07

I stood frozen, my pulse pounding in my ears.

Dante’s words echoed in the air between us. “You’re staying with me.”

The sheer authority in his voice sent a rush of frustration through me, but beneath that was something else—something I wasn’t willing to name.

“No,” I finally said, shaking my head. “I don’t need your protection.”

Dante’s jaw tightened, his expression unreadable. “That’s not your decision to make.”

“Excuse me?” I snapped, stepping forward. “You don’t get to dictate where I sleep, Dante.”

His eyes darkened, and for a moment, I thought he might lash out. Instead, he exhaled sharply, his hands bracing against his desk as he leaned in. “You were threatened, Olivia. That wasn’t a prank call. It was a warning.”

“I know,” I admitted, wrapping my arms around myself. “But running to your penthouse isn’t going to solve anything.”

Dante’s gaze flickered, his head tilting slightly as he studied me. “You think this is about where you sleep?”

I swallowed hard. “Isn’t it?”

“No,” he said simply. “It’s about control. Right now, someone else thinks they have control over you. That they can make you afraid, make you stop looking for answers.”

I held his gaze, trying not to let his words sink in too deeply. But they did.

“So what do we do?” I asked, my voice quieter now.

Dante straightened, reaching for his phone. “First, you come with me. Second, we find out who’s behind this and make sure they regret ever thinking they could intimidate you.”

I hesitated. Every instinct in me screamed not to trust him. Not to let him pull me deeper into his world.

But I wasn’t naive enough to believe I could do this alone.

“Fine,” I said. “But this doesn’t mean I trust you.”

Dante smirked. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Thirty minutes later, I was stepping into Dante’s penthouse, and it was exactly what I imagined—luxurious, sleek, and utterly impersonal.

Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city skyline, and the minimalist décor made it clear that Dante didn’t do excess—unless it was in power.

“You live like a villain in a movie,” I muttered, glancing at the stark black and gray tones.

Dante chuckled, locking the door behind us. “I take that as a compliment.”

I ignored him, setting my bag down and crossing my arms. “So what now? Do I get a security detail? A tracking device?”

His smirk faded. “I already have security stationed outside. No one is getting near you without me knowing.”

His certainty should have reassured me. Instead, it made my skin prickle.

“I don’t like feeling like I’m being handled,” I muttered.

Dante stepped closer, and the air between us shifted. “And I don’t like the thought of someone hurting you.”

I looked up at him, my breath catching for just a second before I forced myself to step back.

“Just tell me what the next move is.”

Dante’s jaw clenched, but he nodded. “We track the number that called you. Whoever it is, they made a mistake reaching out directly.”

“And when we find them?”

His eyes darkened. “Then we make them talk.”

Despite everything, exhaustion caught up to me. Dante had given me the guest room—if you could call it that. The space was bigger than my entire apartment, with floor-length curtains, plush bedding, and a view that overlooked the city.

I should have felt safe. But I didn’t.

I tossed and turned, every creak of the building making me flinch.

Then, at 2 a.m., my phone buzzed.

My heart leaped into my throat as I grabbed it, expecting another anonymous threat. But when I saw the name on the screen, my stomach twisted for an entirely different reason.

Dad.

I hesitated before answering.

“Hello?”

There was silence on the other end, then a shaky breath.

“Olivia,” my father’s voice came through, hoarse and strained. “You need to stop looking into this.”

I sat up straight. “Dad, where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you.”

“I can’t talk for long,” he said quickly. “Just listen to me. Stay away from Dante. Stop digging. It’s not safe.”

I gripped the sheets. “Dad, what’s going on? Who is Marcello Ferrara?”

Another silence. Then, he said something that made my blood run cold.

“I should have never trusted him.”

A lump formed in my throat. “Trusted who?”

But the line went dead.

I barely had time to process what had just happened before there was a knock at my door.

I jumped, clutching the phone to my chest. “Who is it?”

“Me.” Dante’s voice was low, but firm.

I exhaled, rubbing my temples before walking over and opening the door. He took one look at me and frowned. “What happened?”

I hesitated. For some reason, I didn’t want to tell him. Maybe because a part of me was afraid that whatever my father had meant by I should have never trusted him…

He was talking about Dante.

“I just…” I swallowed. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Dante didn’t look convinced. His gaze swept over me, searching, but he didn’t push. Instead, he reached for the doorframe, leaning against it.

“I’ll be up for a while,” he said. “If you need anything.”

I nodded, stepping back inside. But before I could close the door, Dante’s voice stopped me.

“Olivia.”

I looked up.

“You’re not alone in this,” he said quietly. “No matter what happens, you’re not alone.”

For a moment, I let myself believe him.

But as I lay back in bed, my father’s voice echoed in my head.

I should have never trusted him.

And I realized…

I didn’t know if he was talking about Ferrara.

Or Dante.