Dante:
I've been f**king manipulated.
And the worst part? It was by the one man I was supposed to fear, obey, and never cross—my own father.
Ever since he caught wind that I was looking for her… the girl from the orphanage… Mia cara… everything has started to spiral. And I know exactly who to thank for that.
Alessia.
That two-faced little brat. She must've slithered to my father like the poisonous snake she is, whispering everything she overheard, every step I made, every word I spoke—playing innocent while feeding him my secrets. I should've known. The night she stayed over, the sudden recorder in the couch, her fake smile. I ignored the signs, and now the damage was done.
He called me to this house like a king summoning a disobedient knight. And I came.
Not because I respected him.
But because I needed to protect the one thing he still hadn't gotten his claws into—my plan.
I sat on the edge of the bed in this gold-coated cage he calls his estate, every second feeling like venom crawling under my skin. The surveillance. The assistant. The smug glances. He's watching me—closer than ever.
But the destruction of my game?
No.
I won't let him win this time.
I'm done being his weapon, his heir, his puppet.
He thinks he can outplay me just because he taught me how the game works. But he forgot one thing—I always learn faster than I let on.
He doesn't know when I'll leave. He doesn't know how I'll move. And he sure as hell doesn't know that every time I smiled and said "Certo, papà," I was already building the fire that would burn his kingdom down.
Not this month.
This month, I'll act like the obedient son. I'll smile. I'll wear the suit. I'll nod when he talks.
But next month?
I'll vanish into the sky like a ghost, and when I land—
I'll be in China.
I don't care how much it costs.
How many eyes I have to blind.
How many borders I have to cross.
I'll do it.
Because she's there. Somewhere. Living a life I was never part of.
And I'll be damned if I let fate win again.
As I was lost in my own storm of thoughts, planning and plotting in silence, a knock echoed through the room.
I didn't even turn my head. My voice came out like ice breaking over fire."Come in."
The door creaked open and I didn't need to look to know who it was—the scent of her perfume announced her arrival long before her heels did.
Alessia.
The mere creature standing at the threshold of my space made my blood simmer. Wrapped in the shortest possible red dress, her figure sculpted to catch attention, and a face that wore that infuriatingly fake smile—the kind that could set my fists curling.
I nearly rolled my eyes as she strutted in like she owned the place, hips swaying like some cheap performance. God, she always did think she could play goddess in a room full of wolves.
She rushed toward me like she'd been waiting her whole life for this moment.
And just as her arms were about to wrap around me, I raised a hand and stopped her in her tracks.
Dead stop.
She blinked, those eyes wide with mock innocence as she looked up at me, confused and mildly offended."What is it, Dante?" she said, that pout already forming on her lips. "Not going to hug me?"
She tilted her head, trying to act cute, pressing her voice into that sugary tone that made me want to grind my teeth. Her fingers itched toward my sleeve again and I caught her wrist, not harsh, not gentle—just enough to remind her who the hell I am.
"Don't," I muttered, voice low, calm, and lethal.
She froze.
I let her wrist go, taking a slow step back, keeping the distance like it was sacred."You're not welcome to touch me," I added, meeting her eyes with the coldest gaze I could muster.
Her smile flickered, not broken, but definitely cracked.
But Alessia, being the annoying little parasite she is, recovered fast. She sat down on my bed like she belonged there, crossing her legs slowly, lips parted in mock confusion."Did I do something, Dante?" she asked, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers.
Yeah, like betraying me to my father wasn't something.
But I wasn't going to say it.
Not yet.
Let her think the game is still in her hands. Let her dance in the dark while I strike the match.
She thinks she's in control.
She doesn't realize I already lit the fuse.
She suddenly stood up, that fake sweetness draining from her face as she stepped closer to me.
I stepped back.
She didn't stop.
"Just listen to me once," she said, grabbing my hand like she owned a piece of me. Her grip was soft, desperate, trembling slightly.
"I know I shouldn't have placed that recorder in your room," she continued, voice climbing the edge of guilt but not quite there."I just— I wanted to know what you've been doing lately. You seemed... distracted these days, distant—cold."
Yeah, cold, because I'd seen through her games.
She stepped closer again, close enough that I could smell her perfume, too strong, too forced—unlike the scent of the girl who actually lived in my memories.
"I know you're looking for a girl. Someone you loved..." she paused, eyes searching mine. "But I matter too... don't I?"
Her voice was weak now, breaking in places. But that question?
That was a lie.
She never mattered.
She was nothing but a shadow in a game she thought she understood.
"She matters to me."I said it coldly. Clearly. No hesitation. No apology.
And right then, I swear I saw it—
The fire burst behind her eyes.
Anger. Betrayal. Obsession.
Her lips trembled as she asked, lower now, her pride snapping like cheap glass."Why not me?"
She knew the answer before she asked it. But she still clung to the last thread of her illusion
I looked straight into her eyes, let her see the frost behind mine, and said the words that should've been branded into her damn pride from the beginning.
"Alessia," I said slowly, "I don't love you."
I watched her break, word by word.
"Nor do I see you that way."
My expression never changed.
She stumbled back half a step, blinking, like I'd slapped her without moving a finger.
"You were never anything more than a burden I couldn't throw away." I finished.
Let her bleed on the truth.
Let her finally understand.
She broke down into tears before I could even think of another excuse, collapsing against my chest like her soul had finally shattered from holding back too much, too long. Her arms wrapped around me, trembling, desperate, and her voice cracked like thunder in a storm no one could escape.
"Please, Dante…"
I froze. Completely.
It was the first time I had ever seen her like this—unguarded, vulnerable, falling apart right in front of me—and for a split second, the storm inside me went eerily quiet, like the eye of a hurricane. I wanted to push her away, wanted to remind myself of all the reasons I should, but her hand clutched at my shirt with such fierce desperation, as if letting go meant she'd die, as if I was the last breath keeping her alive. Her tears soaked through the fabric, warm and real, and each one burned against my skin like guilt trying to carve its way in.
"Dante…" she whispered again, voice breaking like glass beneath bare feet, "…I'm scared of losing you. I love you."
Then she pulled back just enough to look at me, and God—her face.
Tear-stained and flushed, her eyes wide and glistening with a heartbreak I didn't know how to hold. She moved closer, slowly, lips parting like she was about to seal the confession with something irreversible. Her breath mingled with mine, our faces mere inches apart—so close I could feel her shaking—but I… I couldn't.
I turned my head away.
Coward.
She paused, her gaze lingering on me for a second longer before she pulled back, quickly wiping her tears with the back of her hand like she regretted every damn word she'd just said. I didn't move. Couldn't. My body was screaming, heart pounding in a cage of ribs that felt too tight, too small to hold this kind of chaos.
"I'll give you time, Dante," she whispered, voice barely holding together. "I know you'll love me someday."
And just like that, she turned and walked away—carrying the weight of a beautiful, tragic misunderstanding that she believed was hope.
The door clicked shut behind her, but it was too loud, too final.
And I—I was losing my f**king mind.
If she didn't get out of my head right now, if her scent didn't linger in the room like a ghost refusing to leave, I was going to destroy everything in sight. Every glass, every memory, every emotion I had tried to bury six feet under.
Damn her for breaking through.Damn me for letting her.
One month later:
Freedom tasted like gasoline and gunpowder.
Jake and I were finally tearing through the damn cage my father had spent years building around us like we were wild dogs he could tame. His empire, his rules, his secrets — all of it had turned into a suffocating prison with golden bars. But today? Today we were breaking the hell out.
Once we were past the perimeter, we'd head straight to the airstrip, and from there—China. That was where she was. She had to be.
Marco, one of our men who still had enough loyalty left in him not to sell his soul to my father, had sent us coordinates. A lead. And my instincts told me this time, it was real. It had to be real. Because if it wasn't—I swear to God, I would burn down every last corner of this f**king planet until I found her. I would scorch the maps, crack the skies, sink entire cities if it meant standing in front of her again.
As Nico loaded the bags into the back of the black SUV, each one packed with enough steel to fuel a small war, my father arrived—right on cue, like a curse that always knew where to land.
"Figlio del mattino."Good morning, he said in that fake calm voice of his, like we were just two loving men exchanging pleasantries.
But one look at his face was enough to ruin my entire morning.
I didn't respond—just gave a short nod, cold, mechanical, already done with the performance.
Jake stumbled out behind me, still rubbing sleep from his eyes, hair a mess like he hadn't even bothered brushing it.
"Morning, papa," he said lazily, but then he reached over and slapped his hand against my shoulder with a wide-ass grin.
What the hell was he trying to do? Keep the peace? Fool the devil into thinking we were still playing his game?
"Happy leaving day?"My father raised an eyebrow, lips curving into a smile I didn't trust for a damn second.
"Yes," I answered flatly. "We've got a lot of work to do."
"Bene, bene."Good, good.He chuckled and patted my shoulder like we were some happy mafia family in a Sunday morning film.
But I knew better.
This piece of shit had planted spies behind my back. Eyes in the walls, ears in the shadows, snakes dressed in loyalty.But you know what?
I didn't give a f**k anymore.
Because he could throw his worst at me. He could block runways, scramble phones, twist truths — but he underestimated one thing:My capacity for destruction.