Chapter 55 A Line In The Sand
DANTE CARAVELI.
Rage is a useful fuel when you haven't slept in forty hours. It burns cleaner and hotter than caffeine ever could, sharpening the edges of a world that exhaustion tries to blur.
I walked down the corridor toward the East Wing, my boots hitting the stone with a heavy, rhythmic thud. I didn't run, I didn't need to. The target wasn't going anywhere.
I had been tolerant. I had been patient. I had allowed Lucrezia to march her soldiers into my kitchen and reorganize my perimeter because I needed her father’s guns.
I needed the political weight of the De Luca name to keep the Commission off my back while I hunted Rinaldi. But I had never given her permission to touch my family.
When I reached the double doors of the Guest Suite, the two guards stationed outside, her men, wearing that ridiculous viper patch, stepped forward to intercept me.
"Boss," one of them said, holding up a hand. "Signorina De Luca is retiring for the night. She requested, "
I didn't stop or slow down. I grabbed the guard by his tactical vest and shoved him hard into the wall. He hit the stone and wheezed, sliding down to the floor.
The second guard reached for his weapon, but when he saw the look in my eyes, he thought better of it. He took a step back, hands raised in surrender.
"Smart choice," I snarled.
I kicked the door open. The lock splintered, and the wood groaned as it slammed against the interior wall.
Lucrezia was sitting at the vanity table, wearing a silk robe the color of spilled wine. She was brushing her hair, counting the strokes, completely unbothered by the intrusion.
She didn't jump or scream; she just looked at me through the mirror, her expression perfectly calm.
"Dante," she said, setting the brush down gently. "You know, most men send flowers before they barge into a lady's bedroom."
I crossed the room in three long strides, grabbed the back of her chair, and spun it around so she was facing me.
"Did you touch her?" I asked, my voice a low growl vibrating in my chest.
Lucrezia blinked, looking genuinely confused for a fraction of a second before understanding dawned on her face. A small, cold smile touched her lips.
"Ah. The nanny tattle-taled. I should have known."
"Did. You. Touch. Her."
"I cleaned her room," Lucrezia said, crossing her legs and looking up at me as if I were a servant who had brought the wrong wine.
"It was a pigsty, Dante. It was embarrassing. If my father comes to visit, I will not have him think we are raising a savage."
"I don't give a damn what your father thinks," I spat. "And you didn't just clean. You threw away her things."
"I removed the clutter," she corrected smoothly.
"And I suggested a change in her education. Which, frankly, you should thank me for. That child is soft. She cries if the wind blows the wrong way. A few years in Zurich will toughen her up."
My hand twitched. I wanted to wrap it around her throat and squeeze until that superior look vanished from her eyes. But she was a De Luca. She was an ally. She was a necessary evil.
I leaned down, placing my hands on the arms of her chair to trap her. I got close enough to smell the sickly sweet scent of lilies on her skin.
"Listen to me very carefully, because I am only going to say this once."
Lucrezia didn't flinch. She held my gaze, challenging me.
"Jasmine is not your project," I said. "She is not your soldier. And she is certainly not going to Switzerland. She stays here. With me."
"In a war zone?" Lucrezia asked, raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Is that responsible, Dante? Keeping a little girl in a fortress surrounded by wolves?"
"I am the wolf," I said. "And I protect what is mine."
Lucrezia sighed and reached out to pat my cheek. Her fingers were cold. "You are so sentimental. It is your greatest weakness. Rinaldi knows it, and he will use her against you. I am trying to remove the leverage."
I knocked her hand away. "You are trying to isolate me. You think if you send Jasmine away, I will have no one left but you."
Lucrezia smiled, and it wasn't a denial. "Would that be so terrible?" she asked softly.
"We make a good team, Dante. My resources. Your ruthlessness. We could rule the entire peninsula. But you have to focus. You have to cut the dead weight."
I stood up, looming over her. "Let me be clear. We are not a team. We are a business transaction. I am buying your guns with my name. That is where the arrangement ends."
Lucrezia’s smile faltered, her eyes hardening into chips of emerald ice. "Be careful, Dante," she warned, her voice dropping an octave.
"My father’s trucks are scheduled to move tomorrow. Without those supplies, your south wall is defenseless. You need me."
"I need the trucks," I agreed. "But don't mistake necessity for tolerance. I can find other guns, Lucrezia. It might take longer. It might cost more blood. But I can do it."
I leaned in again, my voice barely a whisper. "But if you ever touch my daughter’s things again, or if you ever make her cry, I won't care about the trucks. I won't care about your father. I will throw you off the ramparts myself. Do you understand?"
For the first time, I saw a flicker of fear in her eyes. It was small, buried deep, but it was there. She finally saw the monster I kept on a leash, and she realized the leash was slipping.
"I understand," she whispered.
"Good."
I turned and walked away, the silk of her robe rustling as she shifted in her chair.
"You are making a mistake," she called after me. "You are choosing a whore and a brat over an empire."
I stopped at the door and looked back at her. "I'm choosing my family. Something you wouldn't understand."
I walked out, marching past the terrified guards and heading straight for the nursery. The adrenaline began to fade, leaving the exhaustion to crash back over me like a tidal wave.
My hands were shaking, not from fear, but from the restraint it had taken not to kill her right then and there.
When I reached Jasmine’s door, I pushed it open quietly. The room was illuminated by a single nightlight, and it looked sterile. White. Empty. It looked like a hospital room.
I felt a sharp pain in my chest. Lilith was right. I had been so busy watching the horizon for Rinaldi that I hadn't noticed the invasion in my own home.
I walked to the bed where Jasmine was asleep. She was curled into a tight ball, clutching that ragged stuffed rabbit Lilith had mentioned. Her face was puffy, evidence that she had cried herself to sleep.
I reached out and brushed a stray hair from her forehead. "I'm sorry," I whispered into the dark.
I stood there for a long time, watching her breathe. Lucrezia thought this made me weak. She thought caring about a stuffed rabbit or a crying child was a liability.
She was wrong. This didn't make me weak. It gave me something to fight for. And God help anyone who tries to take it from me.