Lena’s POV
I’m in Dante’s study. My hands shake as I tip the liquid into his coffee. The dark swirl disappears into the mug.
“Lena.”
I spin around. My mother is in the doorway.
“Mom, I can’t,” I whisper. “I can’t do this to him.”
Her voice cuts through the room, sharp and too loud. “You have to. Think about your brother. Think about me.”
She crosses the room in two strides. “This is how you set yourself free. Do it. For me.”
“Lena, what are you doing?”
Dante. He’s here now, standing in the other doorway. His face is blank, unreadable. Stoic.
My mother grabs the mug before I can move. She holds it out to him. Drink.”
“Mom, no—stop!” I lunge and slap it out of her hand. Ceramic shatters. Coffee splashes across the rug.
She turns on me, eyes blazing. “You have to choose, Lena.
