A FAMILIAR STRANGER
1437 Words
SOFIA'S POV
The realization sat heavily in my chest.
I hated it.
Mostly because I hated not knowing things.
And right now, I knew nothing.
Who exactly was Dante Moretti to my father?
Why had my father waited until the last days of his life to send me here?
And why did Dante look at me like he had been expecting me long before I arrived?
The silence stretched.
Then Dante turned away.
"Come."
That was it.
One word.
No explanation.
No answers.
Just a command.
I stared at his back.
"That's all you're going to say?"
He paused briefly.
"For now."
Then he kept walking.
I had half a mind to leave.
The other half needed answers.
Unfortunately, the second half won.
I followed him.
---
The house seemed even larger from the inside.
The entrance hall opened into a long corridor lined with dark wood and expensive artwork that probably cost more than everything I owned combined.
The place wasn't empty either.
A woman carrying a silver tray walked past us.
She slowed when she saw Dante.
"Good evening, sir."
Dante nodded once.
Nothing more.
The woman continued on her way.
A few seconds later, two men in suits appeared from another hallway.
One handed Dante a folder.
Dante accepted it without stopping.
"Leave it in my office."
"Yes, sir."
The men disappeared.
I watched the exchange.
Then another.
And another.
People moved around the house constantly.
Workers.
Staff.
Security.
The place felt alive.
Organized.
Like a machine that never stopped running.
"Do they all work for you?" I asked.
"Yes."
"How many?"
Dante glanced at me.
"I've never counted."
I snorted.
That earned a look.
"What?"
"You've never counted?"
"No."
"That's a very rich-person answer."
For a second, I thought I saw the corner of his mouth twitch.
Then it was gone.
"I'll take that as an insult." he snickered
"It was."
"Good."
I blinked.
That wasn't the response I expected.
At all.
---
We continued walking.
I noticed something strange.
Nobody stared at me.
Not even out of curiosity.
It was almost unnatural.
If a random woman suddenly appeared in my house, I would definitely stare.
These people didn't.
They acknowledged Dante.
Then continued with whatever they were doing.
As though my presence wasn't worth questioning.
Eventually, curiosity won.
"Why isn't anyone looking at me?"
Dante looked ahead.
"They've been trained not to."
I nearly tripped over my own feet.
"What?"
"They know you're here."
"And?"
"And they know not to ask questions."
I stared at him.
"That's weird."
"Most people don't complain about privacy."
"Most people aren't walking into a mansion owned by a man they've never met before."I retorted
"Fair point." he agreed
That surprised me enough to laugh.
A real laugh.
Short.
Unexpected.
Dante glanced at me briefly.
Not smiling.
But not annoyed either.
Progress.
---
We reached a sitting room.
Unlike the rest of the house, it felt warmer.
Large windows overlooked the gardens outside.
A fire crackled quietly in the fireplace.
Bookshelves lined one wall.
Dante gestured toward a sofa.
"Sit."
I sat.
Mostly because my legs were starting to hurt.
Dante took the armchair opposite me.
For the first time since I arrived, there wasn't a hallway between us.
No walking.
No distractions.
Just conversation.
Or at least I hoped so.
I leaned forward.
"Your turn."
His eyebrow lifted slightly.
"My turn?" he asked
"To answer questions."
Dante's expression remained unreadable.
"I don't remember agreeing to that."
"You opened your door."
"I did." he agreed
"You let me inside."
"I did."
"You clearly know who I am."
"I do."
I crossed my arms.
"Then start talking."
A long pause followed.
I was beginning to think he would refuse.
Then—
"Ask."
Finally.
---
"How long did you know my father?"
Dante leaned back slightly.
"Years."
"That's not a real answer."
"It is."
"An annoying answer."
His gaze held mine.
"Years."
I groaned.
He ignored me.
Typical.
"Fine," I said. "How did you meet?"
A pause.
"Through my father."
That caught my attention.
"My father knew your father?"
"Yes."
"Well enough to send me here?"
Another pause.
This one longer.
"Yes."
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Because my father had never mentioned any of this.
Not once.
---
The realization made my chest tighten.
How much of his life had I not known about?
How many secrets had he taken to his grave?
I swallowed hard.
Dante seemed to notice.
His voice was quieter when he spoke again.
"Your father didn't talk about certain things."
I looked up sharply.
"You noticed that too?"
The question escaped before I could stop it.
To my surprise, Dante answered immediately.
"Yes."
I let out a breath.
At least someone understood.
My father had always been private.
But during the last year of his life?
It had become worse.
Questions were met with silence.
Concern was met with reassurance.
Every conversation felt incomplete.
Like he was constantly deciding what not to tell me.
---
"Did he tell you why he wanted me here?" I asked.
Dante's jaw tightened slightly.
Not much.
Just enough to notice.
"Yes."
Hope sparked instantly.
"Then tell me."
"No."
My hope died just as quickly.
I glared at him.
"You can't be serious."
"I am."
"Why?"
His expression remained calm.
"Because some conversations should happen at the right time."
I threw my hands up.
"There it is."
"There is what?"
"The mysterious nonsense."
His eyebrow rose.
"Mysterious nonsense?"
"Yes."
I pointed at him.
"That thing you keep doing."
"What thing?"
"'You'll understand later.' 'The right time.'"
His face remained perfectly serious.
Which somehow made it worse.
"I didn't say you'll understand later."
I stared at him.
"That's your defense?"
A brief silence.
Then—
"It's technically accurate."he said
I groaned again.
This time I heard something.
A sound.
Small.
Brief.
Almost impossible to catch.
Dante had laughed.
Or something close to it.
---
I sat back in disbelief.
"Did you just laugh?"
"No."
"You did."
"I didn't."
"You absolutely did."
"I think you're imagining things."
I pointed accusingly.
"There. That's the most suspicious thing you've said all day."
For the first time, amusement actually reached his eyes.
Only for a second.
But it was enough.
Enough to make him seem human.
Which was dangerous.
Because human was easier to trust.
---
A knock interrupted us.
The door opened.
A woman entered carrying a tray.
Tea.
Sandwiches.
Small pastries.
The smell alone reminded me I hadn't eaten properly all day.
The woman placed everything carefully on the table.
"Will there be anything else, sir?"
"No, Maria."
She nodded and left.
I stared after her.
Then at the food.
Then at Dante.
"Did you have this prepared before I arrived?"
"Yes."
My eyes narrowed.
"You really were expecting me."
Dante picked up his cup.
"I told you that already."
Somehow that didn't make me feel better.
---
For the next few minutes, neither of us spoke much.
I ate.
Because apparently grief, confusion, and frustration still left room for hunger.
Who knew?
Dante reviewed something on the folder he'd been given earlier.
The scene should have felt normal.
It didn't.
Because every time I looked up, I found him watching me.
Not constantly.
Not enough to be obvious.
Just enough to make me aware of it.
---
Eventually I stood.
"I need to stretch."
Dante nodded without looking up.
"Don't get lost."
I rolled my eyes.
"It's a house, not a maze."
His gaze lifted.
Neither of us spoke.
Then I remembered how enormous this place was.
"Okay," I admitted. "Maybe a small maze."
His attention returned to the folder.
I could've sworn he looked pleased.
---
I wandered around the room.
Books.
Artwork.
Shelves.
Photographs.
My attention caught on one frame near the fireplace.
At first, I wasn't really looking.
Then I froze.
My heart skipped.
Slowly, I stepped closer.
No.
No way.
I picked up the frame.
My fingers tightened around the edge.
The photograph was old.
Years old.
Two younger men stood side by side.
One of them was unmistakably Dante's father.
I knew because I'd seen photographs online.
But the other—
The other made my breath catch.
It was my father.
Younger.
Smiling.
Standing beside Dante's father like they had known each other for years.
Like they were friends.
Not acquaintances.
Not strangers.
Friends.
My pulse hammered.
I stared at the picture.
Then turned slowly toward Dante.
He had already put the folder down.
Already noticed what I was holding.
Already knew.
"Why," I asked quietly, "do you have a picture of my father?"
And for the first time since I arrived—
Dante didn't answer immediately.
- Writer
