Claudia Rossi's smile was a weapon.
It curved across her face like a blade disguised as silk—slow, deliberate, and far too practiced to be real. She stood framed in the open doorway of the villa, sunlight spilling behind her, gilding her honey-blonde hair and the crimson dress that clung to her like a second skin.
Amara felt her throat tighten. There was something almost cinematic about her: too poised, too perfect, the kind of woman born for glossy magazines and whispered scandals.
"Darling," Claudia drawled, eyes flicking from Dante to Amara, "you brought me a present."
Dante didn't flinch. He merely released Amara's hand and stepped forward, the air between him and Claudia thrumming with unspoken history.
"Claudia," he said evenly. "Still dramatic, I see."
She laughed—a sound that might have been musical if it hadn't carried the faintest trace of malice. "It's called style, amore. Something you seem to have traded for… charity work."
Her gaze slid to Amara, assessing, dissecting. "She's pretty, in a delicate sort of way. But I don't see what she's doing here."
Amara's cheeks burned. "You could start by not talking about me like I'm not standing here."
Claudia's smile widened, though her eyes never warmed. "How adorable. She has spirit. Let's hope it lasts."
"Enough," Dante said, voice clipped. "Where is he?"
The amusement vanished from Claudia's face. "Inside. But you won't like what you find."
Dante's jaw tightened. "When do I ever?"
He motioned for Amara to follow, and together they stepped into the villa's cool interior.
The scent of roses and old money hung thick in the air. Chandeliers cast fractured light over marble floors and portraits that stared down from gilded frames. Amara's pulse quickened as she took it all in—the elegance was suffocating, a beauty built on secrets.
Claudia's heels clicked behind them. "I told you to leave this alone, Dante. You never listen."
"I stopped taking your advice years ago."
"Clearly."
They entered a drawing room where a man waited by the window. He was older, maybe late forties, dressed in a tailored suit that strained slightly over his frame. His hair was peppered with gray, his hands folded over a silver cane.
"Signor Moretti," the man greeted, his Italian accent sharp. "You should have called first."
Dante's tone cooled another degree. "If I had, you would have hidden her."
Amara's breath caught. "Her?"
The man's eyes shifted to her. Recognition flickered—then discomfort.
Dante gestured toward her. "This is Amara Blake. Elias Blake's sister."
The man's face paled.
Amara took a step forward, her heart slamming against her ribs. "You know him. Please—where is he?"
He hesitated, glancing at Dante, then back to her. "Miss Blake… your brother was involved in something he shouldn't have been."
"What are you talking about?"
"He worked for us," the man said quietly. "In logistics. He saw something he shouldn't have. And then… he disappeared."
The room tilted. Amara gripped the back of a chair to steady herself. "You're saying—he worked for you? For them?" She pointed toward Dante and Claudia, her voice trembling. "For the Morettis?"
Dante's silence was answer enough.
Claudia sighed, crossing to the bar. "Oh, Dante, really. You could have told her the truth before dragging her here." She poured herself a drink, the clink of ice echoing. "It's cruel to keep her guessing."
"Don't," Dante warned.
"Don't what? Speak the truth you're too cowardly to say?" She turned toward Amara, eyes glittering. "Your brother wasn't innocent, darling. He stole from us. Millions. Then vanished before anyone could make him pay."
"That's a lie," Amara snapped. "Elias would never—"
"He did," Claudia interrupted smoothly. "And your charming savior here—" she gestured toward Dante "—was the one ordered to find him."
Amara's world narrowed to a single point. "You're saying he—"
"No." Dante's voice was low, rough. "I didn't kill him."
"But you looked for him," Amara whispered. "You hunted him."
Dante's jaw flexed. "Because I had to. The man who took what didn't belong to him put a target on your entire family."
Tears stung her eyes, hot and blinding. "You could have told me! All this time—you let me think—"
"That I was the monster?" he cut in. "Maybe I am. But I didn't touch your brother."
"Then where is he?" she demanded.
Dante's silence was answer enough.
Claudia's laughter filled the space, soft and cruel. "Oh, Dante. You're always so dramatic. Tell her, or I will."
He turned on her. "Not another word."
She smiled, unbothered. "What's the harm? She'll find out eventually. Everyone does."
"Claudia," he said, voice dropping into something lethal, "don't test me."
The man with the cane cleared his throat. "Perhaps this discussion is better kept private—"
"Stay out of it," Dante snapped.
Amara stepped back, shaking. The tension in the room felt like static before a storm. Dante's eyes burned, Claudia's lips curled, and between them, Amara felt like prey trapped between wolves.
She needed to breathe. To think. To escape.
But just as she turned toward the door, Claudia spoke again—softly, almost pitying.
"Your brother's alive, sweetheart."
Amara froze.
Every sound drained from the world.
Claudia took a slow sip of her drink, eyes never leaving Amara's. "At least, he was—last time Dante saw him."
Dante's hand clenched at his side. "Enough."
Amara spun to face him. "Is it true?"
He met her gaze, the mask finally cracking. "Yes."
Her knees nearly gave out. "Then why didn't you tell me?"
"Because knowing he's alive doesn't mean he's safe."
The words struck like ice.
Dante stepped closer, his voice rough with something she couldn't name. "Your brother made enemies you can't imagine, Amara. If they find out you're looking for him, you'll both be dead before sunrise."
"I don't care," she said fiercely. "He's my brother. I need to find him."
"And I need to keep you alive," Dante shot back.
Their eyes locked, the space between them charged and unbearable. The world seemed to shrink until it was only them—the hunter and the girl who refused to bow.
Claudia's voice slid through the tension like smoke. "How noble. But tell me, Dante, since when do you protect liabilities?"
He turned his glare on her. "Since I decided I was done losing people I shouldn't have."
Something flickered across Claudia's face—pain, maybe jealousy—before her smile snapped back into place. "Be careful, darling. Attachments make you weak."
Dante didn't answer. He reached for Amara's wrist. "We're leaving."
Amara resisted, yanking her hand back. "No. Not until you tell me where he is."
"I don't know," Dante said through gritted teeth. "Not anymore."
"Then we'll find him together."
For a heartbeat, surprise flashed in his eyes—then resignation. "You don't understand what you're asking for."
"I understand enough."
He stared at her, long and hard, as if weighing whether to drag her out or give in. Finally, he exhaled slowly. "Fine. But you'll follow my lead. No more surprises."
Claudia laughed softly. "Oh, she's going to be a delightful complication."
Amara ignored her, stepping past Dante toward the door. "Let's go, before anyone else tries to lie to me."
Dante hesitated a fraction of a second, then followed. The heavy doors closed behind them with a hollow thud that echoed down the marble corridor.
Outside, the sun was already beginning to sink, bleeding gold across the horizon. The air smelled of rain and secrets.
Amara slid into the car without a word. Dante joined her, tension coiling between them like a living thing.
As the villa receded in the rearview mirror, Amara pressed a trembling hand against her chest. Her brother was alive. But if Dante was right, that truth might be the most dangerous thing of all.
And as she looked at him—this man who lived somewhere between savior and devil—she couldn't shake the feeling that every answer from now on would come with a price she wasn't ready to pay.