exactly who I am and what my family represents.
“Can you write some of these names down?” I grumble as I pour myself another glass.
“No.”
Go figure.
She carries on as if my interruption is wholly insignificant.
She’s doing this on purpose, of course. It’s a particular brand of punishment for abandoning her all those years ago, and one I can admit to deserving.
I was a boy back then, one who felt the oppressive walls of this castle to be too stifling. It was a luxury to be able to abandon my responsibilities to this place for so long.
“Then we will be attending a dinner this weekend,” my mother trails off with a pointed look.
I finish off yet another glass of wine. “Dare I ask, with whom?”
Evelina purses her lips. “There are a group of ladies who meet?—”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“Dante.”
I put my glass down a little too harshly. “I will take on the responsibilities of the family. I already gave you my word. But I will not be attending tea parties with a bunch of desperate bachelorettes.”
“You are to be engaged before you return to America,” she counters with the authority of a matriarch.
“And I will,” I respond with the defiance of a wayward son, “but I shall do so on my own terms.”
“How, exactly, do you plan to do so?”
The silence stretches for a moment as we both seem to realize how heated our voices have become.
I clear my throat and settle back down. “First, I’m going to set up an office so that I can communicate with my men back home. ”
Her eyebrow twinges at the emphasis on the final word, but I don’t give her the chance to respond.
“Then I’m going to sleep for about eighteen hours before you have me relentlessly shadowing you for the rest of the week,” I go to stand. Evelina rises with me. “I will present to you a proposal for my…marital affairs by the weekend.”
“Dante.”
“Those are my priorities,” I don’t leave room for negotiation as I head toward the door.
“What of the girl?”
I hesitate a moment before I leave. “Do what you wish. She is to remain here until we are summoned back to Brooklyn. I’d appreciate your discretion.”
With that, I storm from the sun room and up the familiar staircase toward my chambers.
I perhaps should have asked if they are, in fact, still my chambers before coming up here. But as it turns out, I needn’t have bothered.
The rooms haven’t changed at all since I was last here.
The office is first—just to the left as I enter. It’s small and cozy, with heavy oak bookshelves lining the walls. Their contents are precisely arranged, rows of leather-bound volumes of history, law, and family records.
Nothing here has been touched except for being dusted, and somehow, that feels more unsettling than if everything had been packed away or moved.
I step deeper into the room, past the office, into the living room. The low, velvet armchairs are still arranged in their perfect symmetry around the fireplace.
The grate is cold now, but I can see it in my mind’s eye, blazing in the winter, as I sink into one of those chairs with a glass of whiskey. The cold penetrates these old walls something fierce. The fireplace is a welcome respite when it’s cold.
A large window overlooks the balcony and gardens below, but I walk past it, my feet carrying me toward the bedroom.
The door opens with a quiet groan, and I step in.
It’s a room frozen in time. The four-poster bed sits in the center, the covers neatly tucked, the headboard still polished to a high shine. The curtains, a deep blue, hang exactly where they always have.
I can’t decide if the weight in my chest is comforting or crushing.
Someone has already brought up all my things, so I shake off the thought and go about setting up my temporary office with a heavy indignation, sparing only half a thought to the woman now residing beneath the foundation of the castle. Which quickly escalates to an entire thought, and the work becomes monotonous.
By the time I’m staring at my monitor as my computer slowly loads the applications I need, I’m trying to figure out if I should chew out or laugh at Carmen Rubio for having the balls to curse at Evelina Grasso .
“Grasso?” The crackled sound of Rocco Morretti comes through the speakers and draws me from—okay, maybe it is a bit funny—the memory.
“You’ve got some nerve agreeing to comms, Morretti,” I say as the video feed pops up, and suddenly, I’m facing my oldest betrayer of a friend.
Rocco shakes his dark hair from his eyes, an easy grin on his lips. “I’m not gonna sit here and feel sorry for you getting sent out to fucking paradise, Dante. The rest of us are running overtime at the whim of Leon’s paranoia.”
“Careful. That sounds like mutiny to me.”
“It would be if his paranoia weren’t so accurate,” Rocco sighs. “We’d have lost so much more if he wasn’t at the helm.”
I grimace in agreement. “I take it there’s no updates then?”
“Eager to be back?”
“You haven’t met my mother.”
Rocco chuckles to himself. “Hang in there, fratello. It will be over before you know it.”