What's left unspoken

What's left unspoken


Caterina’s POV

The world was quiet

My eyes fluttered open to a ceiling I didn’t recognize — a faint golden glow, candles burning somewhere close. For a moment, I thought I was dead. I even whispered it under my breath, “Am I… dead?”

But I wasn’t. I could feel the air against my skin, heavy with the scent of wax and smoke. My chest rose and fell. My heart was still beating — too fast, too loud.

I sat up slowly, my pulse hammering as I looked around. The first thing I saw was a mirror across the room. My reflection stared back — wide-eyed, disheveled hair and trembling lips.

I moved closer, hesitating before touching my face. No cuts. No bruises. No blood. My skin was whole.
But it didn’t make sense. It didn’t make any sense.

The last thing I remembered was the road, the rain, the sound of tires screeching after the fight with Williams — and then… nothing. Just darkness swallowing me whole.

“What the hell…” I whispered, my voice hoarse.

My eyes darted to the candles, the heavy curtains, the strange stillness that wrapped the room. The designs carved into the furniture were familiar — painfully familiar. Then it hit me.

This was Dante’s room.

Confusion twisted in my abdomen . Why here? Why wasn’t I in the hospital? Why wasn’t I dead?

Questions ran wild, tumbling over each other in my head until I heard it — the soft creak of the door opening.

I froze.

He stepped in quietly, the door clicking shut behind him. Dante. His hair was slightly tousled, eyes darker than usual, and he was holding a glass of water. His voice was calm, almost too calm when he saw me awake. He walked into the room with a bare chest, his briefs hanging dangerously below his lips, my eyes rolling down his abdomen that caught the radiance of the warm light.

“You’re up,” he said softly.

For a moment, I couldn’t speak. My throat tightened as my gaze flicked toward him. The light from the candles brushed against his skin, tracing the lines of someone who looked too composed for what I felt inside.

“What happened?” I managed to ask. “Where am I? I thought—”

“Shh,” he murmured, cutting me off as he walked closer.

He set the glass down beside me and, before I could finish my sentence, his hand lifted — gentle, firm — resting over my lips.

“Don’t think about it now,” he whispered. “It’s over.”

The warmth of his hand burned against my skin. His gaze was unreadable — soft, but heavy with something that made my chest ache and my stomach twist. For a moment, the silence between us said things words never could.

I wanted to ask more, to push him away, to understand — but I couldn’t. The words got lost somewhere between my breath and the way his eyes lingered on mine.

“It’s all over Catherina,” he mumbled, his breath brushing past my ear lobes.

Then the door creaked again, the hinges screaming, slicing through what I may assume as a romantic atmosphere.

We both turned.

My mum:Lucia stood there — pale, quiet, but her eyes… her eyes said everything before her lips even moved.

“Lucia…” Dante started, his voice caught halfway between guilt and shock.

She didn’t answer him. She just looked at me. Looked through me. Her eyes widening in horror, her lips practically hitting the cold marble floor. She shook her head,eyes darting between I and Dante.

Her expression broke something inside me — disappointment, pain, disgust all tangled together choking the air.

“Mother—” I started, but she stepped back, shaking her head, her lips trembling.

I scrambled off the bed. “It’s not what you think—please, let me explain—”

But she was already gone, turning sharply and walking out of the room, slamming the door. My heart beat increased.

“Mum!” I called after her, rushing down the hall. My voice echoed, thin and desperate. I followed her into her room, the door still half-open.

She was standing by the window, her back to me, staring out at the lawn like it had betrayed her too, her finger touching the window. She'd stayed in this position the night after I lost my father. Tears rolled down my eyes, my throat tightening.

What the fuck had gotten into me? Why did I let him touch me? This act had ruined my relationship with the one person who'd fought for me. Who'd stood by me.

“Mother, please—”

“Don’t.” Her voice was sharp, but fragile. “Don’t call me that right now.”

I stopped. The words cut deeper than any slap ever could.

She turned to face me, her eyes glistening but cold. “Do you know what you’ve done, Caterina? The man who wiped my tears after your father died — the man who gave us this roof, this peace — and this is how you repay him? How you repay me?”

“Nothing happened!” My voice cracked. “I swear—”

Her hand flew before I even saw it coming. The sting of the slap bloomed across my cheek.

Tears blurred my vision. “Mama—”

“No,” she snapped, voice trembling. “You think this is love? You think this is fate? This is destruction, Caterina. This is catastrophe!”

She turned away again, gripping the curtain so tightly her knuckles went white. “Dante was God’s way of giving me back what I lost when Leonardo died. And now—now I can’t even look at him without seeing you.”

Her voice broke. “If I can’t have him…” she whispered, almost to herself. “Then I’d rather not live to see what’s left of this family.”

“Mama, don’t—” I stepped forward, panic rushing through me. “Please, you don’t mean that—”

But she was already moving. Too fast.

I didn’t even see the knife until it flashed in her hand.

“No!” I screamed, lunging toward her, but it was too late. The sound — the wet, dull thud of metal meeting flesh — tore through me before the sight did.

She gasped once. Just once. Then her body slumped, her eyes still open but already distant.

“Mama…” My voice cracked into pieces. I caught her before she hit the floor, my hands pressing uselessly against the blood spilling from her chest. “Stay with me, please—please, I’m sorry—”

Her lips moved, but no sound came out. And then she was still.

I don’t remember screaming, but I must have. The walls felt like they closed in, the candles flickering violently. I couldn’t breathe.

Then — darkness.

My eyes shot open again, this time to blinding white. My breath came in ragged gasps, and sweat beaded down my temples. I looked around wildly.

No candles. No blood. Just white walls. Machines humming. The faint, sterile smell I’d always hated.

A hospital.

My stomach turned. I’d hated hospitals since the day my father died in one. The same smell. The same silence. The same helplessness.

I pressed a hand to my chest, whispering to myself over and over, “It was a dream. It was just a nightmare.”

The sound of the door closing was the first thing that snapped me out of my daze.
Then came his footsteps.

Dante walked in looking nothing like the man who usually carried himself with composure. His hair was disheveled, his shirt half-tucked, and there was something raw about his expression — a mix of exhaustion and anger. It looked like he’d run a thousand miles to get here.

He stopped near the edge of my bed, his eyes scanning my face. His voice, when it came, was low and tense.
“You were calling out in your sleep,” he said. “Something about blood… and your mother. What dream were you having, Caterina?”

He must have been at the door for a while. That was how he heard me. He wasn't a telepath.

I froze, my stomach twisting at the memory. Then I swallowed hard, forcing the lump in my throat back down.
“It’s none of your business,” I said flatly. “And what are you even doing here?”

That did it.

His jaw tightened, his shoulders squaring as his hand came down hard on the metal table beside my bed. The sound of his knuckles slamming against it made the glass of water tremble.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he snapped. “You crashed a car, Caterina! You could have been killed! And I don’t even remember you leaving the damn house with a car — so where the fuck did you get one?” He asked, his voice filling the room.

For a moment, I just stared at him, his words blurring into a hum. Then it hit me — Annette’s car. My chest tightened.
Oh God. Annette had trusted me with it. And I’d ruined it.

The memory of her smile twisted in my head. She’d never forgive me.

But before I could drown in guilt, Dante’s voice cut through again, rough and demanding.
“Caterina! Don’t just sit there staring at nothing. I hate being ignored — now tell me what happened.”

He sounded more worried than angry, but the concern hiding beneath the edge of his voice only made it worse.

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” I shot back, my tone colder than I meant. “You’re not my father, Dante. You never will be. So stop acting like one.”

The words left my mouth before I could pull them back.
And the moment they did, regret settled in my chest.

I saw it — that flicker of hurt in his eyes, the way his lips parted slightly, as if the words had struck deeper than I intended. For a second, neither of us spoke. The silence between us stretched for a while.

Then, as if on cue, the door opened.

A nurse stepped in, her voice cutting through the tension.“Excuse me,” she said, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. “Yelling is against hospital policy — though I’d say it’s a good sign. It means our patient’s got her full head back.”

Dante stepped aside, his jaw still tight.

The nurse turned to me. “You had a mild head injury,” she said gently. “A concussion, nothing serious. You’ll be discharged soon, dear.”

I nodded absently, barely hearing her. My eyes were still on Dante — his clenched fists, his tense shoulders, that cold stillness that always came when he was trying too hard to stay in control.

He spoke suddenly, voice rough. “Where’s the guy?”

The nurse blinked. “Which guy, sir?”

“The one who saved her,” Dante said, not looking at me. “I was told there was someone who pulled her out of the wreck.”

“Oh, yes,” the nurse replied, glancing toward the hall. “He’s right outside.”

She left, and the door closed behind her.

I shifted, guilt gnawing at me. “Dante, I didn’t mean what I said—”

“Don’t,” he snapped, not looking at me. “Just don’t.”

The door opened again before I could say anything else.

The nurse reappeared — and behind her walked a boy. Or maybe a man. Somewhere in between.

He looked about my age, maybe a little older, his brown curly hair damp from the rain, his jacket slightly frayed at the edges like it had seen too many nights on the street. A single silver piercing glinted from his left ear. His jeans were dark and ripped, boots scuffed, and there was something wild about his eyes.

He smiled faintly when he saw me. “You’re awake,” he said, voice soft but steady.

I nodded, unsure what to say.

He took a few steps forward, extending a hand. “Leonardo,” he introduced himself to Dante, extending his hand. I knew how this was going to end. Dante disliked handshakes or anything that required his body touching with people below his class. To him, this was nothing but an insult. A slap on his face. “Your daughter is lucky, you know. The car almost flipped over. She's tougher than you look.”

He didn’t move from his spot. Didn’t even acknowledge the handshake.

Leonardo’s smile faltered. “Is this how you treat someone who just saved your daughter?” he asked, his tone carrying a hint of sarcasm.

Dante’s reply was quick,

“She’s not my daught
er.”

The room went still.

He adjusted his coat, his gaze hard on Leonardo. “If it’s money you want, come by my office tomorrow. You’ll get it.”

And without another word, he turned and walked out.