Chapter 5: Dante And Valentina

Dante’s POV

For the first time in years, I let myself entertain a dangerous thought.

What if my mother was still alive?

The possibility crept in like a thief in the night, stealing my focus and unraveling every belief I had cemented since her death. For years, her absence had been a void I couldn’t fill, a scar I didn’t let anyone touch. And now, with these offshore accounts moving money under her name, the thought of her alive and hiding somewhere felt both impossible and achingly real.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Matteo said, his tone wary. He sat behind his desk, his sharp eyes fixed on me as if trying to read the chaos swirling in my head.

I leaned forward, gripping the edge of the desk. “Could she be alive?” I asked, my voice low, almost desperate.

Matteo’s expression softened briefly, but then he shook his head. “No, Dante. She’s gone. You and I both know that.”

“How can you be so sure?” I demanded. “Those accounts—they’ve been active for 18 years. Money doesn’t just move itself. Someone’s pulling the strings, and if it’s not her—”

“It’s not,” Matteo cut in, his voice firm. “Your mother’s dead. I was there, remember? At the funeral. At your father’s side. I saw what it did to you.”

His words hit me like a slap, but I didn’t back down. “Then who the hell is using her name?”

Matteo leaned back in his chair, running a hand over his face. “That’s the question, isn’t it? Whoever it is, they’re using her legacy to do something big. And if your father’s involved—”

“You think he’s behind this?” I asked, my voice sharp.

Matteo gave me a long look before answering. “It wouldn’t surprise me. The accounts are too well-hidden, too connected to big money laundering operations. If I had to guess, your father’s working with someone high up—maybe even in the government.”

The idea of Lorenzo colluding with the same system he’d always claimed to despise wasn’t far-fetched. Hypocrisy ran through his veins like blood.

Matteo’s voice softened. “Look, kid, I get it. You want answers about your mom, and you’re hoping this is a breadcrumb trail that leads to her. But you need to think bigger. This isn’t just about her anymore. If your father’s involved, this could blow up into something a hell of a lot more dangerous.”

I stared at him, my chest tightening. “What if she found out?”

“What do you mean?” Matteo asked, his brows furrowed.

“What if my mother found out what he was doing?” I said, the thought spilling out before I could stop it. “If she discovered he was using these accounts for something illegal—if she confronted him about it—”

“Then it’s possible it got her killed,” Matteo finished, his tone grim.

The words hung in the air, suffocating. My mind raced, piecing together fragments of memories I’d buried long ago. The arguments I’d overheard between them, the way my mother’s voice would rise in anger before falling silent. The days she’d spend locked in her room, her face pale and drawn.

Had she been fighting him? Fighting for us?

Or had she simply stumbled too close to a truth she wasn’t supposed to know?

Matteo’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. “If you want answers, you know what you have to do.”

I looked at him, my stomach knotting. “Go back.”

He nodded. “You hate that house. I get it. But that’s where the truth is. If your father’s behind this, the evidence is there. And if someone else is pulling the strings, you’ll only find out by playing the game.”

I leaned back in the chair, running a hand through my hair. The idea of stepping foot in that house again made my skin crawl. Every corner of it was a reminder of what I’d lost, of the family that had been torn apart piece by piece.

But Matteo was right. If I wanted to uncover the truth—about the accounts, about my mother’s death, about whatever game my father was playing—I had no choice.

I clenched my fists, the decision settling heavily in my chest. “If I do this, I’m not going in blind,” I said. “I’ll dig, I’ll play along, but I’m not letting him pull my strings.”

Matteo smirked faintly, his approval clear. “Good. Just be careful, Dante. Your father’s not an idiot, and if he catches wind of what you’re doing…”

“He won’t,” I said firmly.

Matteo nodded, his expression serious. “And Dante? Watch your back. Your father’s not the only one you need to worry about.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“These accounts,” Matteo said, tapping the file on his desk. “They’re connected to more than just your family. Big names, big money. Whoever’s behind this isn’t going to sit quietly while you unravel their secrets.”

The weight of his words settled heavily on my shoulders.

I stood, grabbing the file and tucking it under my arm. “Thanks, Matteo.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he said. “Just don’t get yourself killed, kid.”

As I walked out of his office, the cool night air hit me like a wake-up call. The truth was waiting for me, buried in the house I’d sworn never to return to.

And if my father was hiding something, I was going to find it.

Even if it meant burning everything down.

Valentna’s POV

The air in the room seemed to crackle with tension after Dante stormed out. The sound of his boots echoing against the marble floor still rang in my ears, and the silence that followed was almost suffocating.

My stepfather’s jaw tightened as he watched the door swing shut behind his son. Lorenzo Marino was not a man used to being defied, and the faint twitch in his temple betrayed his barely restrained fury.

“I won’t tolerate disrespect,” Lorenzo said, his voice low but laced with venom. His dark eyes, usually so controlled, burned with rage. “If Dante refuses to fall in line, he’ll find himself cut off. No name, no protection, no power.”

My mother, who had been sitting quietly through most of the evening, reached out to touch Lorenzo’s arm. “Lorenzo, he’s your son. Give him time—”

“Time?” Lorenzo snapped, cutting her off. “He’s had years, Isabella. I gave him space to lick his wounds, to build whatever empire he wanted out there. Now he needs to decide if he’s with us or against us.”

The words sent a chill down my spine. For all of Lorenzo’s polished charm, there was a coldness to him that was impossible to ignore. And tonight, it was on full display.

I sipped the last of my champagne, letting the glass linger at my lips to hide the frown tugging at the corners of my mouth. Dante’s sudden departure had unsettled something in me, but I couldn’t quite place what it was.

Maybe it was the way he looked at Lorenzo, like he was weighing the consequences of every word spoken. Or the way his gray eyes had flashed with something raw and unrestrained when he looked at me.

Fear and longing. That’s what he’d seen in my eyes. And damn him, he was right.

“Valentina,” Lorenzo said sharply, pulling me from my thoughts.

I blinked, realizing he was staring at me. “Yes?”

“Make yourself useful,” he said, his tone curt. “Find out what Dante’s intentions are. He might talk to you more than he’ll talk to me.”

The request—or order—hung heavily between us. I nodded, masking my irritation. “Of course.”

Lorenzo’s gaze lingered on me for a moment before he turned back to my mother, who was now quietly murmuring words of appeasement in his ear.

I slipped away from the table, my mind racing.

—-

The hallway outside the dining room was dimly lit, the flickering wall sconces casting long shadows along the ornate walls. I leaned against the cool plaster, trying to steady my thoughts.

Dante’s presence had thrown everything off balance. His arrival, his defiance, the magnetic pull I felt every time he was near—it all gnawed at me, pulling threads I couldn’t afford to unravel.

And then there was Lorenzo.

For months, I’d convinced myself that marrying him had been a smart move for my mother, a necessary shift in our circumstances. He’d provided us with protection, stability, and a new life far from the nightmare my uncle had created.

But tonight, as I watched the cold precision in his eyes and heard the sharp edges of his words, doubt began to creep in.

Was Lorenzo really the savior I’d painted him to be? Or was he just another man willing to manipulate and control to get what he wanted?

And Dante… What game was he playing?

I reached the library and slipped inside, the scent of old books and polished wood immediately calming my frayed nerves.

Grabbing a leather-bound journal from the desk, I sank into one of the armchairs by the window. Outside, the night was still, the moonlight casting silver streaks across the manicured lawn.

I flipped open the journal and began to write, organizing my thoughts into neat columns:

Lorenzo Marino

· Ruthless, controlling, and obsessed with power.

· Threatened to cut ties with Dante if he didn’t fall in line.

· Hiding something? Possible financial troubles or secrets about Dante’s mother.

Dante Marino

· Defiant, unpredictable, dangerous and sexy.

Oh, wait, sexy? Oh my god, how can I be having sexual fantasies about my stepbrother?