Chapter 25
Harlow
My husband hadn’t lied when he said his words weren’t a request, they were a demand.
After my morning routine, I spent the better part of two hours downstairs in the gym, taking out my frustrations on the punching bag. My fists stung, muscles burned, but it was the kind of ache that kept me grounded. Kept me from overthinking.
When I finally stepped out of the gym, rolling my shoulders, Piero was already there.
Waiting.
His posture was easy, relaxed, yet I knew better. He was always watching, always anticipating.
“Signora, your appointment is in an hour.”
He informed me smoothly.
I arched a brow, grabbing a towel and dabbing the sweat from my neck.
“Appointment?”
Piero inclined his head.
“A full spa day.”
I blinked, then exhaled through my nose. Dante hadn’t just told me to go. He had taken it upon himself to make the arrangements. Of course he had.
My voice was dry as I muttered.
“He really wasn’t lying when he said I should spoil myself.”
Piero didn’t comment, just waited patiently.
A quiet warmth unfurls in my chest. It wasn’t much, just a day at the spa, but the fact that he’d gone through the trouble of arranging it himself…
I pushed the thought aside before it could take root. This wasn’t sentimental. This was Dante. Control was second nature to him.
Still, a part of me didn’t mind. I appreciated that he considered me, even in his own domineering way.
I nodded at Piero.
“Very well. I’ll be ready.”
He gave a curt nod and stepped aside as I walked past him. When I stepped into our bedroom, I stilled.
Resting elegantly atop the vanity was a bouquet of violet calla lilies, their rich, velvety petals exuding an air of quiet opulence.
A breath hitched in my throat, my pulse faltering for a beat. These were the very same flowers from my wedding. For a fleeting moment, I hesitated. The bouquet hadn’t been here when I left. Something inside me prickled with warning.
Slowly, I approached, my eyes flicking to the small note nestled between the petals. My fingers hovered over the edge of the paper before I finally picked it up.
Enjoy yourself. Spare no expense.
Don’t keep me waiting tonight.
The note read, the handwriting bold and elegant.
The words were simple, but something about them was both beautiful and commanding, dark.
Dante.
A quiet breath escaped me as I shook off the apprehension. Of course, it was him. The tautness in my shoulders loosened as I traced the edge of the note with my thumb. Not everything was a threat. Not everything had to be hypervigilance.
I brought the flowers to my nose, inhaling their scent. They were beautiful. And despite myself, a foreign sensation settled within me.
This man was becoming a danger to my heart, a temptation I couldn’t afford.
Now, I find myself being pampered from every angle. The faint hum of soothing music drifts through the air as a skilled pair of hands works over the tension in my shoulders. I’m lounging on a plush massage chair, my feet soaking in warm water, while a second aesthetician shapes my nails with meticulous care.
Yet, no matter how I try to occupy my thoughts, they keep drifting back, to my husband, the flowers, and the quiet, insidious way he’s been weaving himself beneath my skin. A distraction is in order.
As if on cue, my phone vibrates.
My screen lights up with an incoming FaceTime call, and Sofia’s bright, mischievous face fills the screen the moment I swipe to answer.
“Harlow, finally! You are alive!”
she gasps dramatically.
“I was beginning to think my dear cousin had been kidnapped by her new husband.”
I arch a brow, lips curving slightly.
“Who says I haven’t?
Sofia gasps again, pressing a hand to her chest with theatrical delight.
“Scandalous!”
“She’s being dramatic.”
Elena cuts in dryly, her voice briefly muffled as the screen shifts. When she comes into view, her expression is flat, unimpressed, her features still softened with sleep.
She sighs, rubbing her temple.
“Do you two have any idea what time it is here?”
I glance at the clock. Midafternoon for me, which means it must still be painfully early in Chicago.
Sofia shrugs.
“Somewhere between too early for Elena to function and too late for her to be in a bad mood, but here we are.”
Elena gives a deadpan look.
“It’s seven in the morning, Sof.”
Her sister waves a dismissive hand.
“Exactly. A perfect time to start the day with gossip.”
Elena pinches the bridge of her nose, exhaling slowly.
“I need coffee. And for you to have some self-control.”
Sofia grins at me.
“Not happening. So, where are you, dear cousin?”
I exhale, sinking deeper into my chair.
“Dante scheduled a spa day.”
Her eyes widen instantly.
“Wait, he booked it for you himself?”
“Yes.”
She sighs wistfully, practically melting.
“This is so romantic.”
Elena scoffs.
“It’s controlling.”
Sofia gives her a look.
“It’s considerate.”
Elena’s gaze doesn’t waver.
“It’s possessive.”
I take a slow sip from my glass, an espresso martini, because if I’m being forced into relaxation, I might as well enjoy it properly.
“Possessive and considerate can coexist. Dante has mastered the art.”
Sofia hums, clearly enjoying the idea.
“I’m just saying, a man who forces me to relax is my kind of man. And this is a full spa day, right? Massage, facial, nails?”
“Elena would rather die.”
I remark idly, watching as my nails are buffed to perfection.
She gives me a dry look. “Correct.”
Sofia sighs dramatically.
“You have no appreciation for self-care. Harlow, back me up on this.”
I make a noncommittal noise.
Sofia’s eyes narrow.
“So, you’re enjoying it?”
I take another sip of my drink, dragging it out.
“I didn’t say that.”
Elena shakes her head.
“She does.”
I ignore them, my gaze drifting toward the window as I change the subject.
“Enough about me. Sofi, how’s your latest distraction?”
Her expression instantly brightens.
“You mean Luca? Oh, he’s wonderful, charming, sexy, rich—but, my God, so boring when he talks about his business.”
Elena gives her a look.
“Sof, that’s because he’s a financial analyst. His entire personality is spreadsheets.”
She waves a dismissive hand.
“See, this is what I mean. A walking, talking Excel document.”
I smirk.
“Are you finally admitting that you value substance over money?”
Sofia gasps, hand flying to her chest.
“How dare you?”
Elena arches a brow.
“She’s offended, but she didn’t deny it.”
“You’re both awful.”
Elena and I exchange a glance.
“You love us.”
I say smoothly.
Sofi sighs dramatically.
“Unfortunately.”
Elena leans back, tone casual but pointed.
“I told you Luca isn’t for you. You need someone… different.”
She narrows her eyes.
“Define different.”
Elena’s smirk is almost imperceptible.
“Someone who doesn’t treat life like a balance sheet.”
She crosses her arms.
“Nothing happened, if that’s what you’re implying. I’m saving myself for marriage.”
Elena stares at her, unimpressed.
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
I snort, and Sofia laughs despite herself.
The conversation flows between us.
Finally, Sofia’s eyes gleam with excitement.
“Harlow, had I known you were attending this gala, I would have had a gown delivered to you days ago.”
I smirk.
“Well, I only found out myself last night. My husband seems to enjoy keeping me on my toes.”
She exhales, a dramatic tsk following.
“Last minute arrangements? Completely unacceptable. I’m sending over a selection anyway, only the finest, of course. Just in case.”
“Of course you are.”
“Better to have them and not need them, darling.”
I shake my head, amused.
“Goodbye, love you.”
Sofia blows a kiss to the screen.
“Send me pictures!”
“No promises.”
Elena simply nods.
“Try not to get yourself killed.”
The call ends, and I set my phone aside. The echoes of my cousins’ voices still linger in my mind as I step out of the spa, the warmth of the day settling over me like a comforting embrace.
Piero nods as we leave, his posture relaxed. Outside, a few more men are stationed near the entrance, acknowledging me, though none meet my gaze directly.
We move through several boutiques, weaving between racks of luxury gowns, each one seemingly more opulent than the last. I slip into one fitting room after another, fabric sliding against my skin, shimmering under the warm lights.
Dresses of every shade, deep reds, emerald greens, blacks with gold embroidery. Yet nothing feels quite right. Until it does.
A dress that clings in all the right places, accentuating sharp lines and soft curves. It’s powerful. Elegant. Unapologetic.
By the time we leave, my hair is freshly styled in sleek waves, my nails pristine, my makeup flawless, and my skin smooth from waxing and treatments. Everything is perfect.
And for the first time in a long time, I feel like myself. The day has been a distraction I hadn’t known I needed. And though I should be exhausted, I feel filled with energy. For a moment, I let myself enjoy the illusion of peace.
The moment we arrive home, I slip away from the guards as they begin unloading the bags, heading straight to check on Mattia.
I find him in the lounge, curled up with a book, his dark head bent in concentration. He barely looks up, muttering a distracted.
“Ciao, Harlow.”
The corners of my lips twitch, but I don’t disturb him.
I leave quietly, making my way to the bedroom.
When I open the door, my steps falter.
The vase on the vanity is shattered, shards of glass scattered across the floor, the flowers wilted in a pool of water. And there, right next to the ruins of my bouquet, sits an envelope.
My chest tightens. The edges are smeared with blood, fingerprints staining the ivory paper.
For a moment, I can’t breathe.
He was here. Inside the house.
My fingers tremble as I reach for it, the rapid beat of my heart reverberates through my body. The room feels too quiet, the air too thick.
I rip it open, my stomach twisting violently.
Inside, there are photographs.
Of me.
At the spa. Reclining on the massage table, eyes closed in blissful ignorance.
At the boutique. Standing in front of the mirror in nothing but my lingerie, the gown I had been trying on pooled at my feet.
Taken from a distance.
Taken from a fucking window.
The room tilts. My vision narrows.
My bodyguards are in some of the shots, standing rigid.
He had been watching me.
Following me.
The entire day, the one meant to be for me, was never truly my own.
A sharp breath leaves me as I stagger back, the edges of the photographs crumpling beneath my grip.
I fumble for my phone.
My fingers are clumsy, numb, but I manage to press Dante’s name.
The line rings twice, then I hear his voice. “Yes?”
I can’t get the words out. My breath is wrong, too fast, too shallow. “Dante,”
I finally whisper.
A beat of silence. Then, his tone shifts, going lethal.
“Where the fuck are you?”
I close my eyes, forcing my lungs to expand.
“Our bedroom.”
I barely hear the low curse before the call disconnects. A few seconds later, the door bursts open.
Dante is there, his eyes dark. In a few swift, purposeful strides, he closes the distance between us.
His hands find my face, rough yet warm, tilting it upward, leaving me no choice but to meet his eyes.
“Harlow, breath with me.”
His voice is a quiet demand wrapped in steel. His thumb brushes against my cheekbone, grounding me.
I try. Inhale. Exhale.
My lungs rebel at first, but slowly, the pressure eases.
“You’re safe.”
Dante murmurs.
“I’m here.”
My eyes flutter shut for a moment. The warmth of his hands, the steel in his voice, it keeps me from unravelling completely.
He pries the envelope from my fingers. A long, charged silence stretches as he flips through the photographs.
His grip tightens. His jaw clenches, muscle ticking.
Then in a low, murderous voice, he whispers.
“This fucker is dead.”
I swallow hard.
“Dante… how? How was he here?”
His breath comes slow, as if he’s holding back a storm.
“I don’t fucking know.”
His voice is lethal.
“But I plan to find out.”
He steps away, jaw tight, shoving a hand through his hair. His entire body is coiled with violence.
Then, suddenly, his hands are on my shoulders again, his lips pressing against my forehead, rough but steady.
“I’m putting a man outside your door. No one sets foot in here. You are safe.”
I nod, still too rattled to argue.
Dante steps back, turning toward the door.
His voice is ice.
“Get something to eat, and start getting ready for tonight.”
I know what he’s doing, shifting me back into routine, grounding me in something normal so I don’t spiral.
But I can still see the way his fingers flex, the way his rage bleeds into his movements as he storms out of the room.
Once in the hall, his voice cuts through the air like a gunshot.
“Find me this fucking bastard. NOW.”
A chorus of voices answers. Orders are shouted. The entire house is on high alert.
I exhale slowly, trying to shake off the weight of what just happened. I will get ready. I will play my part.
But nothing feels the same anymore.
Because I know now, he isn’t just watching.
He is closer than I ever thought possible.