Chapter 93 #93
Chapter 93
~Shailyn's POV~
"So, Dad," Tyler says, his voice carefully controlled. "What brings you here? Specifically."
Gramps, I still can't believe this is Dante's grandfather, sets down his coffee cup. "Can't a man visit his family during the holidays?"
"You never visit during the holidays."
"Well, I'm here now." He looks around the room. "I also wanted to check on the project presentation between Dwayne and Dante."
Tyler's shoulders stiffen. "The project is going well."
"Is it?"
"Yes. We're on schedule. The review is set for the 28th, but because of the holidays, we've pushed it to after New Year."
"After New Year?" Gramps's eyebrows raise. "That seems unnecessarily delayed."
"It's just a few days, Dad."
"A few days can make all the difference in business. Besides it's a tough competition." He sets his cup down with a sharp clink. "I'm extending the deadline to February."
"February?" Tyler's voice rises. "That's more than a month away."
"Exactly. It gives you time to ensure everything is perfect. No rushing. No mistakes."
"We don't need that much time."
"I disagree. February it is."
Dante leans forward. "Gramps, that's going to throw off the entire timeline."
"Then adjust the timeline."
"It's not that simple."
"Make it simple." His tone leaves no room for argument. "This is a Belmar project. It will be done right, or not at all."
The room falls silent.
"Of course," Tyler says finally. "February."
"Good." Gramps stands. "Now, which room am I staying in?"
"Staying?" Cynthia's voice is faint.
"Of course. I'm not driving back tonight. The roads are terrible."
"I'll have Rosa prepare the guest room," Tyler says, his voice hollow.
"The one on the second floor. The one with the view."
"That room is…"
"Available, I presume?"
Tyler nods slowly. "Yes. It's available."
"Excellent. I'll go freshen up. We can continue catching up at dinner." He looks at me. "Shailyn, it was lovely meeting you. We'll talk more later."
"Yes, sir."
He leaves, and the moment he's gone, everyone seems to exhale.
"Well," Monica says. "That was intense."
"Monica," Cynthia warns.
"What? It was." Monica says
"He has that authority," Tyler says quietly.
"But why?" Dwayne asks. "Why extend it that much?"
"I don't know."
I look at Dante. "Is he always like this?"
"Like what?"
"Commanding. Intimidating."
"You've never met Gramps before."
"I haven't?"
"No. He lives overseas. He rarely visits."
"Then why is he here now?"
Dante shrugs. "I have no idea. But I don't like it."
Dwayne stands abruptly. "I'm going to my room." He leaves, giving me a glance.
"I should check on the guest room," Cynthia says, following him out.
Monica stands too. "I'm going to call Jack. See how he's doing."
"Monica—" Tyler starts.
"What? He's my boyfriend. I want to talk to him."
She disappears upstairs, leaving me, Dante, and Tyler in the living room. Tyler wheeled himself out too after few minutes. But before he could go, Dante stopped him.
"Dad," Dante says. "What's really going on?"
"Nothing."
"Don't lie to me. Everyone's acting like Gramps is some kind of threat."
"He's not a threat. He's just... has something to settle."
He leaves before Dante can argue.
I turn to Dante. "Okay, seriously. What is happening?"
"I don't know."
"Everyone's walking on eggshells."
"Gramps has that effect on people."
"Why?"
"Because he's..." Dante pauses. "He's complicated. Powerful. He built this entire empire from nothing."
"That doesn't explain why everyone's terrified of him."
"They're not terrified. They're cautious."
"Dante."
He sighs. "Look, Gramps is... he's not a warm person. He's calculating. Strategic. Everything he does has a purpose."
"So why is he here?"
"I honestly don't know."
"Careful of what?"
"Of getting in his way."
The rest of the day drags. Gramps stays in his room, and everyone tiptoes around the house like they're afraid to make noise.
Dinner is tense and quiet. Gramps asks polite questions about everyone's lives, but there's something sharp beneath every word.
By the time I get to bed, I'm exhausted.
My phone buzzes. A text from Dwayne: Did you like the journal?
I almost didn't want to reply. I said I was going to keep my distance. I stare at it for a moment before typing back: I loved it. It was incredibly thoughtful.
Dwayne: Good. I wanted to give you something meaningful.
Shailyn: You succeeded.
Dwayne: I got you a journal because I thought you might want to document everything. Your thoughts, your feelings, the pregnancy.
Shailyn: That's sweet.
Dwayne: And you got me one too. Great minds think alike.
Shailyn: I guess so.
Dwayne: I really do love it, Shailyn. I'll treasure it.
My heart does that stupid flutter again. I'm glad. I typed back.
Dwayne: Goodnight. Sleep well.
Shailyn: You too.
I set the phone down and lie back against the pillows.
Dante's already asleep beside me, snoring softly.
I close my eyes, trying to quiet my racing thoughts.
But sleep doesn't come easily.
When it finally does, it's not peaceful.
I'm standing in a dark hallway. The walls are closing in. I can hear voices, angry and sharp, but I can't make out the words.
Suddenly, a hand started choking my neck tightly. The face came into view.
Dante?
He slammed me against the wall hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs, his fingers tightening around my windpipe in a grip that was practiced, calculated, not enough to kill me, but close. So terrifyingly close.
"You think I'm dumb?" he hissed, his face inches from mine. "You think I don't see what's happening here?"
I clawed at his hand, gasping for air, trying to form words that wouldn't come.
"Stay. Away. From. Dwayne." Each word was punctuated by increased pressure. "Do you understand me? Stay the fuck away from my brother, or I swear to God, Shailyn…"
He released my throat just enough for me to suck in a desperate breath, my vision swimming with spots.
"I didn't…" I choked out. "Nothing happened…"
"I don't care!" He slammed me against the wall again. "I don't care if nothing happened. I don't care if he just looked at you wrong. You stay away from him. You don't talk to him. You don't even look at him. Do you understand?"
I nodded frantically, tears streaming down my face. Not from sadness, from pure, primal fear.
Finally, mercifully, he let go. I collapsed against the wall, one hand at my bruised throat, the other braced against the plaster to keep myself upright.
But Dante wasn't done.
Before I could catch my breath, his mouth was on mine, brutal, possessive, punishing. He kissed me like he was trying to consume me, to remind me who I belonged to. His hands were everywhere, in my hair, on my waist, grabbing at my clothes.
"Dante, stop—" I tried to push him away, but he was so much stronger.
"You're mine," he growled against my lips. "You're mine, Shailyn. Mine."
“No, no….please….”
And wake up gasping, my hands flying to my throat.