Chapter 4: Secrets Beneath Masks
1505 Words
Dante's POV
I put out the warning. I didn’t go far enough.
She is still at my back, standing in the ballroom as if it is where she is meant to be, as if the lines that we grew up not to cross we just did. My jaw tightens. My fists clench. It was a dance. That is what I tell myself. But it was not. It was a mistake. A dangerous, foolish, and inescapable mistake. Yet I want to make it again.
“Dante.”
I am brought out of my thoughts by the sound of my name. Elio’s voice breaks into my train of thought. He is out there beyond the hall; that look is on his face, which means only one thing -- trouble is on the way or is here already.
What! I say, out of character.
“You need to hear this.”
I am at his heel without question. Action is what breaks the standstill and prevents the world from falling apart. He takes us into a side room—dark, empty, and quiet. That sort of space where secrets breathe.
Elio closes the door, and out comes the truth, which is a blade“. She’s engaged.
I freeze. “What?”
“Amelia Romano. Engaged. To Luca Marino.”
The name hits me hard, like a right to the face“. No.
He says. “At this time it isn’t public, but we have the final product. It is official. The families gave us their ok.
My chest is on fire. My heartbeat is too loud to put into words.
She doesn’t have the ring on yet, but it is to be. Romanos and Marinos are combining assets. A big step. She is the prize.
I look at the wall, empty. Not her. Not with him.
Luca Marino was the ideal -- polished, perfect, untouchable. The type of guy you want to hate for how easy the world is to him. We were friends once. Until he began to tell my father stories that weren’t true and stole what I fought for. At 17 we had our first go at dealing, which went wrong. Blood on the floor. Two dead. He walked away scot-free. I took the fall. That’s when I knew Luca doesn’t care who dies as long as he comes out on top.
And once again he has it. With her.
I leave while Elio is still speaking. I am frozen in my thoughts. In my tracks. Amelia. With him. It should not matter; we were never to be more than this. She is a Romano. I am a Moretti. It always ends in blood. But now it feels like a piece of me is gone.
I find myself out there on the terrace; the cold air is piercing my suit. Why didn’t she speak to me of this? Why would she? We aren’t anything. We are not even supposed to talk. But I looked into her eyes tonight, and I felt it—that pull, that ache. Now I’m second-guessing if it was all just a game. If I am the one being played.
She’s not yours, I tell the darkness. She never was. But my chest, which is supposed to be over this, isn’t. That pisses me off the most.
That night I am by my father’s estate in my car, looking at the gates as if they are keeping out what I do not wish to see. I still have not gone in. I don’t think I can. If he looks at me in the eye and asks where I have been, I won’t have an answer that doesn't feel like betrayal. I am breaking. I am bleeding. I have not even kissed her.
After Marco’s death, I stopped. For everyone. Not just the Romanos. Love breaks you down. It makes you soft. In our world, soft men don’t last. So I put up walls. I followed the rules. I kept it cold. Until now. Until he/she.
I step in, pass on the main areas, and head straight for the gym in the basement. I take off my suit and throw punches until my knuckles break. I don’t feel a thing. I am aching to bleed. Let out the pain in my chest. Amelia. Luca. The look they had when I told them I was going to ruin things for them. I was serious. But not like this. I did not want to find out she was taken. Especially by him.
“Dante.”
I look out. My father is in the hall, arms crossed, not impressed by the blood on my bandages. “You’ve been quiet.
“I’ve been busy.”
“Busy dancing with Romanos?”
My heart skips. He knows. He always does.
What I ask is, do you want it? I am wiping my face.
To recall which house you are loyal to.
“I haven’t forgotten.”
He reports, taking a step forward. His tone drops. “She’s not for you. She’s a threat. Like her father. Like all of them.
He looks at me intently. “You want to be with her? Fine. But don’t forget what she is. Don’t fall for her lies.
“I’m not falling.”
He grins. "You already are." Then he leaves.
I am angry at him for what he says, but I am my own worst enemy for still wanting her.
The following day, I try to stay clear of her. I sit through meetings with cartel representatives, reply to coded messages, and hear my father go over strategies as if we are playing out a chess game instead of what we are, which is playing out life and death, but still she is in my head. In my chest. As a fever that I can not break.
I am in the middle of a call when Luca Marino comes in. Right then the room feels like a cage.
Dante, he says with ease, as if we are still young and share our secrets.
“Luca.”
He gives me that which is polished, that which does not reach his eyes. We need to talk.
“About what?”
“Amelia.”
I stop. He comes over, easygoing, as if this isn’t a big deal.
“I know you danced with her.”
“So?”
“So, I’m telling you now: Leave it.
“Is that an order?”
No, he says with a smile. “It’s a warning.
I stand and stretch out slow and easy, moving right in until we’re face-to-face. “You think you scare me?
I can’t. She is taken. That’s all you need to know.
I hold his gaze. He is lying. Part of me wants to go ahead and punch that perfect face of his. The other part wants to track down her and ask what in the world is really going on.
Instead, I stepped out, and I left.
But inside? I’m on fire.
You can’t have it both ways, Dante. Pick which one you mean. I didn’t get it at the time. I do now.
That night I see her. She is walking alone on the garden path at the back of the family’s property, probably thinking the coast is clear. She is wrong. I wait until she turns the corner, and then I emerge.
She breaks off when she sees me. " Dante—.
“Is it true?” I ask.
Her expression hardens. She doesn’t answer.
“You’re engaged?”
“To Luca?” I push.
She exhales. “It’s complicated.”
“No. It’s simple. Yes or no.” I demanded with an angry voice
“Yes.” She muttered, her voice inaudible like a whisper
The word cuts clean through me.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
I did not see this coming.
“That makes two of us.”
Silence is the space between us. The air filled with roses and regret.
I didn’t pick him out, she says. I was told.
“You could say no.”
She laughs through tears. “You think I have that kind of freedom?
I approach. You had a choice with me.
“I still do.”
You did the dance with me," I say. "You looked at me as if I did.
“You do.”
“Then why him?”
In this world we are not human, Dante. We are names, legacies, weapons.
No. War is what they chose. We don’t have to.
She looks at me, eyes wide and broken. I wish you had never looked at me that way.
“Too late.”
Then I approach in a hushed tone. “I will say this but once, clearly.
She didn’t move.
If you don’t get out of it, you will.
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a fact.”
I turn to her one last time, then said in a threatening tone.
“Stay away… or you’ll be destroyed.”
- Writer
