A Dark Dance

Chapter10

It’s been a week since I’ve had any contact from Dante or my family. I stay busy at work, always on guard, and when I head home in the evening, I slip out the back exit and stick to crowded streets. My apartment is modest, but it’s my own space, and I use what little I have to make it feel comfortable and welcoming.

One evening, as I’m sitting on my couch eating my dinner, my phone dings and my fathers contact shows up. Sighing, I open the text,

“Viola, this act has gone on long enough. The family and our company need your compliance. -Your Father”

I snort and text back. “It is not your company anymore and I am not a commodity.”

Pulling my laptop to my lap, I opened the search and look into the company that was once my fathers pride and joy. The stocks had gone down, but there was talk about the complete upheaval of operations that seemed to be buzzing in the world of marketing.

I scroll through news articles and social media posts, piecing together the latest developments. Rumors swirl about new leadership and a radical shift in strategy, with employees uncertain about their futures and longtime clients expressing concerns about reliability. The company’s reputation, once unshakable, now seems to hang by a thread as speculation grows.

Then a new article, about my sister taking on a role under the new CEO, followed by a picture of Beatrice standing beside Dante, her hand on his arm and wearing a large smile. Something in my chest tightened and I slammed the laptop shut, sitting it aside almost too violently. I didn’t know why I was jealous, but the idea of Bea being close to Dante, when they had been planning an engagement previous to Dante discovering my pregnancy, left a foul taste in my mouth.

I press the heels of my hands to my eyes, fighting off a surge of emotions—anger, confusion, and a gnawing sense of betrayal. Was Beatrice truly involved, or was this just another ploy to get a rise out of me? I replay the image in my mind, searching for clues in her expression, but it’s impossible to tell from a single photograph. My thoughts race, tangled with memories of our childhood and the promises we once made to each other, now fractured by ambition and circumstance.

But we weren’t children anymore and my family seemed to only serve their own self-interests, regardless of who they needed to step on to get there.

#Dante

I watch as Beatrice leans over my desk, her shirt strategically left unbuttoned enough that I could see her bra and breasts. It was tacky and needy and I glare at Alesso across my office, wishing I had my gun on my hip instead of a pen in my hand.

Alesso had insisted we bring Beatrice on. Because of the buyout, people were nervous, and the board of directors were insistent on some form of normality. Originally, I had wanted Claudio, a familiar face. But Alesso had thought Beatrice, who actually did have a head for business, would be a better suit. And no doubt, Alesso hoped to push her into my bed.

Across the room, Alesso pretended to be busy looking at his phone. We had a shipment, from our own family business, coming in tonight and honestly, I would rather be with my lieutenant working on that than in this stuffy office pretending to be, civilized.

Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was being orchestrated for appearances rather than genuine progress. The lines between personal and professional motives blurred, making it nearly impossible to trust anyone’s intentions. Every move seemed calculated, and I wondered how much of the chaos was deliberate, designed to keep me off balance and out of the loop.

And at the center of it, behind the scenes, my brother Alesso. Slicker than a politician.

“Thank you, Miss. Moreau. If you could arrange meetings with the clients in this file, I think their accounts should take priority. The others are profitable, but only just.” I pick up the file and hand it to her, avoiding looking up from my notes.

Beatrice takes the folder from my hand, her smile faltering just a fraction as she glances at the client names. I notice how she squares her shoulders, determined to project competence regardless of the tension thickening the air. There's an unspoken challenge in her gaze, as if daring me to underestimate her. For a moment, the room is silent, the only sound the faint tapping of Alesso's restless fingers on his phone.

Beatrice accepts the file with a practiced smile, her fingers lingering on the edge as if to make a point. The subtle tension in the room is palpable, and I sense the power play beneath every word and gesture. She straightens her posture, eyes flickering briefly to Alesso before focusing back on me, her tone professional yet edged with something unspoken.

“Will there be anything else, sir?” Beatrice all but purrs.

I look up, my expression bored. “No.”

I catch the glance she gives Alesso, before she turns and heads out of the office. I wait until the door closes and bring a hand to my face, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Alesso, I do not want her. I don’t want to f**k or marry her, I barely want her in this office.”

My brother looks up at me, brows raised. “Since when have you turned down something that looks like her?”

Alesso lets out a soft, incredulous laugh, finally putting his phone aside. “You think this is about what you want?” he says quietly, amusement and warning blending in his voice. “Sometimes the right piece on the board isn’t the one you like. She knows what she’s doing, and that’s what we need right now. Personal feelings don’t matter.” He meets my eyes, the gravity of his words sinking in, reminding me that in our world, utility always outweighs comfort.

“And what about Marissa? Is she just a piece on the board for you?” I ask, speaking of his wife and my sister-in-law.

Alesso’s jaw tightens, and for a split second, there’s vulnerability in his eyes. He looks away, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he’s weighing how much to reveal. “Marissa is different. She’s not here because she’s useful to the business.” He pauses, voice softening. “She’s here because I chose her, and that’s not something I take lightly.” The tension shifts, settling deeper as the unspoken lines between business and family blur, and I realize just how precarious our game has become.

I slam a hand on the desk. “And what makes Viola any different to Marissa?”

He pauses, considering. “Viola isn’t playing the game for power or position. If anything, she’s avoiding it.” Alesso’s tone is clipped, almost defensive. “You keep looking for angles, but sometimes people aren’t pieces—they’re obstacles. Or… maybe they’re just not interested in being moved at all.” The room settles into uneasy quiet, our thoughts circling the same truth: not everyone can be manipulated, and not every connection is strategic. Some lines, it seems, are drawn with intention.

“Damnit Alesso, she’s carrying my child!”

Alesso shrugs. “Your mother wasn’t married to father; it made no difference. And father loved Amelia, probably more than he loved my own mother.”

His words hit harder than I expect, dredging up old memories I’d rather forget. I grit my teeth, searching his face for any hint of sympathy, but he gives none. In our family, lineage has always been tangled—love and obligation twisting around each other until neither is clear. I shake my head, the weight of legacy pressing down, and for a moment, I wonder if repeating history is all we’re capable of.

“And he raised me beside my siblings, as much one of you as any.” I admit. “But I did not want that for my own child.”

Alesso’s expression doesn’t falter. “Wanting something different doesn’t mean you’ll get it,” he says, voice gentler now but no less firm. “We try to write new endings, but sometimes the story follows its own rules. You have to decide, is it legacy you’re running from, or responsibility you’re afraid to claim?” For a moment, the silence stretches, heavy with everything neither of us is willing to say out loud.