Dante
Matteo was already in my office when I got there, feet kicked up on the desk, scrolling two phones at once. His smirk said trouble before he opened his mouth.
“Don’t smash anything,” he said, spinning one screen around.
Headlines blared across the gossip feed:
DANTE ROMANO’S REAL GIRL – EVA DE LUCA TELLS ALL.
Her face filled the video frame, lips painted red, voice syrupy and smug. He promised me forever. That engagement is a sham. He’s marrying her for politics, but I’m the one he loves.
The comment section was a cesspool—half the city convinced, the other half eager to believe.
Matteo shook his head. “She didn’t waste any time. Half the girls at Il Vizio are already passing this around like scripture.”
My jaw tightened. “She made herself a problem.”
“Your father h
