Dante
The study smelled of leather, smoke, and old money. Portraits watched from the walls: men who never raised their voices because they never had to.
He didn’t shout. He never did.
“You humiliated me tonight,” my father said, voice level as a blade laid flat. “Worse—you humiliated us.”
I stayed standing. Sitting would feel like kneeling. “Serafina wanted a stage,” I said. “You let her have one.”
His eyes narrowed. “Don't mistake excuses for answers. A man in control is never blindsided.”
Heat burned low in my gut. “She walked into my club with a camera. She came for war.”
“Then you should have closed the gates before she arrived,” he snapped. “If you can’t keep one girl from undermining you, you can’t keep this family standing.”
The cut landed and I gave him nothing—no
