Guilt in fine china

Guilt in fine china
Caterina’s POV

The moment the door closed behind him, I exhaled — slowly, shakily — as if holding my breath would keep the world from falling apart. The echo of Dante’s footsteps lingered in my head long after he was gone.

The room felt bigger without him in it. Too quiet. Too white. The kind of silence that presses against your chest and makes you remember every wrong thing you’ve ever done.

I sank back against the pillow, my hands gripping the blanket.

Dante had been good to me — too good, maybe. He’d taken care of us when everything fell apart, when my mother couldn’t even stand to see her own reflection after Father died. He’d given me a home, a name that people respected. And what did I do in return? I lashed out. I threw words like knives. I treated him like he was the villain when he’d done nothing but protect me.

I hated myself for that.

The guilt pressed down on me until I almost couldn’t breathe.

Then, a voice cut through my haze. I hated getting interrupted while thinking.

“So… grumpy dad didn’t take that too well, huh?”

Leonardo.

He was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, that half-smile tugging at his lips. His hair was still damp, curls falling over his forehead.

I frowned. “He’s not my dad.”

“Yeah, I figured,” he said, stepping closer. “Still, he’s got that vibe — the overprotective, no-one’s-good-enough-for-my-daughter type.”

Something in the way he said it made my stomach tighten. “Don’t call him that,” I snapped, sharper than I meant. “And don’t talk about him like that either. You don’t know him.”

He raised his brows, hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, easy. Didn’t mean to step on your family drama.”

“You already did,” I said coldly. “And for the record, Dante will handle your payment. You don’t need to play hero anymore.”

Leonardo laughed under his breath, but there was no humor in it. “Of course. The rich man settles his debts, right? Makes everything clean, simple. You think that’s what this was about?”

I blinked, confused. “You saved my life—”

“Yeah. And now your people think throwing cash at me makes it even.” His jaw tightened. “You all think the same. That everyone out there’s got a price, that we’re all just waiting for a handout.”

“That’s not what I meant….”

Before I could finish, the nurse pushed through the door, her voice bright and efficient. “Miss Caterina,” she said with a smile. “Good news. You’ll be discharged tomorrow. It was just a mild concussion — you’re lucky.”

I've heard that three hundred times today.

“Thanks,” I murmured, still watching Leonardo.

He chuckled softly. “Guess I’ll be your driver then,” he said, looking at me. “Since you clearly suck at it.”

“I don’t drive,” I replied, glaring at him.

“Exactly,” he said, smirking. “That’s why you need one.”

“I’ll pass,” I muttered. “Just take the money and go.”

Something shifted in his expression then — a flicker of sadness that almost looked like disappointment. His next words were quiet, but they hit harder than anything Dante had said.

“I hate that,” he said. “The way people like you think every person in New York is a beggar.”

The words stung before I could stop them from sinking in.

He didn’t wait for me to reply. He just turned, hands shoved into his pockets, and walked out, the sound of his boots fading down the hall.

For a moment, I sat there staring at the door, the sting of his words echoing in the sterile air.

Maybe he was right. Maybe money had turned us into something ugly.

Still… I couldn’t shake the guilt twisting in my gut. Dante wouldn’t be happy if I made decisions without him. But Leonardo didn’t deserve to just walk away like that either.

Maybe I’d hire him. Maybe that was how I could fix things — start small. Make something right again.

I’d talk to Dante. Soon.

The door opened again, and for a brief second, I thought it was Leonardo coming back.

But it wasn’t.

“Annette?” I blinked.

She stormed in, hair wild, eyes blazing. “Caterina! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

I sat up quickly, heart thudding. “Annette…”

“My car!” she shouted. “That car was all I had, Rina! Do you even understand how important—”

Her voice broke off, and I saw it…. the flicker of relief in her eyes. “But… you’re alive. Thank God.”

Before I could speak, she threw her arms around me, squeezing until I could barely breathe.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “I’ll replace it, I promise. I’ll get you a new one.”

She pulled back, shaking her head with a sad smile. “Some things can’t be replaced.”

She dropped into the chair beside my bed and started talking — about the bar, about how her boss was a nightmare, how her feet ached, how she’d nearly spilled a drink on some jerk in a suit.

I nodded where I could, but the truth was, I wasn’t really listening. My attention span was short…except if I was standing in a room with Dante. I'd find myself paying attention to every detail including how many times he'd paused in a conversation. Partly because I rarely had a conversation with him.

Annette talked a lot — always had. Her voice filled every silence, every corner of the room. Maybe that was why I kept her around.

Because silence… silence had a way of bringing haunting memories back.

When visiting hours ended, she finally stood, brushing her hair out of her face. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah,” I said softly.

She smiled, leaned in to kiss my cheek. “Don’t die on me again, Rina. One heart attack in a lifetime is enough.”

When she left, the room went quiet again.

Good riddance, I thought, leaning back against the pillows. I loved her — but I wasn’t going to drown in guilt over a car.

Not tonight.

The next day came and went in a blur.
Morning light bled into afternoon, and still
… nothing.

I’d been ready since noon, dressed, packed, sitting on the edge of the hospital bed like a soldier waiting for a command. I kept expecting the sound of Dante’s voice at the door, or at least the rumble of his car engine outside. But the hours crawled by, and he didn’t come.

By five, the nurse popped her head in, all smiles. “Miss Caterina? You’re being discharged today, remember?”

“I know,” I said calmly. “I’m waiting for my ride.”

She gave me that sympathetic nurse look — the one that made you feel both pitied and ridiculous — then left quietly.

When the clock struck six, the door finally opened.

“Miss Caterina,” a deep, composed voice greeted.

Ferdinand. The house butler. Always immaculate in his black suit, posture straight enough to slice air.

“Mr. Dante asked me to come fetch you,” he said with a polite bow.

“About time,” I muttered, rolling my eyes.

He helped me stand, his hands steady and careful, and we walked out together. The sky outside had begun to dim, orange melting into deep blue. I caught my reflection in the car window — pale skin, tired eyes, the faint bandage still taped to my temple.

The ride home was quiet. Too quiet.

When the gates finally opened, I felt that familiar tightening in my chest — home. That word didn’t mean peace anymore.

My mum:Lucia was at the dining table when I walked in. Dressed elegantly as always, diamonds gleaming against her neck, she looked more like a portrait than a person.

She hadn’t visited me once in the hospital.

The memory of my dream — of her blood, her trembling hands, that final gasp — flashed before my eyes. My throat went dry.

Lucia stood and came toward me, her smile perfectly practiced. “My darling,” she said softly, arms wrapping around me in a perfumed hug. She sniffed lightly near my neck and pulled back with a wrinkle in her nose. “You smell awful. Didn’t they give you a bath in that hospital?”

I stiffened. “I’m fine, Mother.”

“Well, at least you’re alive,” she said dismissively, waving a hand.

I studied her — the way she avoided my eyes, the way her smile didn’t quite reach her face. “Why didn’t you come see me?”

She blinked, caught off guard. “Oh, sweetheart, I had an appointment with the Governor’s wife today. I couldn’t risk being late. You understand, don’t you?”

Of course. The Governor’s wife.

Sometimes I wondered how someone like her ended up being a mother at all. She always placed luxury and comfort above family.

She smiled again, as if reading my silence. “Anyway, I told the maids to prepare your favorite dish. You should go upstairs, freshen up. Then you can tell us what happened between you and that man — Williams, was it?”

Her tone dripped with curiosity disguised as concern.

I just nodded and turned away, too tired to argue.

Upstairs, the air smelled faintly of lavender soap. I ran a bath, letting the water fill the tub, steam curling around the room. When I slipped in, it stung — the cuts I didn’t realize I had, the bruises hidden under the hospital gown.

I closed my eyes. Tried not to think. Tried not to feel.

By the time I came downstairs again, wrapped in a silk robe and exhaustion, the table was already set. Silver gleamed under the chandelier, and the smell of roasted chicken filled the air.

Lucia sat at the head of the table, smiling faintly. Dante sat across from her, his face unreadable.

I took my seat quietly.

Lucia leaned forward first, eyes bright. “So,” she began, “what happened with Williams?”

I cut a small piece of chicken, focusing on the plate. “We got divorced,” I said flatly. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”

The silence that followed was heavy.

Lucia opened her mouth to pry, but Dante’s voice broke through — low, calm, but edged with authority. “No talking at the table.”

Her lips pressed together. She hated being silenced, but she obeyed.

We ate in silence for a while. The clinking of cutlery was the only sound in the room.

Then, against my better judgment, I spoke. “About the man who saved me,” I began, glancing at Dante. “Leonardo. I wanted to talk about how to repay him.”

Dante didn’t even look up. “He’ll get three thousand dollars,” he said simply.

I frowned. “That’s not what I meant. I was thinking maybe I could hire him. I need someone to teach me how to drive — and he has a permit.”

“There are hundreds of people who can teach you how to drive,” he said still maintaining a flat tone.

“Those people didn’t save my life,” I snapped.

His eyes flicked to me then — sharp, piercing. “And yet you refuse to take responsibility for almost ending it,” he said, voice calm but cutting into my skin.

I felt my chest tighten.

He went back to eating, as if the conversation were over.

But it wasn’t. Not for me.

For a moment, I stared at him — the man who had given me everything and still somehow made me feel small. I knew how stubborn he was. Once Dante made up his mind, nothing could move him.

Almost nothing.

I swallowed hard, hating the taste of the words I was about to say.

“Please,” I murmured, quietly at first, then louder. “Dante… please. Just this once.”

His hand froze mid-air, fo
rk suspended.

Lucia’s eyes darted between us, her brows arching in amusement.

I’d done what I hated most — begged.

And in that fragile, humiliating silence, I realized just how much power he still had over me.