HELENA'S POV
The letter felt heavier in my trembling hands than it had any right to. I unfolded it slowly, the familiar scent of Dante-smoky, musky, and utterly suffocating-seeping out from the paper as if he had intended for it to linger. His handwriting sprawled across the page in bold, unapologetic strokes, commanding attention even in death.
Helena,
If you're reading this, it means I'm dead.
Congratulations. Or condolences. Whichever fits your mood better. If it's Matteo who pulled the trigger-or ordered it-then he's as much a fool as I've always thought him to be. But don't think for a second that my death gives you freedom. You'll never have freedom, not from me.
Do you really think I'd allow you to be with him? Not in life, and certainly not in death. No, my darling, I've thought this through. I've ensured that if you ever dare to pursue a life with Matteo, there will be consequences. Dead men don't just roll over, Helena, especially not me.
I hired someone-a shadow, let's call him. A hitman who's been instructed to watch you. He'll remain invisible until the day he decides to make his presence known. If you continue seeing Matteo, one day, out of nowhere, Matteo will drop dead. It could be tomorrow. It could be in ten years. You'll never know when it's coming, but trust me-it will come.
The choice is yours, Helena. Be with him and live with that ticking clock, or leave him and give him the opportunity to live a few years longer. Either way, you're mine, even now. Because in this game, you'll always be playing by my rules.
Yours, eternally,
Dante
My breath left me in sharp gasps as I finished the letter. Tears blurred my vision, not just from anger or sadness but from sheer disbelief. Damn him. Even dead, Dante still found a way to control me. He always promised he'd never let me go, and now, as I crumpled the letter against my chest, I realized he'd meant it.
The words haunted me as I sat beside Matteo in his hospital room, his hand warm and fragile in mine. His bruises were more pronounced under the harsh fluorescent lights, each one a reminder of the hell Dante had dragged us through. Matteo stirred slightly, his eyes fluttering open. His lips curved into a weak smile, but even that simple gesture seemed to pain him.
"I thought you were going to die," I whispered, my voice catching in my throat.
"I'm tougher than that," he said, attempting to joke. "Come on, you know that."
I couldn't respond. My heart twisted painfully in my chest. Instead, I tightened my hold on his hand, hoping to convey all the things I couldn't say.
He watched me closely, his expression softening before hardening into resolve. "Helena." He shifted slightly, grimacing at the movement but managing to reach into the waistband of his hospital pajamas. When his hand emerged, he held a small black box. My heart plummeted.
"Matteo-"
"Let me say this," he interrupted. His voice was hoarse but determined. "I was going to wait for the right moment, but we've been through too much. Dante's gone, and you're here with me. That's all I need." He opened the box to reveal a simple gold ring, the kind of understated elegance that Matteo would choose. "Will you marry me, Helena?"
My heart stopped, then shattered into a thousand pieces. The joy I should've felt was swallowed whole by Dante's threat, the weight of the letter like a stone dragging me into the abyss. Matteo's hopeful expression made it all worse.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice trembling as the words escaped.
His face fell instantly, confusion clouding his features. "What? Why? What's wrong? Talk to me."
I stood abruptly, needing to put distance between us. My legs felt unsteady as I began pacing the room, biting my nails in a nervous habit I thought I'd outgrown.
"It's not you," I stammered. "It's me. I just-I just can't. It feels wrong."
The lie tasted bitter on my tongue, but it was the only way to keep him safe. Dante's death didn't mean freedom-it only tightened the chains.
"Then explain it to me, Helena, so that I can understand." His voice cracked, and when I finally glanced at him, I saw the tears brimming in his eyes.
My vision blurred again, and I hated myself for the pain I was causing him. If only I hadn't gone back to Dante's house. If only I hadn't found that damn letter. I could've said yes. I could've been happy.
But that wasn't my reality.
"I'm sorry," I repeated, barely able to choke out the words. "I really am. I have to go."
"Helena!"
I didn't look back as I rushed out of the room, tears streaming freely down my face. By the time I made it to the parking lot, I collapsed onto my knees beside the car, the weight of my heartbreak finally breaking me. I sobbed into the cold night air, hating Dante, hating myself, and hating the situation I was trapped in.
For the rest of the week, I avoided Matteo. His calls went unanswered, and every time he showed up at the house, I found some excuse not to see him. It was better this way, or so I told myself. Better to see him alive from a distance than to hold him close only to lose him.
But the silence was suffocating, and one evening, as I sat on the balcony with a cigarette in one hand and a glass of wine in the other, a thought struck me like a lightning bolt.
I couldn't remember the last time I'd had my period.
"No, no, no," I muttered, the words spilling out in panicked repetition as I stumbled into the bathroom. My hands shook as I rummaged through the cabinet for the pregnancy tests I always kept stashed away.
Five minutes. Five excruciating minutes.
When I finally glanced at the test, the little plus sign stared back at me like a death sentence.
"No," I whispered, my knees buckling as I sank to the floor. "This can't be happening."
But it was.