Dante POV:
The whiskey burned on the way down, a liquid fire that did nothing to cauterize the gaping wound in my chest.
Nothing hurt enough to match the void she had left behind.
I slumped in the darkness of my study, the only illumination coming from the moonlight bleeding through the blinds. The ring sat on the mahogany desk in front of me. I had been staring at the diamond for two days, waiting for it to speak, to forgive.
The heavy door creaked open.
Sofia slipped inside. She was a shadow wrapped in a black silk robe, sheer enough to tease the lace beneath. She didn't smell like mourning. She smelled of expensive perfume and opportunity.
"Dante," she cooed, sauntering toward me. "You haven't slept."
"Get out," I said. My voice was gravel, scraping against my throat.
"You need comfort," she whispered. She rounded the desk, her hands sliding onto my shoulders like cold weights. "She was sick, Dante. She started the fire. She wanted to die. You can't blame yourself for her madness."
She ran her palms down my chest, tracing the muscles.
"We are the survivors," she murmured, her voice dripping with rehearsed sympathy. "We need to live. For the Family."
She lowered herself onto my lap, straddling me. She leaned in, her lips parting to kiss me.
I snatched her wrists, halting her.
I looked at her. I scrutinized her.
There was no sadness in her eyes. Only calculation. Only a predator's hunger.
"You're glad she's dead," I said.
"I'm glad you're free," she corrected, leaning closer. The silk of her robe slipped, exposing the curve of her shoulder.
My eyes dropped to her collarbone.
Smooth, unblemished skin.
I froze.
"Where is it?" I asked, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
"What?"
"The scar," I said, my grip crushing her wrists. "Giulia fell out of a tree when she was ten. She needed twelve stitches. She had a jagged, silver scar right here."
Sofia’s eyes widened. Panic flickered behind her mask. She tried to pull away. "I... I had it removed. Laser surgery. To look perfect for you, baby."
"Laser surgery doesn't erase deep tissue scarring," I snarled.
I shoved her off me. She stumbled back, barely keeping her balance in her heels.
"And Giulia was allergic to strawberries," I said, rising from the chair like a waking nightmare. "You ate a strawberry tart at the rehearsal dinner."
"I grew out of it!" she stammered, retreating toward the door. "People change!"
I stalked toward her. The predator in me snapped its chains. The grief was still there, but now it was fueling something darker.
Rage.
"Get out of my sight," I said, the command vibrating in the air. "Go to your room. If you try to leave the estate, the dogs will be the least of your worries."
"Dante, baby, you're just stressed..."
"GO!" I roared, snatching a crystal tumbler and hurling it against the wall.
It shattered inches from her head. She fled, slamming the door behind her.
Silence rushed back in, deafening and cold.
I looked down at my own chest, at the tattoo inked over my heart. *XY*.
Xu Yuan. Elena’s birth name. The name only I was supposed to know.
I had betrayed that name. I had tortured the woman who bore it.
And for what?
For a stranger with smooth skin and a heart full of lies.
A terrible, serpentine suspicion began to coil in my gut, turning my blood to ice.
I snatched up the phone.
"Get the car," I ordered my head of security. "We're going to the morgue. I need to see the body."
