Chapter 50 The Glass Wall
I didn't go to my room.
My room felt like a cage. It was the place where they put the "guest" so the adults could talk business.
Instead, I went to the library.
It was the only room in the fortress that felt like mine. It was cold, and the fire in the hearth had burned down to embers, but I didn't care. I walked to the window and looked out at the courtyard.
Outside, the wind was howling through the canyon. It rattled the glass in the panes. Below, the guards were patrolling the perimeter, their flashlights cutting through the darkness.
They were looking for Rinaldi's men. They were looking for threats from the outside.
They didn't know the real threat was sitting in the dining room, drinking vintage wine and wearing a green silk dress.
I pressed my forehead against the cold glass. My reflection stared back at me, ghostly, pale, and small.
I thought about the numbers in my head. 04-21-88-12.
I had almost done it. Walking up the stairs, I had almost marched into Dante’s study and thrown the sequence at him like a grenade. I had almost shouted, “Here is the money! Now tell her to leave!”
But I had stopped.
Because if I gave him the money, what would I be?
I wouldn't be his partner. I would be his financier. I would be just another transaction, another person buying a piece of the Great Dante Caravelli.
I needed to know if he would choose me. I needed to know if he would fight for me when I had nothing to offer but myself.
"You look like a tragic painting," a voice said from the doorway.
I stiffened. I didn't turn around immediately. I took a breath, steeling myself, before I faced her.
Lucrezia was standing there.
She had a glass of brandy in her hand. She leaned against the heavy oak door frame with a casual elegance that made me want to scream. She looked like she belonged here. She matched the dark wood and the leather and the smell of old money.
"The library," she said, looking around with a faint sneer. "Dante used to hide in here when we were children. He always preferred books to people."
She walked into the room. Her heels clicked on the hardwood floor. It was a sharp, predatory sound.
"What do you want?" I asked. My voice was steady, but my heart was racing.
"I wanted to see where you retreat to when you are beaten," she said. She stopped a few feet away from me. She took a sip of her brandy. "Most women run to the bedroom to cry. You run to the books. That is... interesting."
"I'm not beaten," I said.
Lucrezia laughed softly. "Oh, cara. You were beaten the moment my car drove through the gates. You just haven't realised it yet."
She walked over to the desk, Dante's desk, and ran a manicured finger along the edge.
"You think you know him," she said. It wasn't a question. "You think because you have played house for a few weeks, because you have shared a bed, that you understand who he is."
"I know he is a good man," I said. "I know he doesn't want to be a monster."
Lucrezia turned to me. Her green eyes flashed.
"He is a monster, Lilith. That is what you don't understand. We are all monsters. We have to be."
She took a step closer. The smell of lilies and expensive alcohol washed over me.
"Do you know what he did to the man who killed his late brother?" she asked quietly. "Do you know what he did to the Moretti family in '98?"
I stayed silent. I didn't know.
"He burned them," she whispered. "He locked the doors of their warehouse and he burned it to the ground. He stood outside and listened to them scream. He was twenty-two years old."
I felt a chill go down my spine. I thought of the Dante who planted herbs in the garden. I thought of the Dante who read bedtime stories to Jasmine.
"People change," I said.
"No," Lucrezia said. "They don't. They just learn to wear better masks."
She swirled the amber liquid in her glass.
"I know his mask, Lilith. But I also know the face underneath. I saw him when he was covered in blood. I saw him when he was broken. I was there. Where were you?"
"I was surviving my own hell," I said.
"Your hell is a kindergarten compared to ours," she spat. The veneer of politeness cracked for a second.
"You are a tourist. You are here because he feels guilty. You are here because he needs to feel like he is saving someone."
She leaned in, her face inches from mine.
"But he can't save you. Because to save this family, he has to marry me. He has to merge our bloodlines. It is the only way he survives the winter."
She pulled back and smiled. It was a cruel, pitying smile.
"Enjoy your books, little girl. Read your stories. Because in the real world, the Prince marries the Princess. He doesn't marry the peasant."
She turned and walked out of the room.
I stood there, shaking.
I wanted to chase after her. I wanted to scream that I held the key to fifty million dollars in my head. I wanted to tell her that I could buy and sell her "alliance" ten times over.
But I forced myself to stay still.
The Prince marries the Princess.
If I gave him the money, I was just buying a ticket to the wedding. I was just making it easier for him.
The door opened again.
I expected her to come back to twist the knife. But it wasn't her.
It was Dante.
He looked exhausted. His tie was gone. His top button was undone. He rubbed his face with his hand as he walked in.
"I thought you would be asleep," he said.
"Lucrezia was here," I said.
Dante stopped. His hand fell to his side. "What did she say to you?"
"She told me you were a monster," I said. "She told me you burned people alive."
Dante didn't deny it. He didn't flinch. He just looked at me with those tired, stormy grey eyes.
"She is trying to scare you," he said.
"Is it true?"
"It was a war," Dante said. His voice was hollow. "It was a long time ago. I did what I had to do."
He walked over to the window. He stood next to me, looking out at the dark courtyard. He didn't touch me. There was a distance between us now, a glass wall that Lucrezia had built brick by brick.
"Are you going to marry her?" I asked.
The question hung in the air.
Dante sighed. It was a heavy sound, like a weight settling on his shoulders.
"Rinaldi has cut off the southern supply route," he said. "We are running out of ammunition. The men are getting nervous. If I don't secure a new alliance soon, the fortress will fall."
"That isn't an answer," I said.
"It is the only answer I have," Dante said. He turned to look at me. "I don't want to marry her, Lilith. You know that. But I am responsible for two hundred lives in this compound. I am responsible for Jasmine. I am responsible for you."
"I can take care of myself," I said.
"No, you can't," he said gently. "Not against men like Rinaldi. Not against women like Lucrezia."
He reached out. He brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers were warm, but the touch felt like a goodbye.
"I have to do whatever it takes to keep this place standing," he said. "Even if I hate it."
I looked up at him. I saw the conflict in his eyes. I saw the trap he was in.
And I felt the numbers burning in my mind.
I could end this right now. I could give him the code. I could tell him about the Zurich account. I could set him free.
I opened my mouth. The words were on my tongue.
I can save you.
But then I looked at his face. I saw the resignation. I saw the duty etched into his features.
If I gave him the money, he would take it. He would use it. He would win the war.
But would he choose me?
Or would he take the money, thank me for my service, and then marry Lucrezia anyway because it was "good politics"? Would he take the money and then send me away because I was still just a liability, just a target?
If I gave him the leverage, I lost my only insurance policy.
I closed my mouth.
"I understand," I said softly.
Dante looked at me, surprised. He had expected a fight. He had expected tears.
"You do?"
"Yes," I lied. "I understand that you have to do what is best for the family."
I stepped back, away from his touch. I needed to put distance between us. I needed to be cold, because if I was warm, I would break.
"Go to sleep, Dante," I said. "You have a big day tomorrow. You have a war to plan."
He watched me for a long moment. He looked like he wanted to say something else. He looked like he wanted to pull me into his arms and tell me that Lucrezia meant nothing.
But he didn't.
"Goodnight, Lilith," he said.
He turned and walked out of the library.
I listened to his footsteps fade down the hall. I waited until I was sure he was gone.
Then I walked over to the bookshelf. I pulled out a thick, leather-bound volume of poetry. I opened it to the middle.
I took a small scrap of paper from my pocket.
I wrote the numbers down.
04-21-88-12.
I tucked the paper deep inside the book, between the pages. I slid the book back onto the shelf.
I wasn't going to give him the code. Not yet.
He was right about one thing. It was a war.
And in a war, you never give up your weapon until you are sure who the enemy is.
I walked to the door. I cast one last look at the empty room.
Lucrezia thought I was a tourist. Dante thought I was a victim.
They were both wrong.
I was a gambler. And I was going to hold my cards until the very end.