Chapter 7
590 Words
Arielle / Dante
Arielle
Sleep didn’t come.
Every time I closed my eyes, I heard glass breaking. Felt the echo of Dante’s hand at my back, the way he moved like the world was a chessboard and I was the piece he refused to lose.
I wandered into the kitchen, barefoot on cool stone, city lights blinking like they knew my secrets.
Dante was already there.
Shirt gone. Sleeves rolled. A shallow cut traced his forearm, cleaned but angry. He looked up when he sensed me, not surprised—like he’d been waiting.
“You should be resting,” he said.
“So should you.”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “I don’t sleep when things are unfinished.”
I leaned against the counter, closer than I meant to be. “Am I… unfinished?”
His gaze sharpened. “You’re not a thing.”
“Then stop treating me like one.”
Silence stretched. Honest. Dangerous.
“You want the truth,” he said. “Not all of it. But enough.”
My chest tightened. “Yes.”
He poured water into a glass and slid it toward me. A stalling move. Then he spoke.
“Your father wasn’t framed,” Dante said carefully. “He was set up.”
I gripped the counter. “That’s the same thing.”
“No,” he said. “Framed means innocent. Set up means guilty of something else.”
The words hit like a slap.
“Say it,” I whispered. “Say what he did.”
“He laundered money,” Dante said. “Not for himself. For men who would’ve killed him if he said no.”
My knees went weak. “You’re lying.”
“I wish I were.”
Tears burned, but I refused to let them fall. “Then why is he in prison?”
“Because he wouldn’t give them names,” Dante replied. “And because I let the charge stick.”
I stared at him. “You—what?”
“I redirected it,” he said quietly. “If it had gone where it was supposed to, your father wouldn’t be alive to serve a sentence.”
My heart fractured in two directions at once—rage and relief colliding.
“You decided that for us?” I said hoarsely.
“I decided to keep you breathing,” he shot back. “Just like tonight.”
I laughed, broken. “You play God with people’s lives.”
“I play defense,” he said. “Against monsters.”
Before I could respond, the door chimed.
Both of us froze.
Dante’s eyes went cold. He moved fast, checking the monitor. His jaw tightened.
“Stay here,” he ordered.
“I’m not—”
The door opened.
A woman stepped inside like she owned the place.
Tall. Immaculate. Sharp eyes that swept over the room—and landed on me with instant calculation.
“Dante,” she said smoothly. “You didn’t tell me you were hiding her.”
My stomach dropped.
“Hiding who?” I demanded.
The woman smiled, slow and knowing. “You must be Arielle.”
I turned to Dante. “Who is she?”
His silence answered first.
Then he said, “This is Selene.”
Selene crossed the room, heels clicking. “Your father’s case,” she added lightly, “used to be my problem.”
My breath caught.
“And now,” she continued, eyes flicking between us, “it’s about to be yours.”
- Writer
