Chapter 32 Tremors
The villa had grown restless again for her.
Sienna could feel it, the same way one senses a coming storm, not by sound or sight but in the air itself. Conversations stopped when she entered the rooms. Footsteps echoed longer in hallways. And Dante, who had been warming ever so slightly toward her, now watched her with the same guarded distance as when she’d first arrived.
Luca lingered too long. His laughter filled the kitchen, the terraces, the space Dante refused to occupy. He spoke to everyone, the cleaner, the cook, the gardener asking too many questions and charming too easily.
And Sienna? She found herself caught in the middle again unwilling to push Luca away completely, yet unable to ignore how Dante’s gaze darkened every time Luca entered the room.
It started small.
Sienna was leaving the therapy room one afternoon when Luca appeared in the doorway, his usual disarming smile in place.
“Working too hard again,” he said lightly. “If you’re not careful, my brother will think he’s your only patient.”
“He is my only patient,” she said, gathering her notes.
“Then I’ll have to find a reason to keep you around after he’s cured.”
She looked up sharply, unsure if he was joking. But Luca’s grin was soft, not predatory, the kind of charm that disarmed rather than intimidated.
Still, it made her uneasy. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s your brother,” she said quietly.
Luca’s expression flickered, the smile fading for a moment before returning. “Ah, yes. The great unspoken rule of the house is that everything belongs to Dante first.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Of course not,” he said. “But it’s what he’ll think.”
She didn’t know what to say to that.
In the evening, Dante was waiting for her in the gym, already half through his exercises. His jaw was tight, movements controlled but harsh.
“You’re late,” he said.
“I had to speak with Luca,” she replied evenly, setting her note on the table.
“Of course you did.”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
His tone was sharp, but his eyes stayed fixed ahead. “I saw him walking you out earlier. He’s been spending a lot of time around you lately.”
“He’s curious,” she said, forcing calm. “And polite.”
Dante scoffed. “He’s never curious without reason.”
“Maybe not everything is a game to him.”
He turned his head sharply. “You don’t know him, Sienna.”
“Then tell me.”
“It’s not my job to protect you from your own naivety.”
The words stung, but she swallowed her pride. “You don’t get to talk to me like that.”
“Then stop giving him reasons to.”
Her eyes widened. “Reasons to what?”
“To think you’re available.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
She stepped closer, voice steady but low. “You don’t own me, Dante. You’re my patient, not my keeper.”
His hand tightened on the armrest of his wheelchair. “You think that’s what this is about? Ownership?”
“Isn’t it?” she said. “Every time someone else talks to me, you turn into this man who thinks he can control everything. I’m here to help you heal, not to feed your ego.”
He looked away, breathing uneven. “You have no idea what you’re doing.”
“Then explain it.”
He didn’t. He just said quietly, “Stay away from Luca.”
She folded her arms. “And if I don’t?”
“Then don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Something in his tone wasn’t anger, it was fear. Real, quiet fear. But Sienna couldn’t read it through the pride and tension between them.
She turned to leave before she said something she’d regret. His voice followed her, quieter, but sharp enough to stay with her long after she walked out. “You have no idea how easily he ruins the things I care about.”
That night, she couldn’t sleep.
She sat by the window, the waves below whispering against the cliffs. The moonlight reached the sea in pale silver ribbons. Somewhere in the house, she heard muffled voices low, masculine drifting from down the hall.
Dante and Luca, again.
At first, she tried to ignore it. But then the volume rose, sharp words cutting through the quiet. She couldn’t make out every phrase, but she heard her name.
She froze.
The sound came from the library. Slowly, she crept down the hall, her bare feet soundless against the tile. The door wasn’t fully closed.
She pressed her palm lightly to the wood, just enough to listen.
Luca’s voice first,it was calm but edged. “She’s a doctor, Dante. She can make her own decisions.”
Dante’s reply came fast, like a wound torn open. “She doesn’t know what kind of decisions she’s walking into.”
“She’s not yours to protect.”
“She’s not yours to use,” Dante shot back.
Sienna’s chest tightened.
The next words were lower, rougher.
Then she heard Dante's voice. “You can’t always have what belongs to me.”
Sienna’s breath caught.
The silence that followed was long, dangerous. She stepped back, careful not to make a sound.
Her thoughts raced , What did he mean? What belongs to him? Was he talking about her? About something else entirely?
Her pulse pounded so loud she thought they might hear it.
Then Luca’s voice was heard, colder now: “You think everything slips through your fingers because someone takes it from you. Maybe you just don’t know how to hold anything that matters.”
There was a crash, maybe a chair hitting the floor. Sienna jumped, backing further into the dark.
She heard footsteps. A door slamming. Then silence followed.
She didn’t remember walking back to her room. Only the echo of Dante’s voice replaying in her mind, jagged and raw.
She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the floor. The words felt like a bruise she couldn’t see.
Part of her wanted to believe he’d meant something else. That she’d misunderstood.
But another part,the one that had seen the flicker in his eyes every time Luca smiled at her knew better.
Her heartbeat wouldn’t slow down.
She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to breathe past the knot in her throat.
She wasn’t his. She wasn’t anyone’s.
So why did it feel like he’d just claimed something she didn’t realize she’d given?
The next morning, Sienna went about her work in silence. The villa seemed colder again. The staff moved quietly, tension thick in the air. Luca was nowhere to be found. Dante didn’t show up for breakfast or therapy.
She asked the housekeeper, “Where’s Mr. Varon?”
The woman hesitated, then whispered, “He went to the cliff road with his brother this morning. They didn’t look friendly.”
Sienna nodded, trying to keep her voice even. “Thank you.”
But her stomach twisted.
Later, when she entered the therapy room, she saw the wheelchair empty, near the window. For a second, her chest tightened with panic. Then Dante stepped in behind her, walking slowly and painfully, with his crutch.
“Good,” she said automatically. “You’re walking again.”
He didn’t answer. He just crossed to the table, sat heavily, and picked up a bottle of water. His knuckles were scraped, faintly red.
“Rough morning?” she asked.
He gave a short, humorless laugh. “Something like that.”
She wanted to ask more like what happened? what he meant? What did he feel? But his expression stopped her.
So she worked in silence again. Adjusting weights. Timing stretches. Writing notes she couldn’t focus on.
Every now and then, she caught him watching her, his jaw tightening before he looked away.
She told herself it didn’t matter. That she was here for his recovery, not his moods.
But when she finally left the room, her pulse was still racing. And his last words from the night before haunted her all over again.
“ She’s not yours to use. You can’t always have what belongs to me.”
What did he mean?Who had he really been talking about? And why, deep down, did she already know the answer?