THE DEVIL'S OATH

STAYING

SOFIA'S POV

The office fell silent after my question.

Not the comfortable kind of silence.

The kind that stretched and lingered, filled with things left unsaid.

I stood beside the desk, my heart still pounding from discovering the file with my name on it.

The photographs.

The notes.

The proof that somehow, for reasons I still didn't understand, Dante Moretti had been keeping track of me.

And he still hadn't explained why.

I crossed my arms.

Waiting.

Dante remained where he was.

Calm.

Infuriatingly calm.

His expression gave away nothing.

"You know," I said at last, "most people would be concerned if they got caught keeping files on someone."

His eyes met mine.

"Most people wouldn't go through another person's office."

I rolled my eyes.

"Most people don't have secret folders full of photographs."

"Yet here we are."

My jaw tightened.

The worst part was that he wasn't wrong.

I hated when he wasn't wrong.

For a moment neither of us spoke.

Then suddenly, all the energy seemed to drain from me.

The anger.

The confusion.

The determination.

It was still there, but buried beneath something heavier.

Exhaustion.

I hadn't slept properly in days.

Not since my father died.

Every night had been the same.

Lying awake.

Thinking.

Remembering.

Wondering what I could have done differently.

Wondering if I could have saved him.

Wondering why his last meaningful conversation with me had been a set of directions leading me to a man I'd never met.

I rubbed my forehead.

A headache was beginning to form.

Dante noticed immediately.

Of course he did.

He seemed to notice everything.

"You should rest."

I looked up.

"That's it?"

"What?"

"That's all you're going to say after I find a file about myself in your office?"

His expression remained unchanged.

"For now."

I let out a frustrated laugh.

"There it is again."

His eyebrow lifted slightly.

"There what is?"

"The mysterious act."

"I don't have an act."

"You absolutely do."

A corner of his mouth twitched.

Just slightly.

The sight startled me enough that I almost forgot what I was saying.

Almost.

"You keep answering questions without actually answering them."

"You ask difficult questions."

"They aren't difficult."

"They are."

"No, they're really not."

Dante folded his arms.

I suddenly realized that neither of us had moved from our spots in several minutes.

It felt ridiculous.

Like two stubborn people refusing to admit defeat.

Unfortunately, I was one of those stubborn people.

"So explain it to me."

"I can't."

"You won't."

His silence told me everything.

I pointed at him.

"See? That's exactly what I'm talking about."

This time, I was certain I saw amusement in his eyes.

The smallest hint of it.

And somehow that annoyed me even more.

---

Eventually, I sighed.

A long, tired sigh.

The kind that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside my chest.

"I should leave."

The words came out before I fully thought them through.

Dante's expression changed immediately.

Not dramatically.

Just enough for me to notice.

"No."

I blinked.

"No?"

"No."

I stared at him.

For a moment, I wondered if I'd heard him correctly.

"You don't get to decide that."

His gaze held mine.

"I do."

I laughed in disbelief.

"Excuse me?"

"You should stay here."

"Why?"

A pause.

Then—

"For your own safety."

I groaned loudly.

"There it is."

His brows furrowed.

"There what is?"

"The vague warning."

"It isn't vague."

"It absolutely is."

I threw my hands into the air.

"'For your own safety.' That's the most suspicious thing a person can possibly say."

Dante remained completely unfazed.

"You disagree?"

"Yes."

His eyebrow rose.

"Interesting."

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Act like you're winning this argument."

"I'm not arguing."

"You're definitely arguing."

For the first time, a small laugh escaped him.

A real one.

Short.

Quiet.

Gone almost instantly.

But I heard it.

My eyes widened.

Dante immediately looked away.

Too late.

"You laughed."

"I didn't."

"You did."

"I didn't."

"You actually laughed."

"I exhaled."

I stared at him.

Then burst out laughing.

"That was the worst excuse I've ever heard."

To my surprise, he looked mildly offended.

"I've made better excuses."

"Clearly."

For a brief moment, the tension eased.

Not completely.

But enough.

Enough that he felt less like a mystery and more like a person.

A frustrating person.

But a person.

---

The laughter faded.

The room grew quieter.

And somehow the exhaustion returned twice as strong.

I leaned against the desk.

"I really should go home."

Dante's expression softened slightly.

"Home?"

"My apartment."

A pause.

Then he said something unexpected.

"There's no one waiting for you there."

The words hit harder than they should have.

I looked away.

Because he was right.

There wasn't.

My father was gone.

And there had never been anyone else.

Not really.

The silence stretched.

I swallowed.

"My mother left when I was six."

The confession slipped out before I could stop it.

For the first time all evening, Dante looked genuinely surprised.

Not shocked.

Just caught off guard.

I laughed softly.

There wasn't any humor in it.

"I don't even know why I'm telling you that."

Maybe because grief made people talk.

Maybe because I was tired.

Or maybe because this house felt strangely detached from the rest of the world.

Like normal rules didn't apply here.

Dante remained quiet.

Listening.

Actually listening.

So I continued.

"I barely remember her."

My voice sounded distant.

Like I was speaking about someone else's life.

"Sometimes I remember little things."

I shrugged.

"The smell of her perfume."

A pause.

"The way she sang while cooking."

Another pause.

"That's about it."

Dante said nothing.

I appreciated that.

Most people rushed to fill silence.

He didn't.

---

"I used to think she'd come back."

The words felt strange leaving my mouth.

"I waited for years."

I laughed softly.

Again.

Without humor.

"Every birthday."

My throat tightened.

"Every holiday."

I looked toward the window.

Toward the darkness outside.

"I always thought maybe this would be the year."

The room remained silent.

Then—

"Did she?"

I turned toward him.

The question was gentle.

Careful.

Almost hesitant.

It surprised me.

"No."

My answer came immediately.

"She never did."

Something shifted behind his eyes.

A crack.

Small.

Brief.

But there.

Recognition.

Pain.

Understanding.

Something.

I couldn't identify it.

But I saw it.

And suddenly I wondered if he understood that feeling more than he wanted to admit.

---

"My father never talked about her."

I sat down in one of the chairs.

The exhaustion was becoming impossible to ignore.

"If I asked, he'd change the subject."

I smiled sadly.

"He was terrible at lying."

That earned the smallest smile from Dante.

The tiniest one.

But it was real.

The sight caught me off guard.

For a moment he looked younger.

Less burdened.

Less guarded.

Then it disappeared.

Gone before I could fully process it.

---

"You should sleep."

I blinked.

"We're back to that?"

"Yes."

I groaned.

"You really don't know how to comfort people."

"I wasn't trying to."

That made me laugh despite myself.

"At least you're honest."

"Usually."

The answer came so naturally that I almost missed it.

Almost.

But not quite.

For some reason, that single word felt more genuine than anything else he'd said all evening.

---

I stood.

My body immediately reminded me how exhausted I was.

Every muscle ached.

Even my eyes felt heavy.

Maybe he was right.

I hated admitting it.

But maybe he was.

"Fine."

Dante's eyebrow rose.

"Fine?"

"I'll stay."

The words felt strange.

Like I was agreeing to something much bigger than spending a night in a guest room.

A faint look of relief crossed his face.

It vanished so quickly that I almost missed it.

Almost.

But not quite.

And that confused me more than anything else.

Why would he be relieved?

---

Dante moved toward the door.

When he opened it, a woman appeared almost immediately.

She looked to be in her fifties.

Kind eyes.

Dark uniform.

The same woman who had brought tea earlier.

"Maria."

"Yes, sir."

"Show Miss Romano to one of the guest rooms."

Her gaze shifted toward me.

A warm smile appeared.

The first genuinely warm smile I'd seen in this entire house.

"Of course."

I immediately liked her.

---

As I followed Maria out of the office, I glanced back one last time.

Dante was still standing by the doorway.

Watching.

Not the office.

Not the hallway.

Me.

For a brief moment our eyes met.

Neither of us spoke.

Then Maria gently cleared her throat.

And the moment broke.

---

The guest room was larger than my entire apartment.

That realization annoyed me immediately.

The bed looked soft enough to disappear into.

The bathroom looked bigger than my kitchen.

The wardrobe probably had more space than my bedroom.

Rich people were ridiculous.

I set my bag down.

Maria smiled.

"If you need anything, just let someone know."

"Thank you."

She nodded and left.

Closing the door quietly behind her.

And for the first time all day—

I was alone.

Truly alone.

The silence settled around me.

Different from the silence in Dante's office.

Different from the silence in the hallways.

Softer.

Safer.

I sat on the edge of the bed.

Then slowly lay back.

Staring at the ceiling.

Thinking about my father.

About the photograph.

About the file.

About Dante.

About the strange sadness I'd seen in his eyes when I mentioned my mother.

Questions chased one another through my mind.

Endlessly.

But exhaustion won.

Eventually my eyes began to close.

And the last thought I had before sleep finally claimed me was simple.

For someone who clearly wanted to keep secrets...

Dante Moretti looked like a man carrying far too many of them alone.