Chapter 20 20

Chapter 20 20


The Romano estate in the hills of Sicily was a masterpiece of cold marble and silent corridors.

Every footstep Elena took on the polished marble floors echoed with a hollow, lonely thud, a constant reminder that she was being watched by the tiny glass eyes of the cameras tucked into the ornate ceiling molding.

She had been in Sicily for three days, and the silence was starting to make her ears ring.

She stood by the window of her bedroom watching the sun dip below the horizon. The sky was a not bright with a mild colour.

“I wonder how Salvatore is coping” She muttered silently to herself

Her heart twisted in her chest with an ache that made it hard to draw a full breath. She didn’t even know if he was still alive. Every time she asked a guard or a passing maid, they just looked through her as if she were a ghost.

A soft knock at the door made her jump, sending her pulse spiking in her throat.

"Dinner is served, Elena."

Without waiting for an invite Dante pushed the door open. He stepped inside, looking disgustingly composed in a charcoal cashmere sweater. His eyes were shining brown with a strong jawline. Even in the cashmere sweater his strong muscular body stood firm.

"I'm not hungry," Elena said, her voice sounding thin and brittle.

"You need to eat," Dante replied, in a soft cozy voice. "Starving yourself is a boring form of rebellion, Elena. It doesn't hurt me and it only makes you weak. And I have no use for a weak wife. I prefer my assets to be functional."

He led her down the grand staircase to the dining room. In the centre of the room stood the dinning table. The table was an absurd length, set with candle lights that gleamed. It was just the two of them and the heavy, suffocating presence of Dante's eyes.

For a long time, the only sound was the click of cutlery against silverware. Elena stared at the fork on her plate, but the smell of the lemon and capers made her stomach turn. She looked at the wine in her glass instead. It was a deep, dark red.

"Where is he, Dante?" she asked, her voice trembling not able to take it anymore. "Please, I just want to know if he's alive. Just tell me he’s alive. Give me that much."

Dante wiped his mouth with a linen napkin, his movements slow and deliberate. "Salvatore is being looked after. He’s in a facility that specializes in spinal trauma. He’s safe, Elena. Did that answer your question? You'd better start eating.”

"I want to see him. I have a right to see him."

"No." Dante stumped his hand on the dinning table his eyes fierce. "You are a distraction to him. You’re the reason he’s almost dead, Elena. I’m doing you both a favor."

"You’re a monster," she whispered, her hands shaking so hard she had to hide them in her lap.

Dante didn't flinch. Instead a small chilling upturn of his lips that didn't reach his eyes surfaced. "I'm a realist, Elena not a romantist—if there's a word like that.

“Salvatore is romantic, and look where it got him now, Elena. And you’re soon to be mine. It’s time you stopped looking backward at a dead man and started looking at the man who actually holds your leash."

He pushed a glass of wine toward her. "Drink. It’ll help your nerves. You’ve been pacing the floors until three in the morning every night. I literally hear the floorboards groaning through the vents. It's distracting."

Elena hesitated. Her throat felt like it was lined with sandpaper probably from days of silent crying. She reached out, her fingers brushing the cool crystal, and took a long, deep swallow that tasted of oak and dark cherries as it slid down her throat

"Why tell me all this?" she asked, feeling a strange, sudden warmth beginning to spread through her limbs. "Why be so honest about how much you despise him?"

"Because you're a journalist," Dante said, his voice starting to sound a bit fuzzy. "You value the truth, don't you? The truth is, I don't despise Salvatore. I just don't value him. He’s a beautiful, broken thing. And you... you’re the prize he wasn't strong enough to keep. I'm just correcting the record."

Elena tried to respond, to tell him how much she hated the sound of his voice, but her tongue felt heavy and thick, like a piece of lead in her mouth. The candlelight began to dance and stretch, the shadows on the wall turning into long, reaching fingers that seemed to pull at her clothes. She tried to stand up, to run for the door, but her knees felt heavily paralysed.

“Elena—-”

Dante was there in a heartbeat, catching her before her head hit the table. His hands were remarkably steady and his grip firm on her shoulders.

"Shh," he whispered into her hair.
"It’s okay.

“I get it, everywhere's too loud for you right now, Elena. You've been carrying too much. But remember, I'm right here."

"You... you drugged me..." she gasped, her vision fading into a hazy, suffocating gray.

"I gave you peace," Dante corrected softly, his voice the only thing left in her world. He lifted her easily, as if she weighed nothing at all, cradling her against his chest.

"While you sleep, you'll surely feel fine. Salvatore is being moved to a private clinic in the Alps tonight. By the time you wake up, he’ll be gone. Far away. Just a memory of a boy you used to know."

“There was no other way to do it.”

Elena wanted to scream, to scratch his eyes out, to reach for the steak knife on the table—anything to stop the encroaching blackness.

But her body had already checked out. Her fingers felt numb, her breathing slowing to a crawl. As Dante carried her up the stairs, the last thing she saw was the flicker of the fireplace in the hall, the flames licking at the wood just like the fire at the gala.

She was alone in the silent house, and the man who held her was never going to let her see the light again.

"Goodnight, Elena," Dante whispered as he laid her on the bed. "Welcome to the family."

The darkness finally swallowed her whole, leaving nothing but the sound of her own fading heartbeat.

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