33. Dante
33
DANTE
I pace the length of my room, my mind racing. The conversation with my father replays in my head, but the initial excitement about the house offer has faded, replaced by a growing sense of inadequacy.
Sure, having my own place is a step in the right direction, but who am I kidding? It’s not enough, not nearly enough to compete with what Pyotr can offer Chiara. A house? He could probably give her a fucking estate, complete with servants and stables and whatever else she could possibly want. He could even get her her own painting studio if that’s what she desired.
I run a hand through my hair, frustration building inside me. How the hell am I supposed to convince Don Marino to break off the engagement, to let Chiara be with me instead?
“Fuck!” I mutter, slamming my fist against the wall. The pain barely registers through my anger and disappointment.
I’ve spent years proving my loyalty, my worth to this family. I’ve put my life on the line countless times. But in Don Marino’s eyes, I’m still just a soldier, not good enough for his precious daughter.
The unfairness of it all burns in my chest. Chiara loves me. I love her. Shouldn’t that be enough? But in our world, love is a luxury few can afford. Alliances, power, money—those are the currencies that matter.
I slump onto my bed, the weight of the situation pressing down on me. There has to be a way. Something I’m missing, some angle I haven’t considered yet.
But as I rack my brain, coming up empty time and time again, a bitter thought creeps in. Maybe this is hopeless. Maybe Chiara and I were never meant to be more than a secret.
No. I shake my head, refusing to accept that. I can’t give up. Not now, not ever . Chiara is worth fighting for, even if it means going up against one of the most powerful men in our world.
Because a life without her? That’s not a life I’m willing to accept. No matter what it takes, I’ll find a way to be with her. I have to.
Suddenly, my father’s words echo in my mind. “ Remember, true honor isn’t just about following rules or expectations. It’s about doing what’s right, even when it’s difficult. ”
It’s like a bolt of lightning striking me. Suddenly, everything becomes clear. I’ve been clinging to a sense of honor that I obliterated long ago—the moment I fell in love with Don Marino’s daughter.
But if that’s what honor means in this world, then I don’t need it.
All I need is Chiara.
Excitement courses through my veins as the realization hits me. I’m ready to face the consequences of my actions. If she’ll still go with me, I’m ready to leave it all behind for her. Our love, our future together— that’s what truly matters.
“Fuck,” I mutter again, cursing myself for not seeing it sooner, for not running away with her when she asked before. Goddammit, she just asked me again the other day!
But it doesn’t matter now. What matters is that I’ve finally understood what I need to do.
I jump to my feet, energy surging through me. I have to find Chiara. Now .
As I rush out of my room, my mind is already racing with plans. Where we’ll go, how we’ll live. None of the details matter as long as we’re together. I’ll figure it out as we go.
For the first time in weeks, I feel truly alive. The path ahead is uncertain, even dangerous, but I’m ready for it. Because at the end of that path is a life with Chiara, and that’s all I need.
I head toward the Marino estate, my heart pounding with anticipation and determination. This is it, the moment that will change everything. And I’m ready for it.
No more hiding. No more waiting. It’s time to fight for our love, consequences be damned.
As I enter the Marino mansion, an immediate sense of unease washes over me. The air feels thick, oppressive, as if the temperature has dropped by ten degrees. Something isn’t right.
I start my search for Chiara, my heart already racing with anticipation. But as I round a corner, I nearly collide with Sofia. Her face is ashen, eyes wide with fear—an expression I’ve never seen on the usually composed eldest Marino daughter.
Before I can speak, Sofia clutches at my shirt, her fingers digging into the fabric with surprising strength. Her breath comes in short, panicked gasps.
“Sofia—I mean, Mrs. Sicura,” I correct myself hastily, “what’s wrong?”
“Dante,” she whispers, her voice trembling, “you need to leave. Now. Papa is on a rampage, and Chiara… Chiara is in the crosshairs.”
My blood runs cold at her words. “Is Chiara okay? What happened?”
Sofia wrenches away from me, her movements jerky and uncoordinated—so unlike her usual grace. “I don’t know,” she says, shaking her head frantically. “I need to find Mama. I have to go.”
She turns and runs toward the grand staircase, her heels clicking frantically against the marble staircase. I watch her go, stunned by her uncharacteristic panic. Sofia, always the picture of poise and control, reduced to this frantic, frightened state—it’s terrifying.
What the fuck is going on? Why is Don Marino so angry? And what does Chiara have to do with this?
Then, like a bolt of lightning, it hits me. Did Don Marino find out about us? Is that why Sofia warned me to leave?
Fear courses through my veins, ice-cold and paralyzing. Even in his weakened state, Don Marino is a force to be reckoned with. He could have me killed with a single word. Hell, he’s cunning and cruel enough to make my own father pull the trigger.
For a moment, the urge to run is overwhelming. To turn around, walk out that door, and never look back. To save my own skin.
But then I think of Chiara. Of her smile, her laugh, the way she looks at me like I’m her whole world. She needs me now, more than ever. And I’ll be damned if I let her down.
I push the fear aside, steeling myself for whatever comes next. I made a decision to fight for our love, consequences be damned. I’m not backing down now.
With renewed determination, I start moving deeper into the house. The oppressive silence is occasionally broken by muffled shouts, the sounds of doors slamming. It feels like walking into a war zone.
As I navigate the corridors, my mind races with possibilities. What could have happened to cause such chaos? Did Chiara confess our relationship? Or did someone else find out and tell Don Marino?
Whatever the case, I know one thing for certain. I need to find Chiara, to protect her, to stand by her side no matter what comes next.
I pause at an intersection, trying to decide which way to go. The sound of raised voices draws my attention to the left, toward Don Marino’s study. My heart pounds in my chest as I recognize Chiara’s voice, pleading and desperate.
Without hesitation, I move toward the sound. Every step feels like I’m walking toward my doom, but I press on. Because Chiara is worth it. Our love is worth it.
As I approach the study, I spot Bianca hovering near the door. Her face is ghostly pale, her hand clamped over her mouth. I’ve never seen her look so terrified—not even when she was forced to marry Rork O’Malley last year.
Bianca Marino is the type of woman who would face God and walk backward into hell. The sight of her abject terror sends a fresh wave of fear through me. What the fuck is going on?
I open my mouth to speak, but Bianca’s eyes widen in panic. She shakes her head frantically, pressing a finger to her lips. Her entire body is trembling, and I can see tears glistening in her eyes.
This isn’t just fear—this is pure, unadulterated terror.
But then I catch snippets of the conversation, and the world seems to tilt on its axis.
“Your son got my daughter pregnant!” Don Marino’s voice roars, filled with a fury I’ve never heard before.
Beside me, Bianca gasps in horror, her hand clutching the ornate door handle so tightly her knuckles turn white. But I barely notice her reaction.
Pregnant. Chiara is pregnant .
The word echoes in my mind, drowning out everything else. My vision blurs, and for a moment, I think I might pass out. But then a horrible realization hits me—no one is denying Don Marino’s accusation. Pyotr isn’t protesting his innocence.
Does this mean… has Chiara been sleeping with both of us?
The thought sends a wave of nausea through me. I feel betrayed, hurt, angry. How could she do this? After everything we’ve shared, everything we’ve been through together?
The betrayal cuts deep, each realization like a knife twisting in my gut as the full weight of the situation crashes over me.
All this time, I thought I was the only one. That what Chiara and I shared was special, sacred. But she’s been fucking Pyotr, too? The very thought makes me sick.
How many times did she tell me she loved me, only to turn around and sleep with him? Was she comparing us? Trying to decide which of us was the better lover before making her final choice?
The fury builds inside me, hot and overwhelming. I’ve been such a fool, fighting for her, risking everything, when she clearly cares so little for me that she could do this.
No wonder she’s been so indecisive all this time. If she likes Pyotr enough to fuck him, maybe she’s been torn between us for reasons I never even considered.
The urge to burst into that room, to confront her, to demand answers, is almost overwhelming. But what’s the point? She’s made her choice clear enough.
And now she’s pregnant with another man’s baby.
How long has she known? Did she know when she let me fuck her against the tree?
I take a step back from the door, my hands shaking with a mixture of anger and hurt. Pyotr can have her. If this is how little our relationship meant to Chiara, if she could lie to me so easily, then I want no part of it.
The future I’d imagined, the love I thought we shared—it all crumbles around me.
Let Pyotr deal with the fallout. Let him face Don Marino’s wrath. I’m done.
As I turn to leave, my chest tight and ears ringing, I feel a hand grasp mine. Bianca pulls me into a corner, her blue eyes intense as she whispers urgently.
“It’s always been you, hasn’t it? That’s why Chiara’s been so secretive and anxious these past few weeks. You and Chiara were together, right?”
I don’t see the point in denying it anymore. What does it matter now? “Yes,” I say shortly, my voice rough with emotion. “I loved her. Thought she loved me too. Guess I was wrong about that.”
Bianca’s face softens with sympathy, and I bristle at the pity in her eyes. I don’t want her fucking compassion. I don’t want anything but to get out of this house before I lose control completely.
“I’m so sorry, Dante,” Bianca says softly, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I never, ever thought Chiara would do something like this.”
Her words, meant to comfort, only fuel my anger and hurt. “Clearly,” I say roughly, “we both don’t know Chiara as well as we thought.”
I can’t bear to be here any longer. The walls feel like they’re closing in, and the urge to break something, to lash out at the unfairness of it all, is becoming overwhelming.
“Excuse me,” I mutter, pulling away from Bianca’s grasp.
As I stride out of the house, each step feels heavier than the last. The cool air outside does little to soothe the turmoil within me. My heart feels like it’s been shattered into a million pieces, each shard a painful reminder of my own naivety.
It’s time to face reality. Chiara and me? We’re done. And I have no one to blame but myself for being naive enough to believe in a love that clearly meant more to me than it ever did to her.
I can’t work here anymore. I’m going to tender my resignation ASAP. I can’t be here when Chiara walks down the aisle to marry Pyotr. I can’t be here when she’s gone and belongs to someone else.
Dad’s going to flip his shit, but I don’t care.
As I walk away from the Marino estate, possibly for the last time, I feel hollow. Empty. The anger and hurt swirl within me, threatening to consume everything.
But beneath it all, there’s a small part of me that still loves her, that wants to go back, to demand explanations, to fight for what we had.
I push that voice aside. It’s over. And the sooner I accept that, the sooner I can start picking up the pieces of my shattered heart.