Chapter 5 Guardian
Morning light filtered through the tall windows of the estate kitchen, turning the marble counters gold. The smell of fresh coffee and Maria’s famous cinnamon rolls filled the air—comforting, familiar, the kind of normal that usually made the house feel less like a fortress. Today it felt mocking.
I’d barely slept. My lips still remembered Dante’s kiss—rough, desperate, tasting like years of restraint finally breaking. My arm ached under the fresh bandage, but that was nothing compared to the knot in my stomach. I’d showered, changed into soft leggings and an oversized sweater, hair still damp and loose down my back. I told myself I’d be calm. Casual. Like nothing had changed.
Like everything hadn’t changed.
Maria was at the stove, humming softly as she plated eggs and bacon. She glanced up when I walked in, eyes soft with concern.
“Morning, sweetheart. How’s the arm?”
“Sore, but okay.” I forced a smile. “Thanks for last night.”
She nodded, then looked past me toward the hallway. “Mr. Dante’s already up. Coffee’s fresh.”
My heart jumped. I turned.
He was there—standing at the island, back to me, scrolling through his phone with one hand while the other gripped a black mug. Black suit today: tailored, sharp, no tie. The collar of his shirt open just enough to show the edge of a collarbone I’d felt pressed against me hours ago. His hair was still slightly damp from his own shower. He looked every inch the untouchable boss.
He didn’t look up.
“Morning,” I said, voice steadier than I felt.
A beat. Then: “Morning.”
That was it. No eye contact. No smirk. No nothing.
I slid onto a stool across the island, close enough that our knees could’ve brushed if he’d turned. He didn’t. Maria set a plate in front of me—eggs, toast, fruit—then one for him. He thanked her quietly and started eating standing up. Like he was already halfway out the door.
The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable.
I picked at my food. “About last night—”
“We’re not talking about it.” His tone was flat. Final.
I stared at his profile. The muscle in his jaw ticked once. “You kissed me, Dante. Twice.”
He set his fork down. Hard. “I know what I did.”
“And?”
“And it was a mistake.” He finally looked at me—gray eyes cold, shuttered. “You were hurt. Adrenaline. Shock. I took advantage.”
I laughed, short and bitter. “You didn’t take anything I didn’t give.”
He flinched—just barely. Then the mask snapped back. “Doesn’t matter. It can’t happen again.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m your guardian. Because your father trusted me to protect you, not—” He stopped, exhaled sharply through his nose. “Not this.”
“Not want you?” I finished for him.
His gaze flicked to my mouth for half a second—then away. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what? Say the truth?”
He pushed off the counter, plate half-eaten. “I have meetings. Rossi hit was no accident. They’re testing us. I need to handle it.”
“So you’re just going to avoid me now? Pretend it didn’t happen?”
He paused at the doorway, back still to me. “I’m going to do my job. Keep you safe. That’s all that matters.”
I stood up so fast the stool scraped. “That’s bullshit, Dante. You don’t get to kiss me like the world’s ending and then act like I’m just… a responsibility.”
He turned then. Slow. Dangerous.
His eyes were storm-dark. “You think I want this?” Voice low, rough. “You think I haven’t spent years fighting it? Telling myself you’re off-limits? That you’re family? That touching you would make me no better than the animals who killed your father?”
The words hit like bullets. I swallowed hard.
“I’m trying to do the right thing,” he said quieter. “For once.”
Then he walked out.
I heard the front door open, the low rumble of his voice giving orders to Marco, the SUV starting up outside. Tires crunched over the driveway. Gone.
Maria touched my shoulder gently. “Give him time, Liliana. He’s… complicated.”
I sank back onto the stool. The cinnamon roll looked suddenly unappetizing.
The rest of the morning dragged. I wandered the house like a ghost—library, indoor pool, the formal sitting room with its velvet sofas and priceless art. Everything reminded me of him. Of last night. Of the way his hands had shaken when he pulled away.
Around noon, the doorbell chimed. Maria answered, and seconds later Sophia burst into the foyer like a whirlwind, coat still on, cheeks flushed from the cold.
“Lil! Oh my God, are you okay?” She threw her arms around me, hugging tight. “I’ve been texting you since last night. The club—shots, chaos, you disappeared. I thought—”
“I’m fine,” I said, hugging her back. “Just a scratch. Dante got me out.”
She pulled back, eyes wide. “Dante? The brooding king himself showed up? I saw him storm in like some action movie hero. Scary hot.”
I managed a weak laugh. “Yeah. Scary hot about sums it up.”
We ended up in the main living room—floor-to-ceiling windows, plush sectional, fireplace crackling low. Sophia kicked off her boots, curled up beside me, and fixed me with that look. The one that said she knew me better than I knew myself.
“Spill. What happened after he dragged you out? You look… wrecked. In a good way? Bad way? Both?”
I hesitated. Then it all came out—quiet, halting. The car ride. His hand on my knee. The almost-kiss. The full kiss in his bathroom. The way he’d claimed my mouth like he’d been dying for it. And this morning: the cold avoidance. The “mistake.”
Sophia’s eyes got bigger with every word.
When I finished, she was silent for a long beat.
“Okay,” she said slowly. “First: holy shit. Second: that’s… intense. Third: Lil, it’s wrong. Like, epically wrong. He’s basically your brother. He raised you after your dad died. Guardian, big brother figure—whatever you call it, that’s family. Crossing that line? It’s messed up.”
I stared at the fire. “I know.”
“Do you?” She leaned in. “Because the way you’re talking… you don’t sound sorry. You sound like you want more.”
I closed my eyes. “I do. God help me, I do.”
Sophia sighed, rubbing her temples. “You’re in deep. And he’s… Dante. The man who scares grown men for a living. If he’s fighting it this hard, it’s because he knows how dangerous this is. Not just morally. In his world, love is leverage. Enemies will use it.”
“I know all that,” I whispered. “But I can’t just switch it off.”
She studied me. “Are you sure you’re not just… rebelling? Against the rules, the protection, the cage? Maybe he’s the ultimate rebellion.”
“Maybe.” I shrugged. “But it doesn’t feel like that. It feels real. Terrifyingly real.”
Sophia reached over, squeezed my hand. “Then what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. Push? Wait? Pretend?”
She snorted. “Pretending hasn’t worked for either of you so far.”
We sat in silence for a minute. Then she pulled out her phone, scrolling absently.
“Oh, wait—speaking of relationships…” She frowned, thumbing faster. “Have you checked Insta today?”
I shook my head. “Phone’s been on silent. Why?”
She bit her lip. “Because, girl… you might want to see this.”
She turned the screen toward me.
There it was: a story from my supposed boyfriend—Ethan, the guy I’d been casually seeing at college for the last six months. We weren’t official-official, but we’d talked about it. Dates, late nights, promises of “figuring it out” after graduation.
The photo: him on a rooftop bar, city lights sparkling behind, arm slung casually around a stunning blonde model-type. Her head thrown back laughing, his smile wide and easy. Caption: “Nights like this 🔥”
Posted two hours ago.
My stomach dropped.
Sophia watched my face. “Lil…”
I stared at the screen. The image burned into my retinas.
“Relationship what, girl?” she said softly. “You haven’t checked Insta. Your supposed boyfriend is hanging out with a model.”
The room spun a little.
I handed the phone back, voice barely above a whisper.
“Yeah. Apparently I do.”