Chapter 13 Shattered morning
The bedroom felt like a sanctuary and a prison all at once. The walls were cream, the bed unmade from some forgotten night, the curtains drawn against the bright winter sun. I sat on the floor, back pressed to the door, knees hugged to my chest, Dante’s T-shirt swallowing me whole. It smelled like him—cedar and smoke and the faint musk of last night’s passion. I wanted to rip it off. Burn it. But I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think past the loop in my head.
Little sister.
The words replayed—Sophia’s casual laugh, her perfect smile, the way she’d slung her arm around Dante like she belonged there. And him? He’d just stood there. Let it happen. Let her call me that, like I was a kid tagging along, not the woman he’d fucked senseless hours ago.
Tears burned hot trails down my cheeks. I wiped them angrily with the heel of my hand, but more came. Silent. Relentless.
How long had this been going on? Sophia—the rich influencer with her million followers, her glamorous life, her effortless beauty. I’d seen her on Instagram, envied her freedom, never dreamed she was sleeping with Dante. On and off, she’d said. Right, baby?
Baby.
The same word he’d whispered to me last night, voice wrecked with need.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block it out. But the memories flooded in anyway: his hands on my skin, his mouth between my legs, the slow stretch as he pushed inside me for the first time. I’d given him everything—my virginity, my trust, my heart. And for what? To be reduced to “little sister” the next morning?
A soft knock rattled the door against my back.
“Liliana.”
Dante’s voice—low, rough, edged with something I couldn’t place. Regret? Panic? I didn’t care.
I didn’t answer.
Another knock. Firmer.
“Open the door. We need to talk.”
Talk. Like words could fix this.
I stayed silent, forehead pressed to my knees.
“Liliana, please.” His voice softened. “Let me explain.”
Explain.
The word ignited something hot and ugly in my chest. I stood up fast—too fast—blood rushing to my head. I unlocked the door and yanked it open.
Dante stood there, still shirtless in his sweatpants, hair mussed from my fingers last night. His gray eyes were stormy, brows furrowed. He looked wrecked—like he hadn’t slept, like the weight of the world was crushing him.
But I didn’t care.
“Explain what?” I snapped, voice sharper than I intended. “That you’ve been screwing Sophia while playing guardian to me? That last night was just… what? A pity fuck for the little sister?”
His face hardened. “It’s not like that—”
“Not like that?” I laughed—harsh, bitter. It hurt my throat. “She called you baby, Dante. She hugged you like she owned you. And you just stood there. Let her call me your little sister. Like I’m some kid you have to babysit. Like what we did—what you took from me—meant nothing.”
He stepped forward, hand reaching for my arm. “Liliana, listen—”
“No!” I jerked back, out of reach. “Don’t touch me. Don’t you dare.”
He froze, hand dropping. Pain flashed across his face—raw, unguarded. “Sophia and I… it’s not what you think. It’s complicated.”
“Complicated?” I echoed. “You owe me no explanation, brother.”
The word—brother—landed like a slap. He flinched. Actually flinched.
“Liliana—”
“Stop saying my name like that!” I shouted, tears spilling over again. “Like you care. Like last night wasn’t just you getting what you wanted before going back to your real life with her.”
“That’s not true.” His voice cracked. “Last night was everything. You are everything. Sophia is—”
“I don’t want to hear it!” I held up a hand, shushing him. My voice shook, but I forced it steady. “I don’t need details about your on-and-off fuck buddy. I don’t need you to spin this into something it’s not. You let her say it. You didn’t correct her. That’s all I need to know.”
He opened his mouth again, but I cut him off.
“Out.” I pointed to the hallway. “Get out. Now.”
He didn’t move at first. Just stood there, chest heaving, eyes searching my face like he was memorizing it. Like this might be the last time.
Then he nodded once—jerky, resigned—and turned. Walked out without another word.
I slammed the door behind him. Locked it again.
Sank back to the floor.
The tears came harder now—sobs that shook my whole body. I curled into a ball, face buried in the T-shirt that still smelled like him. Why did it hurt so much? Why had I let myself believe last night was real? That he saw me as more than the girl he’d protected for years. More than family.
Little sister.
The phrase echoed, twisting the knife deeper.
I don’t know how long I stayed there—minutes, hours. Time blurred in the haze of hurt. My phone buzzed somewhere on the bed—probably Sophia, or maybe Jamal, or even Dante from downstairs. I ignored it.
Eventually, the sobs eased into hiccups. My eyes burned, swollen from crying. I stood up, shaky, and looked at myself in the mirror above the dresser.
Red-rimmed eyes. Messy hair. Dante’s T-shirt hanging off me like a reminder of my stupidity.
I ripped it off. Threw it across the room. Pulled on my own clothes from yesterday—jeans, hoodie, socks. Anything to erase the feel of him.
I needed out. Not just out of this room. Out of this house. Away from him, from Sophia, from the memories of last night that still made my body ache in betrayal.
But the estate was locked down. Guards everywhere. Rossi threats looming.
I didn’t care.
I needed to see Dad.
The thought hit me sudden and clear. Dad’s grave. The quiet cemetery on the outskirts of the city, where he’d been buried under a simple stone marker. No flashy mausoleum—just earth and grass and the weight of all the secrets he’d taken with him.
I needed to talk to him. Alone. To scream at him for leaving me with this mess. For trusting Dante. For making him promise to protect me, turning him into my guardian, my jailer, my… everything.
I unlocked the door. Stepped into the hall.
Dante was sitting on the floor across from my room—back against the wall, knees up, forearms resting on them. He looked up when I emerged.
His face was haggard—shadows under his eyes, jaw shadowed with stubble.
“Liliana—”
“Save it,” I said flatly. “I don’t want to talk.”
He stood slowly. “You have to let me—”
“No.” I met his gaze—cold, steady. “I don’t have to let you do anything. You’re my guardian, right? My big brother? So act like it.”
He winced again. “Stop calling me that.”
“Why? It’s what I am to you, apparently. Your little sister.”
“It’s not—”
“Prepare the escorts,” I cut him off. “I want to go see Dad.”
He blinked. “What?”
“The grave. Alone.” I emphasized the word. “I mean alone, Dante. No you. No Sophia. Just me and whatever guards you need to send to make sure I don’t get kidnapped by your enemies.”
He stared at me. “It’s not safe.”
“Nothing’s safe with you,” I snapped. “But I’m going. Now. So get your men ready. Or I’ll walk out the front door by myself and see what happens.”
He searched my face—long, hard. Saw the resolve there.
Finally, he nodded. “Fifteen minutes. Stay inside until then.”
He walked away—down the stairs, shoulders tense.
I went back into the room. Grabbed my coat from the closet. Slipped my phone into my pocket.
Downstairs, Sophia was still in the kitchen—sipping coffee, scrolling her phone. She looked up when I entered.
“Hey, Liliana. You okay? You ran off pretty fast.”
I ignored her. Grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge.
She set her mug down. “Did I say something wrong? Dante said you were his sister. I didn’t mean to—”
“Little sister,” I corrected coldly. “That’s what you said.”
She frowned. “Yeah. That’s what he told me.”
I turned to face her. “When?”
She tilted her head. “A couple months ago. We were at this event, and he mentioned you were coming home from college. Said you were like family. His responsibility.”
Like family.
His responsibility.
The words twisted deeper.
I forced a smile—tight, fake. “Well, he’s right. I’m just the little sister. Nothing more.”
She looked confused. “Okay… if you want to talk—”
“I don’t.”
I walked out—past the foyer, to the front door.
Marco was waiting outside with two SUVs—black, armored, engines running. Four guards stood ready, earpieces in, guns holstered but visible.
Dante stood beside them—now dressed in a black shirt and coat, face unreadable.
He opened the back door of the lead SUV for me.
I climbed in without a word.
He leaned in. “Liliana—”
“Alone,” I reminded him. “That means you stay here.”
His jaw clenched. “Marco will drive. Two men with you. The other car follows. No arguments.”
I didn’t respond.
He closed the door softly.
The convoy pulled out—gates opening, snow crunching under tires.
I stared out the window, city blurring past. My mind raced—replaying last night, Sophia’s hug, Dante’s silence.
Why hadn’t he told her the truth? Why let her believe I was his sister?
Was I just a secret? A forbidden fling?
The cemetery appeared—iron gates, rolling hills dotted with headstones. Snow dusted the ground like powdered sugar.
Marco parked. The guards scanned the area—empty, quiet.
“Miss Liliana,” Marco said. “We’ll wait at the entrance. You have thirty minutes. Stay in sight.”
I nodded. Stepped out.
The air was crisp—biting cold. I walked the familiar path to Dad’s grave—simple granite, engraved with his name: Antonio Caruso. Beloved father. No dates. No epitaph. Just the basics.
I knelt in the snow, fingers tracing the letters.
“Hey, Dad.”
Tears came again—quiet this time.
“I miss you. Every day. But right now… I’m so angry at you. You left me with him. Made him promise to protect me. And now… now I love him. And it’s breaking me.”
I wiped my face. “Why him? Why make him my guardian? You knew how I felt. You must have seen it.”
Wind whispered through the bare trees. No answer.
“I gave him everything last night. And this morning… his girlfriend shows up. Calls me your little sister. And he doesn’t correct her.”
I laughed—wet, broken. “Little sister. Like I’m still the kid you sent away to school. Not the woman who wants him so much it hurts.”
I sat there—cold seeping into my bones—until Marco called from the entrance.
Time up.
I stood. Kissed my fingers. Pressed them to the stone.
“Help me, Dad. Tell me what to do.”
No answer.
The drive back was silent. My mind numb.
When we pulled up to the estate, Dante was waiting—coat open, breath fogging in the air.
I got out. Walked past him without a glance.
“Liliana.”
I didn’t stop.
He followed. “We need to talk.”
I spun on the steps. “No. We don’t. You’re my brother, remember? Brothers don’t fuck their little sisters.”
He recoiled. “Stop saying that.”
“Why? It’s the truth you let her believe.”
“Sophia is not my girlfriend.”
I laughed—cold. “On and off. Her words.”
“It’s fake,” he said desperately. “A cover. For the business. She’s an informant. Helps with intel from high-society circles. We stage it—dates, photos—to keep appearances.”
I stared at him. “Fake.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me that before you let her call me your little sister?”
“I didn’t want to drag you into it. I was going to explain—”
“Too late.” I turned away. “I don’t believe you.”