What keeps me awake

What keeps me awake

DANTE’S POV

Sleep refused to come.

I lay on my back staring at the ceiling as if it held answers I had been avoiding for hours. My pillow felt too warm. My sheets felt wrong. My mind would not shut up.

Catherina’s face kept flashing in my head. Her eyes. The way she stood in my office pretending her hands were not trembling. The way she lifted her chin when I told her she could leave if it was too much.

She should have taken the exit.
Any sane person would have.

But she looked me dead in the eye and stayed.

I rolled onto my side with a frustrated groan. My fingers dug into the mattress. Resisting her was impossible. Every time she walked into a room, something in me reacted before logic had the chance to speak. This was exactly why I tried giving her a way out. Hard rules. Ridiculous demands. A wall tall enough to scare her back.

Instead she treated it like a challenge.

Her stubbornness was infuriating. Fascinating. Dangerous.

I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply. The room felt hot. Too hot. My thoughts kept circling back to one moment. That kiss. The memory rose so vividly it almost felt like she was still pressed against me. The faint taste of cherry lingered on my tongue as if it never left.

I pressed the heel of my palm to my forehead.

This was insanity.

I turned on my other side and glanced at the clock beside my bed. The red numbers glared back at me.

12:00 a.m.

Of course it was. Midnight. The hour where mistakes are made and logic sleeps.

I sat up slowly and let out a tired sigh. A drink would be nice. A heavy one. Something to drag my mind into silence. But morning was close and no responsible boss showed up at work drunk. That was not the reputation I built my empire on.

I huffed quietly into the dark.

I needed a distraction. Something to wear me out. Something loud enough to drown her out.

I pushed myself off the bed and walked into the bathroom. The tiles were cold. The air colder. I twisted the shower handle and stepped under the icy water. It hit me like needles and I welcomed it. Anything to force my mind somewhere else.

But even under the freezing stream, her image followed me. Her trembling breath. Her quiet defiance. The softness of her lips. The look she gave me that day. The one I had no right remembering.

I cursed under my breath and shut the water off.

This was wrong. All of it. She was my stepdaughter. The daughter of the only friend I ever had. The girl whose life I vowed to protect and never touch.

No strings attached.

I grabbed a towel, dried off, and stepped out of the bathroom. The air outside felt just as suffocating. I walked down the staircase, the silence of the mansion swallowing each step. Not even the wind dared whisper tonight. It was eerie. Heavy. Like the walls watched me.

Good. At least something was awake aside from me.

Outside, the cold air slapped my face the moment I opened the door. It cleared my head for a second, but not long enough. I climbed into my sleek black car, turned the ignition, and zoomed off into the night.

The city blurred past me. Tall buildings. Empty streets. Streetlights flickering like exhausted candles. I drove until the familiar sign appeared, glowing faintly above a wide dark building.

The Vintage.

Exclusive. Private. Loud enough to make thoughts bleed.

I parked, stepped out, and walked toward the entrance. The bouncers did not speak. They never did. They only nodded when I showed my ID and stepped aside, letting me through.

Inside, the air changed completely.

The Vintage was a world of its own. A blend of something old and yet Morden. Velvet walls. Golden trims. Chandeliers that glowed like dying stars. Music pulsed through the floor, deep enough to feel in the ribs. People danced. People drank. People forgot themselves. It was a place built for distraction. A place that swallowed secrets whole.

And tonight, I needed it.

I headed straight to the VIP section. Smoke hung in the air like a lazy ghost. The couches were plush and dark. The lighting dimmed enough to turn everyone into silhouettes.

Ethan lounged there, one leg propped lazily over the other, a woman practically glued to his side with her mouth on his neck. Typical. Always surrounded. Always indulging.

He spotted me and lifted his chin with a slow grin, cigarette dangling between his fingers. His hair fell over his forehead in careless waves. Sharp jaw. Sharp smirk. A face that told you trouble before he even opened his mouth.

“Look who decided to show up,” he said, exhaling smoke.

I shook his hand.

“You are late,” he added without looking away from me. “I have been mad at you.”

I raised a brow. “Why.”

He scoffed and flicked ash from his cigarette. “Because you left the world, Dante. Our world. You got tied down by responsibilities that were never yours. Playing father. Playing husband. Playing saint.”

My jaw ticked. “I am not tied down. I am busy. And I am not here to discuss criminal minds. I just want a drink.”

Ethan studied me for a moment, then signaled one of the women nearby. She approached immediately. Lingerie. Bra. Bare skin glowing under the lights. She walked with practiced confidence.

“Make him forget whatever is bothering him,” Ethan said lazily.

She stopped in front of me. Her voice was soft. “Anything you want, sir.”

She lowered herself to her knees. Her fingers brushed the buckle of my belt. My breath tightened for reasons I did not want to examine. A part of me felt that it was infidelity. I didn't want to do this when I had feelings for Catherina.

It was a hobby for me to do it, especially when I had a cold heart.

“No,” I said quietly.

She blinked, confused.

Ethan chuckled. “Are you seeing someone.”

“No.”

My voice was calm but firm. I turned my head toward the woman.

“Just sit with me,” I murmured. “That is enough.”

She rose gently, slid onto my lap, and draped her arms around my shoulders. She looked at me with a question in her eyes. I reached for the bottle of whisky instead. Something cold. Something strong enough to quiet my thoughts.

Her weight settled against me. The music thumped. Ethan smirked knowingly. And I took a long slow sip of whisk
y, letting the burn drag me away from the one face I could not forget no matter how hard I tried.

Catherina.