08

Sleep never came.

My father’s words echoed in my mind: I should have never trusted him.

Who was he talking about? Marcello Ferrara? Dante? Someone else entirely?

Every instinct in me screamed that I was being played, but by who? I was surrounded by lies, and I didn’t know which ones to believe.

By the time the sun rose, I was already out of bed, pacing the massive guest room in Dante’s penthouse. I needed answers.

And I needed them now.

When I stepped into the kitchen, Dante was already there, dressed in a crisp black shirt, sleeves rolled up, looking completely unaffected by the chaos unfolding around us.

“You look like hell,” he noted, sipping his coffee.

I ignored the jab and walked straight to him. “We need to talk.”

He set his mug down, his expression unreadable. “I had a feeling you’d say that.”

I placed my phone on the counter, pulling up the call log. “My father called me last night.”

Dante’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. “What did he say?”

“That I need to stop digging. That I should stay away from you.” I watched him closely, looking for any sign of guilt, any hesitation. “And then he said something that I can’t get out of my head.”

Dante leaned forward slightly, waiting.

“I should have never trusted him.”

A slow, unreadable expression crossed Dante’s face. “And you think he meant me.”

I swallowed. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”

Dante exhaled through his nose, rubbing his jaw. “And what do you want me to say, Olivia? That I’m innocent? That your father is?”

“I want the truth,” I snapped. “For once, I want someone to just tell me the truth.”

Dante’s gaze locked onto mine, sharp and unyielding. “Then listen carefully—because I won’t say this again.”

I braced myself.

“Your father wasn’t innocent in all of this,” he said, his voice low but firm. “I don’t know how much he told you, but he wasn’t just some victim in this game. He made deals, he took risks, and he trusted the wrong people.”

A lump formed in my throat. “And you weren’t one of those people?”

Dante’s jaw clenched. “I warned him. I told him to walk away before it was too late. He didn’t listen.”

My stomach twisted. “Then why is someone trying to frame him now?”

“That’s what we need to find out.”

Dante and I spent the rest of the morning digging deeper into the contracts linked to my father. Every trail led back to Marcello Ferrara.

Except, there was one problem.

Ferrara didn’t exist.

At least, not in any way that left a trace.

His name was on documents, but no legal records. No known business ventures. No public presence. It was as if he had been placed there deliberately—just a ghost, a scapegoat.

Dante frowned at the screen. “Whoever set this up was careful. They wanted Ferrara to be the fall guy.”

“Which means someone higher up is pulling the strings.”

Dante’s gaze darkened. “Exactly.”

I crossed my arms. “So how do we find someone who doesn’t exist?”

Dante smirked, reaching for his phone. “We make them come to us.”

Dante’s plan was simple but reckless.

He had his team leak a small piece of information—just enough to stir the waters. A whisper that Ferrara’s name had resurfaced.

Now, we waited.

And it didn’t take long.

Less than six hours later, Dante’s phone rang. A blocked number.

He put it on speaker.

“You’ve made a mistake,” a distorted voice rasped.

Dante smirked. “I don’t make mistakes. But I do make people nervous.”

A beat of silence.

“Call off your search, Castelli,” the voice continued. “This doesn’t concern you.”

I stiffened. This? What exactly was this?

Dante’s smirk widened. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. It concerns me very much when people try to silence my lawyer.”

Another pause. Then, a low chuckle. “Your lawyer? Is that what you’re calling her now?”

A cold chill ran down my spine.

They knew who I was.

They knew we were working together.

Dante’s expression turned to steel. “If you have something to say, say it. Otherwise, stop wasting my time.”

The voice hesitated. Then, in a tone so quiet I almost didn’t catch it, they said:

“She won’t be protected forever.”

The line went dead.

I barely had time to react before Dante threw the phone across the room, his jaw clenched tight with fury.

Dante turned to me, his entire body coiled like a storm ready to break.

“You see now?” he growled. “This isn’t just some legal case, Olivia. These people don’t play by the rules.”

I swallowed hard, my fingers trembling. “I know.”

His eyes burned into mine. “Then stop fighting me on this. Stop acting like you can handle this alone.”

I let out a shaky breath. “I’m not trying to."

“Yes, you are,” he snapped. “Every time you push me away, every time you question my motives, you act like you have a choice in this.”

I crossed my arms. “I do have a choice.”

Dante let out a bitter laugh, stepping closer. “No, Olivia. You don’t. Because the moment your father’s name got dragged into this, the moment someone threatened you, this stopped being just about what you want.”

His proximity made it hard to breathe. “And what is this about, then?”

Dante’s jaw flexed, his voice low. “It’s about keeping you alive.”

For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

Neither of us moved.

Then, before I could stop myself, I whispered, “I don’t know if I trust you.”

Something flickered across Dante’s face—something almost vulnerable. But just as quickly, it was gone.

“I don’t need your trust,” he murmured. “I just need you to stay alive long enough to realize that I’m the only one who can protect you.”

Silence.

Then, Dante turned away, running a hand through his hair. “You should get some rest. Tomorrow, we go after Ferrara.”

I stood frozen as he walked out of the room.

Because the truth was, I wasn’t sure what scared me more—whoever was threatening me…

Or the fact that a part of me wanted to believe Dante was telling the truth.