Chapter 23: Valentina

Chapter 23: Connections

Valentina's POV

The city lights blurred past as I rode in the back of a cab, my mind tangled in thoughts I didn't want to face.

Leon's abrupt change in mood gnawed at me. He had been warm, affectionate—until I asked him to be gentle. That was when something shifted. He hadn't been angry, not exactly. But there was something else behind his reaction. Restraint. Frustration. A coldness that hadn't been there moments before.

And I had a sinking feeling I knew why.

He thinks there's something between me and Dante.

The idea sent a rush of conflicting emotions through me. Guilt, because maybe there was. Confusion, because I didn't know what to do about it. Fear, because acknowledging it meant stepping into dangerous territory.

If Leon thought that, it meant my relationship with Dante wasn't as subtle as I had convinced myself it was. It meant other people—outsiders—could see the tension between us. The electricity that crackled whenever we were in the same room. The way my body responded to him even when my mind screamed to maintain distance.

And worst of all… it meant I had to choose.

I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my fingers to my temple where a dull ache had formed. The cab driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror, then mercifully returned his attention to the road.

If I chose Leon, I would have to draw a clear boundary between me and Dante. No more lingering glances, no more whispered words, no more stolen moments that left my skin burning. I would have to move through the house like a ghost, avoiding the one person who made me feel alive.

But if I chose Dante…

No.

That wasn't an option.

It was forbidden. It was dangerous. It was something that could never happen. We were step-siblings. Our parents were married. The complications would be endless.

Right?

I let out a shaky breath, my head pounding. Logic and desire waged war inside me, and I didn't know which would win. Maybe neither should. Maybe what I needed was time away. Space to clear my head, to stop thinking about Dante every second of the day.

As if the universe had heard my plea, my phone buzzed in my lap. I glanced down, expecting Leon, but instead saw Sheila's name.

Sheila: I need to get out of my place for a while. Just broke up with Matt. Can you stay with me for a bit?

I stared at the message for a long moment. Sheila had been one of my closest friends since college. She was sharp, independent, and had no patience for bullshit—especially when it came to men. Her apartment was across town, far from the Marino mansion and all its complications.

If anyone could help me get my head on straight, it was her.

Me: I'll be there tomorrow.

I ignored the pang of guilt that surfaced at the thought of leaving. It wasn't like I was running away.

I was just… pressing pause.

The next morning, I packed my things.

I didn't have much—just a few suitcases filled with clothes, my laptop, and personal items. I had lived in my stepfather's house for months, but it had never truly felt like home. The high ceilings and marble floors were too cold, too impersonal. The only warmth came from moments I didn't want to think about: Dante preparing a bath when I was sick, cooking soup for me, carrying me to bed.

Maybe that was the problem.

Maybe I had been holding onto a life that wasn't really mine, trying to fit myself into spaces that were never meant for me.

I was halfway through loading my bags into the car when I heard the deep, unmistakable roar of a motorcycle engine. The sound reverberated through me, familiar and foreboding at once.

My stomach clenched.

I turned just as Dante pulled up, his black helmet gleaming under the afternoon sun. The motorcycle—sleek, powerful, dangerously attractive, just like its owner—came to a stop at the edge of the driveway. Behind him, another car rolled to a stop, and my heart nearly stopped when Matteo—his uncle—stepped out.

Dante swung his leg off the bike, pulling off his helmet. His dark hair was tousled, his jaw set in a hard line. His gaze swept over my suitcases, his jaw tightening further. Even from this distance, I could see the storm brewing in his gray eyes.

"What the hell is this?" he demanded, closing the distance between us in long, purposeful strides.

I lifted my chin, refusing to be intimidated. "I'm moving out."

His expression darkened. "No, you're not."

A muscle in my jaw twitched. "I am, Dante. I need space."

He took a slow step forward, bringing with him the scent of leather and sandalwood. "Space from who?"

I swallowed hard, fighting the impulse to step back. "From you."

His eyes flashed with something unreadable—hurt, anger, possession. I couldn't tell which was stronger. His hands clenched at his sides, the tattooed skin over his knuckles pulling taut.

Matteo, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. "Dante, give the girl some air. If she wants to move, let her." His voice was calm, reasonable—a stark contrast to the tension radiating from Dante.

Dante didn't even glance at him. His focus was entirely on me, intense and unwavering.

"This is because of him, isn't it?" His voice was low, dangerous.

I stiffened, hating how perceptive he could be. "It has nothing to do with Leon."

"Bullshit."

I crossed my arms, using them as a shield between us. "I don't owe you an explanation."

Dante let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. "Fine. You want to leave? Go ahead. But don't expect me to pretend I don't give a damn."

I bit my lip, forcing myself to stay strong even as his words hit their mark. "I don't expect anything from you, Dante."

His gaze locked onto mine, and for a moment, the world fell away. Just him and me and the unspoken things between us. The pull was almost magnetic, making my resolve waver.

Then, he turned on his heel, storming off toward Matteo's car.

I exhaled, my shoulders sagging. That was harder than I expected. Harder than it should have been if I truly didn't care. The ache in my chest betrayed feelings I wasn't ready to confront.

Sheila's voice cut through the tension.

"Are you going to stand there all day, or are you going to help me with these bags?"

I turned to see her leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, watching the scene with interest. She looked the same as always—confident, slightly sardonic, with her dark hair pulled back in a messy bun and her signature red lipstick perfectly applied.

"Sorry," I muttered, grabbing another suitcase and moving toward her.

Sheila's eyes flickered past me to where Matteo stood, and something strange happened.

She went pale.

I had no idea what was happening, but I could feel the tension crackling in the air, thick enough to choke on. The world seemed to narrow to just the two of them, locked in a moment I couldn't understand.