Chapter 17 The Double Life
Monday morning arrived with the weight of unspoken truths.
Aria sat at her kitchen table, coffee untouched, staring at her phone. Three unread messages from Dante, each one more casual than the last. How was your weekend?Thinking about our next session.Looking forward to Wednesday.
She'd read them a dozen times since yesterday, analyzing every word for hidden meaning. Looking for the man Isabetta had described as the one who manipulated evidence, who worked in shadows, who might be using her for reasons she couldn't begin to understand.
Wednesday. 2 PM. Our usual time?
Our usual time. As if everything was normal. As if she hadn't spent Sunday afternoon in a café learning that her entire world might be built on lies.
Aria set the phone down and rubbed her temples. She hadn't slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Isabetta's face haunted, desperate, convinced that both Aria's father and her therapist were hiding something dark.
The rational part of her brain whispered that Isabetta could be wrong. Paranoid. Grief-stricken and grasping at conspiracy theories because accepting her daughter's suicide was too painful.
But another part, the part that had noticed Dante's careful questions about her father, the part that remembered how her dad had suddenly become attentive after years of distance, that part wondered if Isabetta was right.
By Monday afternoon, Aria found herself doing something she'd never thought she would: researching her own father.
She sat in the university library, laptop open, searching for Marco Santoro in connection with anything Isabetta had mentioned. Development projects. Bribery allegations. The Russo family.
Most of what she found was standard business coverage Marco Santoro, successful real estate developer, philanthropist, and family man. There were photos from charity galas, quotes about urban revitalization, press releases about new luxury developments.
Nothing sinister. Nothing concrete.
But between the lines, she started to notice things. Projects that had faced community opposition suddenly approved. Competitors who'd dropped out of bidding wars unexpectedly. A few older articles from smaller publications that asked uncomfortable questions before going silent.
Aria clicked through to the archives, but those investigative pieces had been removed. Page not found.This content is no longer available.
She sat back, heart pounding.
Then she searched for Dante Caruso.
Even less. His practice had a clean, professional website. A few mentions in psychology journals. Patient testimonials that were glowing but generic. His credentials were impeccable degrees from prestigious universities, training at renowned institutions.
On paper, he was exactly who he claimed to be.
But there were gaps. Years between his graduate work and establishing his practice. No social media presence. No personal details beyond the professional.
Aria remembered something Dante had once said during a session: The stories we tell about ourselves are always incomplete. It's the gaps that reveal the most.
She was staring at gaps now. Large ones.
Tuesday crawled by in a haze of distraction.
In her morning seminar, Professor Chen called on her twice before Aria realized she was being addressed. She stammered through an answer about Romantic poetry that barely made sense, earning concerned looks from her classmates.
At lunch, her friend Maya asked if she was okay. Aria forced a smile and blamed it on lack of sleep, which was true enough.
But the real reason was sitting heavy in her chest: she couldn't look at her life the same way anymore.
When her father texted to ask about dinner on Thursday, she stared at the message for ten minutes before responding with a noncommittal Maybe. Busy week.
His reply came quickly: Of course, sweetheart. Let me know. I'm always here if you need anything.
I'm always here.
Where had that father been when she was fourteen and drowning? When she was sixteen and couldn't get out of bed? When she was eighteen and left for university without looking back?
This version of Marco Santoro attentive, concerned, present had only appeared in the last few months. Right around the time she'd started seeing Dante.
Aria's stomach churned..
Tuesday night, she lay in bed, phone glowing in the darkness.
The thread of messages from Dante sat open. She'd been rereading them for an hour, looking for anything that proved Isabetta wrong.
You're making real progress, Aria.
I'm proud of how far you've come.
Trust the process.
Trust. That word kept appearing. Dante asked her to trust him, to trust herself, to trust that healing was possible.
But what if trust was the weapon? What if these sessions weren't about helping her at all?
She thought about Sofia Russo. Young, struggling, seeing a therapist who was supposed to help her. And then what? What had really happened?
Aria rolled over, pulling her pillow tight against her chest.
The worst part was that she couldn't deny Dante had helped her. The panic attacks were less frequent. She was sleeping better or had been, before Sunday. She'd even started reconnecting with old friends, taking small steps toward the life she'd abandoned.
Either Dante was genuinely skilled at his job, or he was skilled at making her think he was helping while pursuing some other agenda.
Both could be true.
Aria grabbed her phone again, fingers hovering over the keyboard. She could cancel. Send a simple text: Can't make Wednesday. I need to reschedule.
But then what? Hide forever? Drop out of therapy and go back to panic attacks in coffee shops and nights where breathing felt impossible?
Or she could go. Sit in that familiar chair. Look Dante in the eye and try to see past the professional mask to whatever lay beneath.
She could confront him. Ask direct questions. Watch how he reacted.
Or she could pretend. Act normal. Gather information. Be as careful and calculating as he might be.
Aria's finger moved to the message thread, then stopped.
Who are you? she wanted to type. What do you really want from me?
But those questions felt dangerous. Once asked, they couldn't be unasked. Once she revealed what she knew or suspected everything would change.
Maybe it needed to change.
Maybe that's what Isabetta had been trying to tell her: sometimes the only way forward was to shatter the illusion and face what was real, no matter how ugly.
Aria set the phone on her nightstand and stared at the ceiling.
Tomorrow was Wednesday. In less than twelve hours, she'd be sitting across from Dante Caruso, the man who might be helping her or might be using her, the man who might hold answers about her father, about Sofia, about the invisible threads connecting them all.
Wednesday, 6:47 AM
Aria's alarm went off, but she was already awake.
She'd made her decision sometime in the dark hours before dawn, though she couldn't pinpoint the exact moment. Maybe there'd been no single moment, maybe it had been inevitable from the second Isabetta Russo sat down across from her with desperate eyes and dangerous information.
She was going to the appointment.
But she wasn't going as the trusting patient anymore.
Aria sat up, reached for her phone, and opened her messages. Dante's last text stared back at her: Looking forward to Wednesday.
Her fingers moved across the screen: See you at 2.
She hit send before she could reconsider.
The message showed as delivered. Then, a moment later, read.
Three dots appeared. Dante was typing.
Aria held her breath.
See you then, Aria.
Simple. Professional. Exactly like always.
She set the phone down and walked to her window. Outside, the city was waking up—cars in traffic, people rushing to work, life continuing as if the ground beneath it all wasn't shifting.
Seven hours until the appointment.
Seven hours to decide: Did she confront him? Did she play along? Did she trust her instincts or question everything she thought she knew?
Aria pressed her forehead against the cool glass.
The woman in the reflection looked tired. Uncertain. Afraid.
But beneath that, something else was emerging. Can't say exactly what ?
If Dante Caruso had answers, she would find them.
If her father was hiding something, she would uncover it.
And if the truth destroyed everything she thought she knew about her life?
Then maybe it was time for that destruction.
Aria straightened, meeting her own eyes in the glass.
Wednesday, 2 PM.
She'd be there.
The question was: who would she become in that session?
The answer waited in the hours ahead and in the eyes of a man who might be her healer, her enemy, or more complicated than either.