Page 73 of Of Lies and Shadows

“Dante,” I say quietly.

He pauses, then pushes the door open with caution, stepping inside like he’s unsure of the welcome.

I sit on the edge of the bed, my spine straight. “I need to tell you something.”

He closes the door behind him. “Go on.”

“My father…” I swallow, forcing myself to keep steady. “He’s not done. He’s planning something. I don’t have the full picture yet, but I know enough to say he’s a threat.”

Dante nods, his expression unreadable. “I figured.”

“That’s all I have for now.”

A pause. Then, softly, “You’re wrong, you know.”

I blink. “No. I’m not. He wants to hurt you. He?—”

“I know that,” he cuts in. “That’s not what I meant.”

I frown. “Then what?”

His eyes meet mine, steady and sharp. “You said you had no rights. That if something happened to me, the twins would be taken from you.”

I nod, confused.

“You’re wrong,” he says again, quieter this time. “If anything happens to me… you’re their legal guardian. I had the papers drawn up weeks ago. They’re yours.”

I freeze, and my breath stalls in my chest. I can barely move, barely think. He heard. He listened to everything.

The conversation in the pantry. The plan. The fear. My threat.

My love.

My voice is barely a whisper. “You… you were listening.”

He nods, unapologetic.

And I don’t know if I want to scream or cry, but I do know this: For the first time since that wedding night, I don’t feel powerless.

I feel seen.

My chest is tight, but I manage to breathe. “Why would you do that?”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. “Because you already are their mother in every way that matters.”

Silence falls again, thicker this time, full of the things we never say.

I stare at him, at this man who once spit in my face andnow stands in my room, offering me pieces of his soul in the quietest, cruelest way possible: with truth.

“You don’t get to give me that,” I whisper. “Not after everything.”

“I know,” he says.

And for once, he doesn’t try to justify it. Doesn’t demand forgiveness or pretend the past hasn’t carved itself into my skin.

He just stands there. And I sit, trembling beneath the weight of what his words mean.

They’re mine. Lucia. Alessio.

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