Page 25 of Dante
Good. In our world, fear isn't always a weakness. Sometimes it's the very thing that keeps you alive.
"Being afraid is appropriate in this situation," I tell her, moving to the bar to pour her a glass of water. "Only fools feel no fear when the foundations of their life are shifting."
She accepts the water with a small nod of thanks. "You sound like you're speaking from experience."
"I am." I sit beside her, close but not touching. "I told you before. When I first took control, I discovered people I'd trusted my entire life had been secretly undermining my father for years. Men who'd attended my birthday parties as a child. Who'd brought me gifts. Who'd watched me grow up. I did what was necessary."
She shudders slightly. "And now I have to do the same? Watch Pietro be... eliminated?"
"You don't have to watch," I say, my voice gentler than I intended. "But you do need to accept that it's necessary. For your brother's survival. For yours."
"It just feels..." She trails off, searching for words.
"Cold," I finish for her. "Like ice settling in your chest. Like wondering if you can ever trust anyone again."
Her eyes widen slightly in recognition. "Yes. Exactly like that."
"The feeling passes," I assure her, though I'm not entirely sure that's true. Even now, years later, I sometimes wake in the night, wondering which of my closest allies might be plotting against me. It's the price of power in our world. Perpetual vigilance, perpetual suspicion.
"Does it?" she challenges, seeing through my platitude. "Or do you just get used to it?"
I smile, appreciating her perception. "Perhaps a bit of both."
She sighs, leaning back against the sofa cushions. The movement causes her dress to ride up slightly, revealing another inch of her thigh. I force my eyes back to her face, annoyed at my own distraction.
"If I help you with Marco," she says after a moment, "if I convince him to ally with you, what happens then?"
"Then we stabilize the situation. Eliminate the mutual threats. Restore order."
"And eventually? Long-term?"
Smart woman. Always thinking ahead. "Eventually, we see if the alliance holds. If it benefits both families. If not..." I leave the implication hanging.
"You'll take over anyway," she concludes.
"If necessary." I don't see the point in lying to her. "But not yet. There are too many uncertainties. Too many potential spies, too many moving pieces. A war right now would be costly for everyone."
She nods, processing this. "At least you're honest about your intentions."
"With you, yes." The admission surprises me as much as her.
Her eyes search my face, looking for deception. Finding none, she asks, "Why? Why be honest with me when lies would serve you better?"
It's a fair question, one I've been asking myself since our dinner. What is Elena Rossi to me? What began as a strategic opportunity—getting close to Marco's sister, gaining information, creating leverage—has somehow evolved into something more complex. I find myself wanting her around not for what she represents, but for who she is. Her mind. Her perspective. Her unflinching honesty in a world built on deception.
Most women in my life are temporary diversions. Beautiful, eager to please, and ultimately forgettable. But Elena... I want to protect her. To show her things. To take her to the private warehouse where I keep the art collection too valuable or controversial for public display. I want to see her face when she views the Caravaggio sketches or the early Basquiat works that have never been exhibited.
Christ, I'm turning into a fucking schoolboy with a crush. Franco would mock me mercilessly if he could hear these thoughts. Then he'd warn me, with his usual bluntness, that sentiment is fatal in our business. That's exactly why I sent him outside. To give myself one hour of weakness. One hour to decide.
If I don't act now, I won't allow myself to act later. I'll return her to her brother tomorrow and maintain a purely professional distance. The thought leaves a hollow feeling in my chest.
"Are you okay?" Her voice breaks into my thoughts, soft with concern.
"Just thinking," I reply, studying the way the dim lighting catches the gold flecks in her green eyes.
"You do that a lot?" she asks, a hint of teasing in her tone.
"Do what?"
