Chapter 10 Dante
DANTE
Iwake to sunlight filtering through the blinds.
The room carries a chill, but that's not why I'm cold this morning. Angelica's scent clings to the sheets—warm vanilla laced with the raw musk of sweat from our bodies locked together through the night.
We took each other three times after dinner until exhaustion pulled us under.
Now the space beside me lies empty, the pillow dented where her head rested, and I run my palm over the cool fabric, cock twitching at the memory of her thighs wrapped around me, her nails digging into my back.
But the villa stirs with morning life, pulling me from the bed, and work awaits me.
I rise naked, muscles aching from the night's exertions, and cross to the wardrobe.
Black trousers slide on smoothly, followed by a crisp white shirt that I leave unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled to expose the black ink curling over my forearms.
Barefoot but with socks in hand, I step into the hallway.
It's even colder here as I dance between steps, ramming my feet into my socks.
Distant sounds guide me—the low gurgle of the espresso machine in the kitchen, the clink of utensils on stainless steel.
Then Sofia's laughter rings out, cutting through the villa's muted tones and bringing a smile to my face.
It draws me forward as I descend the stairs and find my way to the kitchen door.
I lean against the frame, arms crossed over my chest, watching the sight.
Flour dusts the countertops in a fine white veil, bowls of dough scattered across the island.
Angelica stands at the center, her slender frame clad only in my bathrobe.
The hem grazes her olive thighs, collar undone enough to reveal the curve of her breasts and the fresh bruises I sucked into her neck hours ago.
Her long, dark brown hair falls in a loose knot with strands escaping to frame her soft features, high cheekbones flushed from the oven's heat.
I love the sight of her full lips curved in a patient smile and her green eyes reflecting warmth as she kneads dough beside Sofia.
The little girl perches on a stool, her thin legs swinging, and her hands are coated in sticky dough as she presses a star-shaped cutter down with all her strength.
Marta moves behind them, wearing her simple apron.
Her silver hair is pinned tight, gray eyes crinkling with maternal amusement as she pulls a tray of golden cookies from the oven.
It sends a rush of cinnamon and honey scent into the air that makes my tastebuds water.
"Twist the cutter firmly, Sofia, then lift straight," Angelica instructs, her delicate hands guiding her daughter's. "There—your star's perfect. Santa flies straight to the patient ones who bake them right."
Sofia holds up her creation, beaming despite its uneven edges.
Flour is smudged across her small nose.
"Mama, will it really go to the North Pole? Mine's the biggest!"
Angelica laughs, a sound that vibrates through me as she wipes Sofia's cheek with her thumb, leaving a clean streak amid the mess.
"The biggest ones lead the way, Tesoro. All the way to the elves."
She turns to Marta, reaching for a jar on the counter.
"Cinnamon, please? We're spicing this batch extra for the holidays."
Marta passes it over, and says, "You two fill this kitchen with more joy than I've seen in decades. My own girls were the same—dough in their hair, laughter everywhere. Keeps the cold out."
Sofia claps, sending flour puffing into the sunlit air like smoke from a fresh kill.
"Mama, tell the St. Lucia story! The crown with candles and the secret gifts!"
Angelica's posture shifts, her shoulders tensing as she sprinkles cinnamon over the dough.
She meets Sofia's eager gaze, then flicks her eyes to the window, where the garden's rosemary shrubs catch the breeze.
"Alright, Piccola. St. Lucia comes on the thirteenth—eight days from today.
She wears a crown of burning candles, visits every home in the dark morning, leaves sweets and small gifts for good children hidden in their rooms. We always wake before dawn, light our own candle on the table, and unwrap ours together.
Last year, you found that little doll with the yarn braids tucked under your pillow. Remember the saffron buns?"
Sofia nods, curls bouncing, and her thin fingers resume their work on another cookie.
"And coffee for you, Mama! Can we do it here? In this big house? With Dante and Marta? St. Lucia knows every house, right?"
Angelica pauses again, her green eyes clouding as she rolls out more dough, the wooden pin gliding smooth under her grip.
She glances at Marta, who turns to rinse a bowl in the sink, then back to Sofia with a forced smile.
"I don't know, Amore. We're not in our apartment this year. Things are… different. Maybe we skip the full tradition. But we'll light a candle and eat buns. I'll make it special, promise."
Sofia's face crumples, her small shoulders dropping as she pokes at her dough.
"But she finds everyone. Even fancy houses. Please, Mama?"
Angelica kneels beside the stool, pulling Sofia into her arms, kissing the top of her head where curls tangle.
"She does. We'll figure it out."
Her voice holds that edge I know too well—defiance and worry, born from years alone, now caged in my world of threats.
I stand there longer, absorbing the scene, chest constricting at how desperately I want my daughter's life to be normal for her.
Sofia's innocence pierces me.
Her laughter is rare in a world like mine.
But Angelica's resilience shines even here, where she resists letting her walls down because it might mean more pain.
I decide then that I'll make St. Lucia's day special for both of them, which isn't exactly tradition.
Only little children receive gifts, but I want Angelica to feel special too.
I'll send Enzo today to pick them out, but first I have to get to work.
So I slip back into the shadows and off to get things done.
I turn and walk to my den before the moment stretches too long.
I have work to do, business that can't wait just because I spent the night with a woman I can't stop thinking about.
I close the door behind me and pull out my phone.
I have three missed calls from one of my sources, so I call him back and he answers on the first ring.
"We have a problem," he grumbles hastily.
"What kind of problem?"
"Antonelli tipped off the authorities. Your deal tonight is compromised." He huffs and sighs, then says, "They're planning a raid."
I grip the phone tighter. "Are you positive?"
"Yeah. My contact inside the police department confirmed it an hour ago. Antonelli fed them information about the location and the timing. They're setting up surveillance now."
"How much product is at risk?"
This shit keeps happening and it's really starting to piss me off.
"All of it—twenty kilos."
I curse under my breath.
This is exactly what Gerard wants.
He's not just attacking my operations.
He's using the authorities to do his dirty work.
If the deal tonight gets busted, my reputation takes another hit.
My suppliers will question whether I can protect their product.
My buyers will go elsewhere.
"Can we move the location?" I ask him with my mind already thinking ahead to new spots.
"Not without tipping off the buyers that something's wrong. They're already nervous about working with you after the missing shipment from Istanbul."
"Then for fuck's sake, we need to stop Antonelli before he does more damage."
"How? He's entrenched. He has contacts everywhere. He's playing this perfectly."
"I don't care how entrenched he is," I growl.
My voice rises despite my effort to stay calm. "Find a way to get to him. Bribe his people. Threaten them. I don't care what it takes. Just make it happen."
"Dante, you're not listening. He's protected. Going after him directly right now will start a war you're not ready to fight." The man is really pushing my buttons.
"Then what do you suggest?" My voice is louder now, bordering on shouting. "That I sit here and let him destroy everything I've built? That I let him leak those forged documents and turn my allies against me?"
"I'm saying you need to be strategic. You need to think this through instead of reacting."
"I am thinking it through. And what I'm thinking is that Gerard needs to be eliminated before he does any more damage."
I'm so angry, I know it's not a good idea and still, I don’t care.
"You're not thinking clearly. You're letting your emotions control you."
"Don't tell me what I'm doing," I shout. "Just do your job and find me a way to stop him."
The door to my den opens, and I turn and see Sofia standing in the doorway.
Her eyes are wide and frightened.
She clutches a cookie in one hand and stares at me like I’m a stranger.
I lower the phone and take a breath.
"I'll call you back,” I grumble before I end the call and set the phone on my desk.
Sofia doesn't move from the doorway, but she looks like she wants to run.
"Who were you shouting at?" she asks in a small voice.
Her head cocks sideways and her eyes stay wide.
"Just someone I work with," I say.
I soften my tone as much as I can. "My business sometimes gets loud."
"You sounded angry."
"I was angry. But not at you."
She takes a tentative step into the room.
"Are you still angry?"
"No, Tesoro. Not anymore."
She walks closer and stops in front of my desk.
She holds up the cookie shaped like a star and covered in red sugar.
"I made this for you."
I take the cookie from her hand and feel the crushing weight of guilt.
"Thank you," I tell her.
This is no world for a child so innocent as her.
"Marta said you like sweets. Is that true?"
"I do."
She smiles a little.
The fear in her eyes fades slightly.
I gesture to the chair beside my desk. "Do you want to sit?"
She nods and climbs into the chair.
Her legs dangle above the floor as she watches me take a bite of the cookie and waits for my reaction.
It's an average cookie, but to her it's everything.
"It's very good," I say.
"I made six more. Three stars and three trees. Marta said we can decorate them later with icing."
"That sounds like fun."
She swings her legs and looks around my den.
Her gaze lands on the bookshelves and the desk and the fireplace.
"This is where you work?"
"Yes."
"What do you do?"
"I manage businesses. I make sure everything runs smoothly."
She considers this.
"Is that why you were shouting? Because something isn't running smoothly?"
"Yes. But I'm going to fix it."
She nods and continues looking around my office like she's investigating.
"Since you're my father, will you be buying me gifts for St. Lucia's day?"
When her eyes meet mine, I wink at her.
"St. Lucia's day?" I ask, feigning ignorance.
"It's in a few days. Mama always gives me small presents. Candy or a book or something special. Will you give me something too?"
I look at her small face.
Her brown eyes are so earnest.
So hopeful.
She's asking me to be part of her life in a very real way and it does something to my heart.
I feel like the Grinch.
"Yes," I say. "I'll get you something."
"Really?"
"Really."
She grins and slides off the chair.
"I'm going to tell Mama," she shrieks as she runs out of the room before I can say anything else.
I sit back in my chair and stare at the cookie in my hand.
The red sugar glitters under the light.
It’s such a small thing, a cookie made by a five-year-old girl who barely knows me.
But it feels like more than that.
It feels like trust.
I think about the shouting match she walked in on.
The anger in my voice.
The way she looked at me like I was someone to be afraid of.
Angelica's right.
Raising a child in this world isn't a good idea.
Sofia shouldn't have to hear me screaming at my sources.
She shouldn't have to live in a house surrounded by armed guards or wonder whether her father's a good man or a dangerous one.
But I don't want them to leave.
I want Sofia here making cookies in my kitchen.
I want Angelica here in my bed.
I want mornings where I wake up and know they're safe under my roof.
That means ending this war, eliminating Antonelli Gerard and securing my position before Kemal's deadline so that Rome is safe enough that Sofia can grow up without fear.
I walk to the window and look out at the garden.
Sofia's out there now with Angelica and Marta.
They're sitting on a bench near the fountain, and Sofia's showing them something in her hands.
Probably another cookie.
I watch them and feel such a deep longing.
This is what I'm fighting for now, not power or territory or reputation.
I'm fighting to keep them safe, to give Sofia a life where she will grow up knowing both of her parents and getting only the best things in life.
Angelica looks up and sees me in the window.
She doesn't smile, but she doesn't look away either.
We hold each other's gaze for a moment.
Then she turns back to Sofia.
Never in my life did I think
I would be lucky enough to have a family like this.
But they're here, and I find myself wondering how I ever lived without them.
It's only been a week, but I know I'll never let them go.
I just have to finish this war before one of them gets hurt.