THE MAFIA KING AND HIS LITTLE MAID

Chapter 6(cont’d)

Same scene from last chapter but in Dante’s pov.

DANTE

She didn't notice me at first.

I'd only meant to pass through, maybe grab a volume I hadn't touched in years. But then I saw her—curled up in the armchair like she belonged there. Like the library had been built around her, and not the other way around.

I should've walked away.

Instead, I stayed hidden behind the shelves like a f*****g stalker. Watching the way her hair spilled down her back, the way her eyes narrowed as she read. Her lips moved slightly, mouthing each line. Not in a childlike way—more like she was savoring the words.

The Crimson Echo.

I hadn't picked that book in over a decade. I didn't even remember putting it on my shelf. But she found it. Of course she did.

The way she read it... it wasn't just passing time. It was personal. Like she saw something of herself in that broken soldier. Like she understood the burden of doing what you must, even when it guts you.

When she whispered, "It's always like that," it hit deeper than I'd like to admit.

So I spoke.

And her reaction—startled, vulnerable, eyes wide like she'd been caught stealing—did something to me. Something I didn't want to examine too closely.

I told her most people didn't touch things in my room. That was true. Not even Jasmine. Not unless I let them. But Ally? She walked in, took what she wanted, and didn't even bother hiding it. It should've pissed me off. It didn't.

She called the book "real." Said the soldier wasn't a hero or a monster—but both. And when she said people are rarely just one thing... I saw the truth in her words.

And I hated how much I related to it.

She looked so small wrapped in that blanket. Still a little pale from her previous fever. But somehow, she had more fire in her than half the men I've had to command.

I told her she wasn't what I expected.

She asked what I had expected, and I gave her the truth: a silent girl, working off her father's debt. Obedient. Forgettable.

But she's anything but.

She asked to finish the book, clutching it like it meant something. I told her to keep it. I don't even know why. Maybe because it was the first time someone had touched something of mine and brought it back to life.

I never finished it, I told her.

Truth is... I couldn't. I already knew how it would end. The man dies alone, after giving everything. There's no redemption. Just silence.

But maybe she'll find something else in it. Something I missed.

As I walked away, I caught my reflection in the glass—something strange in my face. Something unsettled. I've looked at that reflection for years, and never once did it feel like it was changing.

Now I'm not so sure.