Chapter 10
Dante watched her for a moment.
Then he said:
“Do you remember the morning you left?”
“Yes.”
“I thought I lost you because someone else came into our home.”
Isabella looked at him.
“And?”
He looked toward the city.
“I was wrong.”
A pause.
“I almost lost you because I forgot you were never something I owned.”
Her expression softened.
“You finally learned.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
He turned toward her.
“And I spend every day making sure I never forget again.”
The world would always know Dante Moretti as a dangerous man.
A powerful man.
A man who built an empire from fear and loyalty.
But Isabella knew the truth.
The hardest battle Dante Moretti ever fought was not against another family.
Not against enemies.
Not against betrayal.
It was the battle to understand that love was not proven by how much someone could sacrifice for you.
It was proven by whether you respected their freedom to leave.
And that was why, every morning after that, Dante did the same thing.
He knocked on their bedroom door.
Not because he needed permission.
Because he remembered.
The woman inside had once packed her bags before sunrise.
And he would spend the rest of his life being grateful that she chose to unpack them.