Chapter 5
Tears dripped onto the paper, blurring the dark ink.
For three years, I had built my identity around being discarded. I had told myself in Zurich that Dante had deemed me unworthy of a ring, that Victoria had triumphed over me, that eight years of my youth had been an elaborate, cruel lie.
The reality was far heavier: Dante had tried to play God. He had arrogantly believed he could outmaneuver his ruthless father, save my family from financial destruction, keep me safe from his family's violent underworld connections, and hold onto my heart all at the same time. His fatal flaw wasn't a lack of love; it was his monstrous, suffocating pride. He had denied me the truth, denied me my agency, and made unilateral decisions about my life under the guise of protection.
A soft knock sounded at the suite door.
Mia poked her head out of the adjoining bedroom, giving me a worried look. I stood up, walked to the foyer, and looked through the peephole.
Dante stood in the hallway. He had abandoned his overcoat. He wore a simple charcoal sweater and dark trousers, looking completely stripped of his usual billionaire veneer. His shoulders were slumped, his face pale, his gray eyes rimmed with exhaustion.
I unlocked the door and opened it three inches. "I told you I needed space."
"I know," he said, his voice raw. "I'm not here to push you, Elena. Victoria called me. She told me she told you everything."
I opened the door wider, stepping aside. "Keep your voice down. Leo is sleeping."
Dante froze on the threshold. For a moment, he seemed afraid to step across the line into the room, as if entering my space was a sacred privilege he had no right to claim. Slowly, he walked inside. Mia emerged from the bedroom, cast a sharp, protective glance at Dante, then looked at me.
"I'll be in the lobby getting some coffee, El," Mia murmured softly. She grabbed her purse, brushed past Dante without a word, and pulled the suite door closed behind her.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Dante didn't sit down. He stood in the center of the living area, his eyes drawn magnetically toward the half-open bedroom door where our son lay sleeping.
"Is he...?" Dante started, his voice cracking.
"He's asleep," I said quietly.
Dante turned to me. The predatory, composed scion of the Moretti family had completely dissolved. In front of me was the man I had held through nightmares, the man who used to kiss my forehead in the middle of the night and whisper that he was sorry when I didn't even know what he was apologizing for.