Chapter 40 Chapter 40
Dante
Lily’s gone. Just like that.
It’s been a full day of madness. Her phone? Still in the penthouse. Everything else? Vanished. Her suitcase, her favorite jacket, her passport. Gone like a ghost in the night.
The godfather’s losing his mind, barking orders, shaking the city’s underworld like a cage. I’ve got Rocco, Lorenzo, Antonio, and half our crew working around the clock. Every port is watched. Every camera hacked. Still—nothing. No sight of her. No sign of Sebastian either.
I sit in the warehouse, elbows on my knees, teeth grinding. Everyone here is waiting for orders, but my thoughts are louder than the chaos around me.
Belladonna.
She’s the only one close enough. Clever enough. Loyal—to Lily, not to us.
I stand abruptly. No word. No explanation. I storm out and drive like the devil’s chasing me.
I don’t pull up to the front gates of the Torricelli estate. No. I park down the road, where shadows kiss the pavement. I move on foot, blending into the dark. When I reach the back entrance, I spot the old gatekeeper. He knows me. They all do.
I press a wad of bills into his palm. “I need to get into Belladonna’s room,” I say, voice flat, gun flashing under my coat.
He nods without hesitation. “Follow me.”
He leads me through the side garden, past statues and rose bushes heavy with dew. We cut through a quiet courtyard, then enter the rear hallway. The marble floors echo under our feet as he gestures to the winding staircase.
“Second balcony. Her room’s through there.”
I don’t thank him. I don’t speak.
I climb the vine-laced iron trellis like I’ve done this a hundred times. At the top, I crouch low on the balcony, breathing steady, jaw tight. The curtains are sheer and the light inside glows golden.
And there she is.
Belladonna.
Wrapped in a towel, hair wet and curling at her collarbones, skin still glistening from the shower. She’s barefoot, moving slowly, unaware.
I knock twice. Sharp.
She turns, startled. Our eyes lock—and hers widen in shock. She clutches the towel tighter against her chest.
I gesture. “Open the door,” I say, low and steady.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she snaps, unlocking the door with hesitant hands.
I step in. The scent of her—jasmine and heat—fills the space. My eyes sweep the room once, then land back on her. Her bare shoulders, her collarbones, her breath rising with panic and pride.
“Where is she?” I bark.
“Who?”
“Don’t play with me, Belladonna. You know damn well who.”
“Lily?” she says, voice too smooth. Too innocent.
“I know you helped her,” I growl, stepping closer, pushing her back until her spine hits the wall. Her towel shifts slightly, and she grips it harder.
“Tell me where she is,” I demand, my voice rough with desperation.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she whispers.
I draw the gun—not to shoot, but to threaten. The cold metal rests lightly against her neck. Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t back down.
“Speak. Now.”
She looks me in the eyes. There’s no fear there. Just defiance.
“Where is she?” I hiss again.
And then, her voice—soft, almost breathless—“What are you going to do if I don’t tell you?”
My jaw clenches. The rage inside me spirals, messy and sharp. I reach for her towel in frustration, yanking it down—just enough to send a shock of vulnerability through the air. She gasps and instantly covers herself with her arms, fire in her eyes.
“Dante…” she breathes.
My fury falters for a beat.
She’s beautiful. Not just in the way her skin glows beneath the low light or the curve of her body under pressure—but in her boldness. Her audacity to stare down a man like me with bare skin and no armor.
The room pulses with silence. A war of breath and heat and unspoken words.
“I’m going to torture you until you don’t utter a word.” I mutter in rage.
She shakes her head saying no. but I don’t have an option. I spread her legs while she’s still standing. I place the gun down her pussy and rubs it there. She trembles with the cold touch of metal. I move the gun up and down.
“Dante… don’t,” she whispers, her voice trembling.
A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth. “Then talk, Belladonna. Because the longer you stay quiet, the more I’ll penetrate this inside of you.”
She lowers her gaze, her voice barely a breath. “I’ve never … I’m still a virgin.”
She sends something to me with her words. I rub the gun in her clit. She whimpers until she holds my suit and clings into me. “Dante please stop…”
“Tell me the truth, belladonna.” I utter.
“I don’t know.” She burst into tears as she couldn’t take this torture anymore. I withdraw the gun from her pussy.
“Belladonna…” I whisper her name, barely breathing it as I pull her into my arms.
She doesn’t resist. Her body trembles against mine, fragile and furious all at once.
“I hate you, Dante,” she chokes out, her voice breaking as the words spill through her sobs.
But she doesn’t pull away.
She clings to me, fists balled against my chest, crying like she’s been holding it in for too long.
And I hold her tighter—because even in her hatred, she came undone in my arms. “If you had told me the truth, I wouldn’t have had to do this,” I say coldly, my voice low and controlled.
I look down at her, silent, watching the way she buries her face in my chest, her tears soaking into my shirt. She’s trembling, trying to hide her pain from me, but I feel every crack in her breath. And all I can think is, what would she do if she knew the truth? If she knew that I’m the man she was promised to marry, the one chosen for her long before either of us had a say?
I wouldn’t have touched any other girl like this. I wouldn’t have crossed that line. But with her… it’s different. Because deep down, I know she’s mine. Always has been. Always will be. Even if she doesn’t know it yet.