Chapter 74: Bed

Chapter 2: The Monster's Bed

I did not sleep that night. The bed was too soft, the sheets too comfortable, and the silence too heavy with unspoken questions. I lay in the darkness and stared at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the man who had imprisoned me and then saved my life. Dante Moretti was supposed to be a monster. That was what everyone said about him. He was ruthless, cold, and completely without mercy. He had built his empire on blood and fear, and he answered to no one.

But the man who had cradled my unconscious body, who had carried me up from that basement and laid me in his own bed, who had looked at me with something that might have been concern, did not fit the image of the monster I had been told to expect. I had spent my whole life surrounded by monsters, and I knew what they looked like. Dante was something different. Something more complicated.

I must have drifted off at some point because the next thing I knew, morning light was streaming through the windows, and Dante was standing in the doorway with a tray of food. "You need to eat," he stated, crossing to the bed and setting the tray on my lap. "No more arguments."

I looked down at the food. Fresh fruit, eggs, toast, and a glass of orange juice. It looked like a feast after days of barely eating. My stomach growled in response, and I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment. "Why are you doing this?" I asked softly. "Why do you care if I live or die?"

Dante sat in the chair by the window, and his eyes met mine. "I told you. I am not done with you yet."

I picked up a piece of toast and took a bite. The bread was warm and fresh, and I almost groaned with pleasure. I had not realized how hungry I was until that moment. I ate slowly, savoring every bite, and Dante watched me in silence.

"I am not letting my guard down," I warned between bites. "I know this is a game to you. I am just a pawn."

Dante's eyes narrowed. "Is that what you think?"

"That is what I know," I insisted. "I am your leverage against my father. Nothing more."

He was quiet for a moment, studying me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. "What do you know about your father's business?" he finally asked.

I shrugged. "Nothing. He never let me near it. He said I was too soft, too weak. He wanted me to marry some rival's son and become a trophy wife."

"Is that what you wanted?"

I laughed, the sound bitter and hollow. "No. I wanted to be a doctor. I was studying pre-med at university before your men dragged me out of my apartment."

Dante's expression flickered. For a moment, I thought I saw something like guilt in his eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared. "You are not what I expected," he observed quietly.

"Neither are you," I shot back. "I expected a monster. Instead, I got a man who carries his guilt like a chain around his neck."

The words hung in the air between us, heavy with meaning. Dante rose from his chair and walked to the window, his back to me. "My brother was the only family I had left," he confessed, his voice thick with emotion. "He was my younger brother, but he was the heart of everything I built. He kept me human. He reminded me that there was more to life than vengeance and power."

He turned to face me, and I could see the pain in his eyes. "When your father killed him, something inside me died too. I became the monster you expected to find. I let the rage consume me, and I have been drowning in it ever since."

"I understand," I offered softly. "I know what it is like to lose someone you love."

Dante moved closer to the bed, and I did not flinch this time. "Do you?" he questioned. "Has someone taken everything from you?"

I thought about my mother, who had died when I was twelve. I thought about my father, who had turned cold and distant in his grief, who had never been able to look at me without seeing her face. I thought about the loneliness I had carried with me for years, the feeling of being invisible in my own life.

"Yes," I confessed. "In a way."

Dante sat on the edge of the bed, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from his body. "Tell me," he urged, his voice almost gentle.

I hesitated. There was no reason to trust him. He was my captor, my enemy. But something in his eyes made me want to open up, to share the burden I had been carrying alone for so long. "My mother died when I was twelve," I began. "Cancer. It was quick, but watching her waste away was the worst thing I have ever been through. After she was gone, my father shut down. He threw himself into his work and left me with nannies and tutors. I was raised by strangers."

Dante listened in silence, his eyes never leaving my face.

"I tried to be the daughter he wanted," I continued. "I tried to be strong, to be ruthless, to be worthy of his name. But I could not do it. I was not built for that world. So he wrote me off and moved on." I looked down at my hands, at the remnants of the breakfast I had barely touched. "I have spent my whole life feeling like I do not belong anywhere. Like I am just a ghost haunting the edges of other people's lives."

Dante reached out and took my hand. His fingers were warm and calloused, and they wrapped around mine with surprising gentleness. "You are not a ghost," he assured me. "You are the most real person I have met in years."

I looked up at him, and for the first time since my captivity began, I did not see the enemy. I saw a man, broken and grieving, trying to find his way out of the darkness. I saw someone who understood what it was like to carry pain that would not let go.