31. The Fury
Chapter thirty-one
The Fury
(Dante)
Ihold Danica until she cries herself back to sleep, my chest soaked with her tears, my mind aching with her trauma.
It’s hard to marry the reality of little nine-year-old Danica stuck in the burning shed with the Queen wrapped in my arms.
The mere thought that someone could do this to her is enough to make my blood boil to the point of blind rage.
But I kept quiet—for her sake. As much as I wanted to punch a hole right through the solid wall, I clenched my fists and listened, letting her get it all off her chest.
Seeing her so broken, so vulnerable, felt like a dagger piercing through my heart.
How could they do this to her? She didn’t deserve it. What narcissistic cunts…
I stroke her hair, inhaling her scent—familiar, home, mine. In this moment, Danica looks her age, even younger. She seems more like a child to protect than the fearless Goddess who boldly took on Tolya Volkov like he wasn’t one of the cruelest, most dangerous men in the city.
I had no idea…
The signs were there, literally etched on her beautiful skin, but the thought never even crossed my mind. I suspected it was some sort of accident, maybe something she was embarrassed about…
But accident is not the word I would use to describe the torment Danica went through at the hands of her own brothers.
I should probably try to get some sleep too, but sleeping in the middle of the day has never come naturally to me. And with my mind overburdened like this, there’s not a chance in hell I could switch off.
The anger burns through my body, getting stronger and stronger the more I think about the pain my Danica carries around with her.
Fuck-it. I’ll go mad if I just lie here.
Careful not to disturb my sleeping beauty, I detangle myself from Danica. She murmurs softly but quickly resumes her slumber.
For a moment longer, I just watch her, watch how those magnificent breasts heave up and down with her breath.
And then I sneak out, tip-toeing on my bare feet.
It’s afternoon. Our whole schedule has been upside down since our failed attempt at a wedding.
The house is quiet. The staff know not to disturb me when the door is closed.
I head downstairs to the gym.
Biscotti lifts his head as I pass his room but doesn’t follow me. Sleepy, just like his mother.
The first punch feels good, the second not so much. Still, I pummel all my frustration into the poor punching bag, destroying it as my fists drive into it again and again, until my pesky shoulder forces me to a standstill, aching like my gunshot wound hasn’t been healed for years. Fucking, body!
A loud roar echoes through the room as I let it all out. I’m shaking in frustration, in fury, in all the emotions other people have names for, but I can’t recognize as anything but shades of anger and disgust.
“Everything okay, Signore?” It’s Dario who responds to my outburst, hesitating by the door.
My heart rate is still sky-high from the punches, but I force my voice steady. “Fine. Please call Emilio,” I reply, and Dario disappears with a nod.
My best man appears moments later, taking one look at my deranged state before closing the door behind him. He doesn’t say anything, just patiently waits for me to gather my thoughts.
“Emilio.”
He nods. “Boss.”
“I need you to track down some people for me.”
“Anything you need, Don mio.”
“Filip and Marko Matthews. They shouldn’t be too hard to find.”
Emilio nods. I know he knows who they are, that they’re Danica’s brothers, but he doesn’t say anything.
“Do you want us to make them disappear?” he asks.
“No, I thought about it. But Danica would never forgive me for it. She probably wouldn’t forgive me for interfering one way or another, but I can’t just do nothing while those cunts walk free, living a life without consequence.”
Emilio doesn’t answer, just waits for me to give the order.
“Don’t hurt them, not physically, at least. But make sure they never work again, not in this country, not anywhere. I want their careers destroyed. Their lives. Just how they destroyed Danica’s.”
“Sì, Don mio.”
“And Emilio?”
“Yes, boss?”
“Please be discreet. I want none of this to be traced back to us.”
“Of course.”
“Everyone has skeletons in the closet and I bet these assholes have a few. Find it and exploit it. Are we clear?” I drop the boxing gloves on the floor and crack my knuckles, loudly.
“Sì, Don mio.”
“Don’t hurt the children.”
Emilio nods before taking his leave. I know he’ll take care of it; he’s never disappointed me.
Danica will find out soon enough, I can never lie to her. But not now. There is too much else going on; I’ll tell her later.
I call after Emilio before he disappears. “Please ask Missus Nell to arrange something to eat and some flowers. Tulips. White and red ones, please. She can leave them in the dining room for me.”
“Sì.”
“Thanks, Emilio.” I try to be nicer to him, remembering Danica’s earlier reprimand. “Close the door behind you.”
As soon as he’s gone, I collapse on the floor, flat on my back on the rubber mat that spans across the area of the box gym we’ve had since my father’s days.
It’s not very big, just a square room with the necessary equipment.
In my younger days, I’d spend hours in here every day, fighting my demons, trying to find peace.
But today, it gives me no calm, no shelter from the chaos. The khaki-colored walls seem depressing, the windows dirty. I make a mental note to remind Missus Nell to come clean down here but I know I will forget again, just like all the other times I’ve made the same mental note.
I don’t know how long I lie there for, long enough to almost fall asleep. But I need to get back to Danica; I don’t want her to wake up alone.
Taking a deep breath, I gather myself, washing my face in the small basin by the door. The mirror is mounted too low for my tall frame, forcing me to crouch down to see my blood-red eyes and messy hair staring back at me.
As best as I can, I smooth out my hair and try to force my breath to its normal rhythm. Danica doesn’t need to worry about me as well, she’s got enough on her mind already.
I just wish I could go back in time and cut this memory out of existence like it never happened at all. But I can’t.
Missus Nell is efficient as always and the flowers and a covered tray stand ready on the dining room table when I finally gather myself enough to leave the gym.
I make a quick detour to my study first before collecting all the items to take upstairs. One of the guards offers to help me carry, but I dismiss him, trying my best not to project my emotions, my frustration, onto an innocent bystander.
Careful not to spill, I carry the tray upstairs, the bouquet of fresh-cut flowers from our garden tucked under my arm.
"Dante?" Danica's voice is soft with sleep as I maneuver through the door with my offerings.
"I'm here, Tesoro." The tray finds a home on the dresser before I slide back into bed, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
She curls into me immediately, then pulls back. "You're all sweaty. Where did you go?"
"Had to work some things out with the punching bag." I try to keep my voice light, but she reads the tension in my muscles, the barely contained fury still simmering beneath my skin.
"Oh, darling…” Her fingers trace the fresh splits in my knuckles.
"I also brought us something to eat. And flowers—thought the room could use some brightness." I force a smile.
I didn’t even look at what was under the silver plate covers, but I knew Missus Nell would not disappoint. By now, she knew all about Danica’s peckish eating habits and my endless need for protein.
"You're too good to me." Danica’s attempt at a smile breaks my heart— still so wounded, still trying to be strong.
"I have something else for you." I retrieve the wrapped bundle from the dresser beside the food, holding it out to Danica with both hands. Even through the leather, I can feel the weight of history it carries.
"What is it?"
"My grandfather's combat knife.” I unwrap it carefully, revealing the ancient weapon.
The handle is dark wood, polished by decades of use, inlaid with intricate silver work that catches the light.
The blade itself is a masterpiece—nearly 12 inches of Damascus steel, the distinctive rippled pattern speaking to its craftsmanship.
"Forged in some ancient mountain city—I never paid attention to his war stories.
But I remember him saying it was extremely rare, extremely lucky. "
Danica sits up straighter, eyes widening as she takes the blade with reverent hands.
She unsheathes it slowly from its leather scabbard, the steel catching light like it was forged yesterday instead of decades ago.
The curve of the blade is elegant, deadly—a perfect marriage of beauty and lethal purpose.
"Dante...this is incredible. Are you sure? "
"It's yours." Like my heart.
"It's stunning." Her fingers trace the intricate handle before placing it carefully on the bedside table.
"My grandfather said it was a knife for only the best warriors." I pull her close, breathing in her scent. "And you're the strongest warrior I know."
"Oh, Dante." She melts into me, and I rest my chin on her head, letting her warmth chase away some of the darkness.
Never again, I vow silently. No one will ever hurt her again. The knife is symbolic—she already has the most dangerous weapon in the city at her disposal: a Don who would burn the world to keep her safe.
And after hearing her story, burning the world suddenly seems like a reasonable response.
Biscotti shuffles in like he’s been waiting for the right moment, his nails clicking on the floor, head tilted as if sensing the heavy emotion in the room.
I don't stop him when he jumps on the bed, forcing his adorable face between us to join the hug.
His tail thumps against the mattress as he settles, managing to take up more space than seems physically possible for his size.
Danica hugs us both closely, kissing first my forehead and then the dog's. "My boys," she murmurs, a real smile finally touching her lips. "My protectors."
Biscotti lets out a contented sigh as he drools on thousand-thread-count sheets, and some of the darkness recedes.
Just a little.
Just enough to breathe.
For now.