Chapter 5 The weight of bloodline
Dante POV
If she knew how stunning she looked when fury lit her face, she’d weaponize it. A shame beauty didn’t earn mercy. I still planned to kill her and drop her body at the Barsetti estate like a message carved in bone. She was paying for the sins of her parents, the same way I’d paid for mine.
“They destroyed everything I had.” Her voice quieted. “How?”
“They murdered my father. After that, his enemies stripped my mother of every cent, every piece of protection he ever had. She had nothing left not even safety. She turned to prostitution just to feed us.” My jaw tightened. “A client killed her and dumped her in a trash bin. When I was ten.”
For the first time since she’d fallen into my world, Isabella sharp eyes softened. The anger didn’t vanish, but it shifted like she’d opened a window to let in compassion she didn’t want to feel.
“I’m sorry about your mother.”
She didn’t say it lightly. Isabella didn’t apologize unless it came from something real. Seeing her recognize my pain, it twisted something sharp inside me. Guilt? Maybe. It didn’t matter. It wouldn’t stop me from doing what I came here to do.
“But if my parents killed your father,” she said quietly, “there must have been a reason.”
There was, a justified one but it didn’t erase the wreckage my life became.
“My father took your aunt as a slave and killed her.”
Her breath snagged. “Dante?” Her eyes widened as she looked at my tattooed arm. Recognition struck her like lightning. “Your father was Dante?”
“Yes.” She inhaled slowly, bracing herself for more.
“He bought your mother from the Underground and made her his new captive. Your father rescued her, fell in love with her, and together they killed mine.”
Isabella froze. Her face crumbled in a way I had never seen. Her voice broke. “My mama he did that to her?” Her tears weren’t manipulative they were heartbreak, disbelief, the horror of imagining her mother suffering something she had never been told.
She covered her face, shoulders trembling. “No”
I looked away. Watching her break made something uncomfortable churn inside my chest. “Stop crying.”
The sound unsettled me the sharp breaths, the shaking exhale, the way her pain filled the room. I’d killed people for making less noise.
She forced herself still, lowered her hands. “I said I was sorry for what happened to your mother. Why can’t you do the same for mine?”
“Because I’m a monster. You aren’t.”
The scotch burned down my throat, giving me something else to focus on. “I grew up bouncing through orphanages with nothing. I should have inherited billions. Instead I was just another stray kid on the streets. My legacy stolen. Everything gone.”
My voice deepened. “I built myself up. I made my own fortune. But I never forgot who took what should have been mine.”
Isabella stared at the floor, eyes still glossy. “I’m sorry. But my parents did what they had to do. Don’t stand there and pretend your father was a saint. You admitted what he was. He hurt women in my family including the woman I was named after. How can you expect anything different? I’m glad he’s dead.”
My gaze snapped to her.
She didn’t blink. “And I’ll say it again I’m glad he’s dead.”
My hand moved before I thought. I backhanded her so hard she hit the floor.
“Say it again.”
She pushed up instantly, refusing to stay down. Her cheek burned red where my hand had landed. “I’m glad your piece of shit father is dead. And I hope my parents made him suffer.”
I lunged, fingers locking around her throat. Lifting her. Crushing the breath out of her. I had killed people this way felt the final jolt in their spine through my palm.
“Take it back.”
She clawed at my wrist, eyes blazing, refusing to surrender.
“Take it back.”
Her nails dug into my skin and then she spit on my face.
I threw her to the ground so hard the wood groaned under her weight.
“Never.”
She spit again. Her voice shook with rage and grief. “My mother is the kindest woman I know. And what your father did to her” Her tears returned. “In life and in death, he’ll always be my enemy. I’ll never feel sorry. And I’ll never betray my family.”
She dropped to her knees and tilted her head back, exposing her neck. “So go ahead. Do it. Slit my throat. End it. I won’t beg.”
My fingers twitched again but for a different reason. Her courage was a punch straight to the gut. She was Conti through and through. Luca's fire and Gianna steel, unbreakable.
I pitied her, I admired her, I wanted to kill her but I couldn’t.
She breathed hard, recovering her air. “What’s your name?”
“You know it.”
“No,” she murmured, voice rough. “You’ve never said it.”
I lifted my arm, showing the tattooed Dante.
Realization struck her. “Your father is your namesake. My aunt is mine.”
“The blood war never ended, Isabella. It’s only beginning.”
She rose, small but unshaken. “You’re rich now. You survived. You built an empire from nothing. My father would say that’s the mark of a real man. You can end this. You can break the cycle. Let the past stay buried. I’m willing to if you are.”
A moment ago she was spitting in my face. Now she spoke like a leader trying to negotiate a ceasefire. Strength came off her in waves quiet, steady, unyielding.
“My mother wouldn’t be dead if my father were alive,” I said.
“And my aunt wouldn’t be dead if your father hadn’t murdered her.”
I couldn’t argue. She was right.
“Don’t expect me to apologize when my family has been the one surviving the aftermath. We fought because we had to. We stopped because we wanted peace. My parents built a simple life making wine. We let go of the war. So should you.”
“I can’t.”
She inhaled sharply. “You can’t win this, Dante. Kill me, don’t kill me it doesn’t matter. My father will hunt you until nothing of you is left. This is suicide.”
My life had never meant anything. The darkness in me made it impossible to picture anything normal. I wasn’t built for peace or happiness.
Not after the childhood I had. Not after the years I carved out a living killing for money.
“I know.”