Dante:
I was sitting in the room that had been arranged for me and Danna, a space far larger and more elegant than my own, yet no matter how luxurious the velvet curtains or the marble floors looked, an uneasy weight pressed in on me, the kind that came from knowing I was in a house that held too many tangled histories, and as I sank deeper into the couch with my fingers pressing at my temples, trying to quiet the throbbing in my head, I heard the soft click of the bathroom door and looked up to see her stepping out in a simple black nightgown that skimmed just above her knees, her hair falling like loose silk around her shoulders, the dim light catching on every strand so perfectly that for a moment I forgot the air in my lungs, my gaze lingering before I even realized I was staring, and when she walked slowly toward the bed, her every movement unhurried, she turned her head and smiled at me in that way that made my throat feel suddenly dry, and I swallowed hard, forcing my eyes away as she sat down, the mattress dipping under her weight, her voice soft as she called, "Dante," and I turned to her with a quiet, "Yes?" while still rubbing the ache from my temples, only to see her biting her lip as if holding back hesitation before saying, "Would you get mad if I asked?" to which I replied, "Judging on what you'd say," my tone calm but cautious, and she hesitated for just a heartbeat longer before murmuring, "Well… about your dad…"
My jaw tightened instantly, the truth already written in the way her eyes searched mine, because she knew—somehow she knew—that my father was still alive, and before she could even finish the question that trembled on her lips, I cut her off, my voice low and sharp as I spat, "Because I was useless, because I killed my sister years ago, because I…" the words lodging in my throat before I leaned forward, my smile twisting into something that felt too close to a laugh and too far from sanity, "…because I'm a f**ker who no one needs," and I saw her eyes widen in shock, her breath catching, but instead of recoiling, she stood and crossed the space to sit beside me, the warmth of her presence pressing against the cold I had been carrying, her voice quiet but steady as she said, "I need you, and about you being useless—you aren't… but how did you kill your sister? Didn't you love her? You said you loved her favourite colour," and I kept my gaze fixed, not on her face, but through her, to a place in my memory I could never erase, my voice almost a whisper when I said, "I loved her… I really did," before my hand lifted, fingers curling gently but firmly around her shoulder, pulling her into the weight of my stare, "Danna… how much do you trust me?" and I felt the faint hesitation ripple through her body, the slight stiffening in her frame before she said, with a conviction that tried to bridge the gap between fear and faith, "I trust you… you can tell me everything."
There was a sudden knock at the door, a soft voice following it—"Time for dinner"—before the maid's footsteps faded down the hall, and I looked at Danna, my grip on her arm gentle yet unyielding as I murmured, "I won't hide anything from you, Danna… but let's have dinner first," and she gave me that quiet smile of hers, the one that somehow made the heaviness in my chest feel a little less suffocating, before nodding, and we walked together down the staircase into the dining hall where the long table was already filled—Edward, George, Alessia's mother Lucia, and Alessia herself all seated, the air thick with that layered kind of tension where everyone's words are polite but the glances are anything but, and I tightened my hold on Danna's hand deliberately as we sat, watching Alessia's jaw tighten like she was biting back words until she finally spat, "Dad!" only to be cut off by George's calm, warning, "Not now," before he turned to us with an easy smile as the servants placed steaming plates before us, and I noticed that Lucia wasn't her usual composed self, not angry exactly, but restless—nervous even—her eyes darting occasionally like she was tracking something unseen, and Edward, with his usual commanding ease, gestured toward the plates, "Eat up, everyone," so I nodded and picked up my fork, Danna following suit, only for Edward to break the silence mid-bite, asking casually, "How is life treating you two? Married life good?" while slicing into his steak, to which I replied flatly, "It was recent," keeping my eyes fixed on the meat in front of me until George chuckled, "I booked a honeymoon trip for Poland, don't worry," drawing Edward into shared laughter, and that was when Alessia abruptly pushed back her chair, "I'm going," she snapped, only for Edward to frown, "You didn't even touch your food," and she shot back, "I lost my appetite," before storming out, her heels clicking hard against the floor, and as I let out a slow, sharp breath, I realised something I should have noticed earlier—Jake was nowhere to be seen, though he'd been with me this morning—so I finished the rest of my meal in a few swift, mechanical bites before standing, my voice calm but my pulse quickening as I said, "Please excuse me."
I stepped out onto the balcony, the cool night air biting at my skin as I slid a cigarette from the pack, lit it, and drew in a long drag, letting the smoke curl from my lips in slow, measured streams while my other hand reached for my phone. I dialed Jake's number—once, twice—he didn't pick up the first time, but on the second, his voice came through, raw and angry.
"Dante, you f**ker," he growled, breath sharp like he'd been running.
My brows knitted instantly. "What the hell happened, man?" I asked, the concern in my tone cutting through my usual calm.
"Lucia…" he hissed, the name dripping with venom. "She's the suspect for causing widespread damage to our files. She's hiding something—she's after Danna. I'll send you the pictures. We don't have much time."
Before I could demand more, he hung up.
"Hello? Jake? F**k it," I cursed under my breath, grinding the cigarette between my fingers as my phone buzzed with incoming images. I swiped them open—my chest tightening instantly. They were pictures of Danna, from when she was just a little girl to her most recent photos, each marked and catalogued like a target. A note beneath read: Found in Lucia's underground room.
Jake's final message flashed at the bottom: And f**k, man… I'm stuck.
For a moment, my pulse was the only sound in my ears. My grip tightened on the phone until my knuckles whitened.
What the actual hell was this?
Without hesitation, I typed a message to Nico:Find everything about Lucia Wilson. George Wilson's wife. Now.