25. Dante
25
DANTE
I ’m on my way to speak with my father about a pressing matter concerning the Marino business. There’s been some trouble with one of our protection rackets in the city’s east end—a new gang trying to muscle in on our territory. I’ve got intel that could help us nip this problem in the bud before it escalates into a full-blown turf war.
As I approach the house, my mind is focused on strategy and logistics. But then I see them—Chiara and Pyotr, walking together in the garden. My heart skips a beat, and without even thinking, I change course.
The sight of them together, after everything Chiara told me last night, sets my blood boiling. She was so upset, so adamant about not wanting to be with Pyotr. And yet here they are, strolling through the gardens like a happy couple. What’s more, there’s no escort in sight.
It’s not proper, and it’s not safe.
My protective instincts kick in immediately. Before I know it, I’m striding toward them, positioning myself directly in their path. I want answers, and I want them now .
As I stand there facing Chiara and Pyotr, I can feel my anger rising. Pyotr looks clearly offended by my interruption, his polite facade barely concealing his annoyance.
“Ah, you must be Dante,” he says, his tone dripping with false courtesy. “I’ve heard a lot about you from Don Marino and your excellent father. Your father is very proud of you.”
The words hit me like a slap in the face. Is he trying to put me in my place? Remind me that I’m just a soldier, a sidekick to the real players in this world? The implication that this is all I’ll ever be good for makes my blood boil.
I shift my gaze to Chiara, and what I see only fuels my anger further. She looks near terrified, her eyes wide and her body tense. But I can’t tell if it's my sudden appearance that’s frightened her or if she’s uncomfortable being alone with Pyotr.
I don’t know what's going on, and frankly, I’m not willing to wait and find out. All I know is that Chiara shouldn’t be alone with this man, not when she was so upset about him just hours ago.
“Where’s your escort?” I demand, my voice low and dangerous. I’m overstepping, I know. But in this moment, I don’t care about propriety or my place in the hierarchy. All I care about is Chiara.
I can see Pyotr’s expression hardening, clearly not used to being questioned by someone he considers beneath him. But I hold my ground, my eyes never leaving Chiara’s face, silently pleading with her to give me some sign, some explanation for what I’m seeing.
The tension in the air is palpable, and I know I’m walking a dangerous line. One wrong move could expose everything, could ruin all we’ve fought for. But the thought of Chiara being forced into a life she doesn’t want, of losing her to this man, is more than I can stand.
Pyotr’s voice is clipped as he responds, “Chiara doesn’t need an escort when she’s with her fiancé .” He emphasizes the last word, making my jaw clench.
I can’t help but retort, my voice equally tense, “As she is the single daughter of one of the most powerful Mafia Dons around, it’s my job to ensure Chiara is always protected.” I stress the word ‘single’, a petty jab that I know I shouldn’t make, but can’t resist.
Pyotr’s eyes narrow, his polite mask slipping further. “I wasn’t aware your job was to be Chiara’s personal bodyguard,” he says, sarcasm dripping from every word.
The anger inside me is reaching a boiling point. My fists clench at my sides, every fiber of my being wanting to wipe that smug look off Pyotr’s face. I can feel myself taking a step forward, my body coiled and ready to strike.
But then Chiara’s voice cuts through the tension. “Dante, is there something you need from me?”
I turn to look at her, and the expression on her face stops me cold. Her eyes are wide, pleading, filled with a mixture of fear and warning. It’s like a bucket of ice water, dousing the fire of my anger and making me acutely aware of the precarious situation I’ve put us in.
Reality comes crashing back. I’m not just Dante here, Chiara’s lover and protector. I’m a soldier, confronting my Don’s daughter and her official fiancé. My behavior is not just inappropriate. it’s dangerous .
I take a deep breath, forcing myself to step back, both literally and figuratively. “Miss Marino, your mother is looking for you. I’ve been sent to escort you back to the house.”
Pyotr's brow furrows. “What could be so urgent? Her father knows she’s out here with me.”
Thinking quickly, I reply, “Something about her wedding dress, I believe.”
“The dress can wait,” Pyotr says dismissively. “We have more important matters to discuss.”
A tense silence falls over us, neither man willing to back down. I can feel the weight of Chiara’s gaze bouncing between us.
Finally, Chiara breaks the standoff. “I’m sorry, Pyotr, but if my mother’s asked for me, it must be important.” She turns to me, her voice steady but her eyes betraying her nervousness. “Thank you, Dante. Please escort me back.”
As soon as we’re out of earshot, Chiara hisses, “What was that about?”
I keep my voice low, matching her tone. “It looked like your guards have taken a permanent vacation. I wasn’t about to let the same thing happen as last night—or worse.”
Chiara bites her lip, a gesture I know all too well. My stomach drops. “Did something happen?” I ask, dreading the answer.
“No,” she says quickly. Too quickly. “In fact, Pyotr apologized for being so forward. Maybe I… maybe I blew things out of proportion.”
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I stop walking, turning to face her. “What do you mean, you ‘blew things out of proportion’? Chiara, last night you were?—”
“I know what I said last night.” She cuts me off, her voice trembling slightly. “But things are… complicated.”
I stare at her, trying to understand what’s changed again. “Complicated how?”
Chiara exhales, her lips trembling. “I–I was going to talk to my father this morning.”
I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. “Wait, you were going to tell your father about us this morning?”
Chiara nods, her eyes downcast. “I was… I was determined to break off the engagement.”
A flicker of hope ignites in my chest, and it takes everything in me to not grasp Chiara’s hands. “So when I interrupted, you were telling Pyotr it’s over?” That would explain why he was acting like a fucking jackass.
But the guilty look on her face extinguishes that hope instantly. “No,” she whispers. “Pyotr was… he was telling me that Papa wants to move up the wedding date. To just a few weeks from now.”
I feel like I can’t breathe. “And how did you respond?”
“I didn’t,” Chiara admits. “You interrupted before I could say anything.”
I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “What would you have said, Chiara? If I hadn’t shown up?”
She looks up at me, tears welling in her eyes. “I… I don’t know, Dante. It’s not that easy.”
Her words hit me like a physical blow. “Not that easy? Chiara, last night you said?—”
“I know what I said last night.” She cuts me off, her voice trembling. “But this morning, Papa was so happy. And Pyotr, he’s been kind and understanding. And then there’s Papa's health…”
I feel like the world is spinning around me. Just last night, Chiara was in my arms, swearing her love and dedication. And now? Now she’s considering going through with this wedding?
“I see,” I say, the words tasting bitter in my mouth. The realization that we’re back to square one, with Chiara unable to choose, hits me like a blow. And now, with only a few weeks before the wedding, the pressure is even more intense.
Anger surges through me, hot and spicy, like a fire spreading through my veins. It’s a familiar feeling, but this time it’s tinged with betrayal and frustration. I’ve never felt this kind of rage toward Chiara before, and it scares me even as it consumes me. I turn away from her, trying to calm my racing heart.
When Chiara gently touches my shoulder, I whirl on her, unable to contain my emotions any longer. “I’m so sick of your indecisiveness,” I hiss, my voice low and dangerous. “You can’t even make up your own damn mind about what or who you want.”
Chiara flinches at my tone, but I’m too far gone to stop now. “How can you even consider choosing Pyotr? He’s a jackass!”
Confusion clouds Chiara's face. “How has Pyotr been a jackass?”
Her question only fuels my anger. “Are you fucking kidding me? Did you not see how he acted just now? The way he spoke to me, the implications?—”
“Dante,” Chiara interrupts, her voice soft but firm, “you were rude first. I think you’re imagining things.”
Her words hit me like a physical blow. Betrayal lashes through me, sharp and painful. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. A harsh laugh escapes me, bitter and mirthless.
“I can’t believe this,” I say, shaking my head. “You’re actually defending that Russian asshole.”
The look on Chiara’s face—a mixture of hurt and defiance—only adds fuel to the fire of my anger. In this moment, I hardly recognize the woman standing before me. Where is the Chiara who swore her love to me? Who promised to fight for us?
“Maybe you’ve already made your choice,” I spit out, the words tasting like poison. “Maybe you’re just too cowardly to admit it.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I know I’ve gone too far. But the anger, the hurt, the fear of losing her—it’s all too much. I can’t take it back now, even as I see the pain blooming in Chiara’s eyes.
We stand there, the air between us charged with tension and unspoken words. And for the first time since we fell in love, I wonder if this is a fight we can come back from.
I can see Chiara trembling slightly, her eyes filled with a mixture of hurt and anger. “That was a damn nasty thing to say, Dante,” she says, her voice quavering.
But I’m too far gone in my own anger, betrayal, and hurt to really care. The feeling of rejection washes over me, cold and bitter. It’s like a wall has come up between us, and I can’t see a way around it.
Drawing myself up, I adopt a stiff, formal tone that feels foreign on my tongue when addressing Chiara. “I apologize for my behavior, Miss Marino. If you’ll excuse me, I have duties to attend to.”
I turn on my heel, not waiting for her response. As I walk away, I hear her voice calling after me, pleading for me to come back. But I can’t. Not now. Not when every word feels like it’s tearing us further apart.
I stalk away, my steps quick and purposeful. I’m vaguely aware of the concerned looks from the staff and guards I pass, but I ignore them all. My mind is a whirlwind of conflicting emotions—anger at Chiara’s indecision, hurt at her defense of Pyotr, fear that I’m losing her for good.
As I put more distance between us, I can still hear Chiara calling my name. Each plea chips away at my resolve, but I force myself to keep walking. I tell myself it’s for the best, that we both need time to cool off and think.
But deep down, I’m terrified that this might be the beginning of the end, that in my anger, I’ve pushed Chiara away for good. And as I disappear around the corner of the house, leaving her voice behind, I wonder if I’ve just made the biggest mistake of my life.