28. Cassie
CASSIE
I don’t move.
I sit on the edge of Dante’s bed, staring at the ring like it’s radioactive, my pulse pounding in my throat so hard I might choke on it.
Bratva royalty.
The words keep repeating, looping like a sickness in my chest.
When the door creaks open, I nearly drop the damn thing. But I look up straight at him. For once, I’m not the one who has something to hide.
“What were you doing out in the forest?” I ask accusingly.
“Were you… spying on me?”
This time, he’s the one who looks afraid. For once, I’m not the one hesitating under the weight of secrets.
Dante steps inside, the smell of rain, blood, and dirt still clinging to him like a warning. He looks like he already knows I’ve seen too much.
I hold up the ring and stand, walking closer so he can see what I hold. “What the hell is this?”
Dante stops cold, eyes dropping to the ring in my hand.
For a second, nothing. Just the sound of my breathing—fast, uneven—and the steady tick of his wall clock counting down whatever’s left of my sanity.
“You went digging.”
I meet his stare head-on. “Answer me.”
“It’s a ring, Cass.”
“Don’t,” I snap, the panic bleeding into my words. “Don’t turn this into another deflection, Dante. I saw it. I know what that crest means.”
He goes as silent as a snowfall.
“The crest. The Russian lettering. It’s not just some tattoo club.”
“You know your crime families,” he hisses in self-defense.
“I was married to one. You don’t forget something like that. Tell me the truth now, Dante. It’s not just a ring, is it?”
He sighs, and a wave of guilt passes over his face. “No. It’s not.”
I swallow hard, bile scraping my throat. “Bratva.”
His silence confirms everything.
“Jesus Christ,” I whisper, a tremor cutting through me. “Tina never—she didn’t?—”
“Tina doesn’t know,” he cuts me off. “Not everything. She knows we come from power. From blood. But the legacy? The weight of it? The family never laid that at her feet. It was safer that way.”
I swallow hard, my throat burning. “Earlier, when Tina saw the blood… when she asked what happened?—”
His eyes darken, storm clouds building behind them.
I step closer, my heartbeat crashing in my ears. Dante’s stare glues to mine like he’s bracing for impact.
“What did you do out there?” The words come out shaky. “Tell me!”
“I killed him.” Dante looks away. “Gino.”
The world tilts sideways. My stomach lurches. I press a hand to my mouth, fighting the wave of nausea. “Jesus Christ, Dante.”
He takes a step closer, agony painted in his look.
“I killed him for what he did to you. For every bruise, threat, and time he made you look over your shoulder.” His eyes dip lower. “He drugged Aria, and he would have hurt you both again and again.”
My knees nearly buckle.
Dante keeps going. “I made sure he paid for making you lie. For making you survive him. For putting you in a position where you thought you had no choice but to live in his chains.”
I cover my mouth, shaking. “You killed him…”
“I ended him. For taking something that wasn’t his to take.”
The room’s spinning. But deep under the shock? I feel it.
The terrifying, horrible, anchoring relief.
Gino’s gone.
For good.
I look at him—the quiet violence simmering under his skin—and the pieces start falling into place. I wipe my eyes in disbelief. “Who even are you?”
“My father—he’s head of the Bratva operations in Russia and most of Eastern Europe. Has been ever since he married my mother. Politics, business… everything. His reach stretches beyond borders.”
“My family,” he continues, “built the Romano name here, under the Bratva umbrella. I was born to lead it out here, before taking over his position of power.”
“And where have you been the last three years?” I ask, piecing together the puzzle I’ve been staring at with blind eyes.
“Russia.” His shoulders stiffen. “The first time around, my father wanted me to train there, and then… Well, I couldn’t be here, so I left again. I came back to handle things when it looked like I was needed here.”
“To handle things,” I echo. “Your little crime empire?”
His silence is answer enough.
“And now you’re what? Back? For good?” I can’t help but scoff at that thought.
“I’m back because it’s time for me to build something here of my own.” His voice is steady, certain. “I run America, and I want to run it differently from how my father did.”
The words hit me like bricks to the chest.
“You’re telling me,” I whisper, barely holding the pieces together, “that your father runs a criminal empire across a whole country, and you’re next in line to run… what? The global mafia?”
He doesn’t flinch. “In fewer words? Yes.”
My head spins.
“You let me fall in love with a killer?” The accusation explodes out of me, sharp and bitter, years of trauma cracking open at once. “Again?”
I hadn’t meant to say it—hadn’t even admitted it to myself—but there it is. Love . The four-letter wretched word that’s always been my downfall.
His eyes darken. He noticed what I said. My cheeks blush red.
“You already did,” he says quietly, stepping closer, gaze locked on mine. “That night, three years ago.”
I close my eyes, remembering. The heat. The desperation. How safe I felt in his arms. How I imagined he was different from Gino. How could that man and this one be the same person?
The dichotomy in my brain is too big to reconcile. Dante was supposed to be my safe place, different in a million ways from Gino, and now, here I stand, discovering he’s cut not only from the same cloth, but a firmer, harder, stronger cloth.
How has my life come to this?
When I open my eyes, I feel the tears pouring down my face.
Before I can shatter all over him, the door creaks again.
Tiny footsteps pad across the floor.
Both our heads snap toward the sound.
Aria stands in the doorway, rubbing sleep from her eyes, wild curls sticking out, her tiny face still pink from sleep.
And then—one word.
“Daddy?”
The room cracks apart.
My chest caves, sobs shoving their way up, tears burning as they spill free.
I break.
Dante freezes, eyes locked on mine, his whole body coiled like he’s waiting for the ground to collapse beneath him.
His hand twitches, barely there. A question without words. Permission.
I nod and then look away before my daughter sees me cry.