Chapter 3 Midnight Revelations

The Castello mansion fell silent as midnight approached. Alessia moved through the darkened hallways like a ghost, her footsteps silent on the plush carpet. She had changed from her professional attire into black pants and a fitted black sweater-clothes that would allow her to move quickly if necessary and wouldn't stand out in the shadows.

The east wing was older than the rest of the mansion, with narrower corridors and higher ceilings. Family portraits lined the walls, generations of Castello patriarchs staring down with cold, calculating eyes. Alessia kept her gaze forward, refusing to acknowledge the men who had built their fortune on blood and suffering.

At the end of the third-floor corridor, she paused before the last door. Unlike the ornate wooden doors throughout the rest of the house, this one was modern, with a sleek electronic card reader beside it. She removed the key card from her pocket, weighing her options one final time.

If this was a trap, she might not leave this room alive. But if she turned back now, she might lose her only chance to access whatever secrets Dante was keeping behind this door.

The choice was clear. She had come too far to retreat.

Alessia swiped the card. The reader blinked green, and the lock disengaged with a soft click. She pushed the door open, her other hand resting on the small knife concealed at her waist.

The room beyond was not what she had expected.

Instead of another study or bedroom, she found herself in what appeared to be a high-tech security center. Monitors lined one wall, displaying feeds from cameras throughout the property. Another wall held a large digital map of the city, with glowing dots marking what she assumed were Castello properties or operations.

The center of the room was dominated by a circular table with a glass surface that she recognized as a sophisticated touch-screen interface. And standing at that table, waiting for her, was Dante.

He had removed his suit jacket and tie, leaving the sleeves of his white shirt, which were rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong forearms. His dark hair was slightly disheveled, as if he'd been running his hands through it.

"You came," he said simply, his expression giving nothing away.

Alessia closed the door behind her, maintaining a safe distance. "Your invitation was intriguing."

"Not afraid to be alone with me?" There was a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Should I be?" she countered.

Dante studied her for a moment, then gestured to the room around them. "What do you see, Sofia?"

She glanced at the monitors, the map, the sleek technology that seemed more suitable for a government intelligence agency than a private home. "I see someone who likes to keep a close watch on his empire."

"Empire," he repeated, the corner of his mouth lifting. "An interesting choice of words."

"Would you prefer 'business interests'?" Alessia moved further into the room, carefully cataloging every detail. This was Dante's command center-far more valuable than any office or study for gathering intelligence.

"I prefer honesty," Dante replied, surprising her. "Something rare in our world."

Our world. The words hung between them, laden with meaning. He was admitting, indirectly, that he knew she understood the true nature of the Castello family business.

"Honesty can be dangerous," she said carefully.

"So can lies." Dante touched the glass table, and it illuminated, displaying what appeared to be architectural blueprints. "These are the plans for the venue where the gala will be held. I thought you might find them useful."

Alessia approached the table slowly, curiosity overcoming caution. The blueprints were indeed for the Grand Metropolitan Hotel where the charity event was scheduled to take place-but these weren't the public plans. They showed security details, access points, and what appeared to be escape routes.

"These are restricted documents," she said, looking up at him. "How did you get them?"

"I own the hotel," Dante replied simply. "Among other properties in the city."

Of course, he did. The Castello holdings were more extensive than even Marco had realized.

"Why show me this?" she asked.

"Because I don't want any surprises at this event." His dark eyes held hers. "The foundation is important to me. It's not just a tax write-off or a PR stunt."

Something in his tone caught her attention. "You care about those schools."

"Is that so hard to believe?" There was a challenge in his voice now.

"Given what I know about your family? Yes." The words slipped out before she could stop them.

Rather than anger, Dante's expression showed something like satisfaction. "So you do know more than you've been letting on."

Alessia's mind raced. She had made a tactical error, revealing too much too soon. But perhaps she could turn it to her advantage.

"Everyone in this city knows about the Castellos," she said with a careful shrug. "It would be naive of me to take this job without understanding who I'm working for."

"And what exactly do you think you understand, Sofia?" He moved around the table toward her, his movements purposeful, predatory.

Alessia stood her ground. "I understand that the Castello Foundation does good work. I also understand that it serves other purposes."

"Such as?"

"Such as laundering money from less legitimate enterprises," she said boldly. "And buying influence with the kind of people who attend charity galas."

She expected anger, perhaps even violence. What she didn't expect was Dante's laugh-low and genuine, with a warmth she hadn't heard from him before.

"You're either very brave or very foolish to speak so directly," he said, stopping just close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body.

"Which do you think it is?" she asked, refusing to be intimidated.

"I think," he said slowly, "that you're playing a dangerous game, Sofia Bianchi. The question is "What's your endgame?"

The way he said her false name sent a chill down her spine. There was something in his inflection that made her wonder if he already knew it was a lie.

"My endgame is to plan a successful event," she replied, keeping her voice steady. "And to get paid."

"Is that all?" He was closer now, close enough that she could see the flecks of amber in his dark eyes. "I don't think so."

"What other motive could I have?"

Dante reached out, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from her face with surprising gentleness. "That's what I intend to find out."

The touch sent an unwelcome shiver through her body. This close, she could smell his cologne, mixed with something uniquely him. It was... disarming.

"I'm an open book," she lied, forcing herself to remain still under his scrutiny.

"No," he murmured. "You're anything but that, Sofia. Or should I call you something else?"

Her heart nearly stopped. "What do you mean?"

Instead of answering, Dante stepped back and touched the glass table again. The blueprints disappeared, replaced by a series of photographs. Alessia felt the blood drain from her face.

They were surveillance photos-of her. Entering her apartment building. Meeting with Marco in a café. Visiting the grave of her supposed parents in the city cemetery.

"Who are you really?" Dante asked, his voice soft but demanding. "Because Sofia Bianchi-orphaned at sixteen, raised by an aunt in Milan, graduated from the Polytechnic University with a degree in event management-doesn't exist."

Alessia's mind raced through her options. Deny everything? Create another lie? Run?

Before she could decide, Dante touched the table again, bringing up one final image that made her breath catch.

It was a photo of her father-not from seven years ago, but recently. He looked older, thinner, but unmistakably alive. He sat in what appeared to be a prison visiting room, his hands cuffed before him on a metal table.

"Antonio Ricci," Dante said, watching her reaction closely. "Officially dead for seven years. Serving a life sentence in Blackgate Prison under an assumed identity. And you, I believe, are his daughter. Alessia Ricci."

The truth hit her like a physical blow. He had known all along. This wasn't just a trap-it was a game he had been playing from the moment she walked into his house.

Her hand moved instinctively to the knife at her waist.

"I wouldn't," Dante warned softly. "There are three armed guards outside that door, and the entire room is monitored. You wouldn't make it ten feet."

"How long have you known?" she managed to ask, her voice barely above a whisper.

"From the beginning," he admitted. "Did you really think I wouldn't investigate every person who enters my home? Especially someone with your particular skills and connections?"

Alessia struggled to process this revelation. If he had known who she was all along, why let her get this close? Why not have her killed immediately?

"What do you want from me?" she asked, finding her voice again.

"The same thing you want from me," Dante replied, his eyes never leaving hers. "Information."

"I don't understand."

He gestured to the photo of her father. "Your father is alive because I arranged it. He's been protected in Blackgate under a false identity for seven years."

"Protected?" Alessia couldn't keep the disbelief from her voice. "You tried to have him killed!"

Something flashed in Dante's eyes-anger, or perhaps offense. "I did not. My father ordered the hit on the Ricci family. I merely... redirected it."

"You expect me to believe that?" But even as she said it, Alessia felt a seed of doubt. Marco had always told her it was Dante who gave the order, but he had been a new player back then, barely involved in the family business.

"I don't expect you to believe anything without proof," Dante said. He touched the table again, and a video began to play.

It showed security footage dated seven years ago. A younger Dante, arguing heatedly with his father in this very room. There was no audio, but the body language was clear: this was not a respectful disagreement between father and son. This was fury.

"What were you arguing about?" Alessia asked, unable to tear her eyes from the footage.

"Your father," Dante replied simply. "I opposed the hit. Not for moral reasons-I'm not claiming to be a saint-but because it was bad business. The Riccis were valuable allies, and your father was respected, even by his enemies."

"So you saved him out of... what? Business sense?"

Dante's expression was unreadable. "Among other reasons."

The video continued, showing the younger Dante storming from the room. Moments later, Salvatore Castello picked up a phone, presumably to order the hit that would destroy Alessia's family.

"I couldn't stop my father," Dante continued, his voice taut with what sounded like genuine regret. "By the time I learned the details of the plan, his men were already moving. I could only arrange an extraction for your father."

"While leaving the rest of our people to die," Alessia said bitterly.

"Yes." He didn't try to justify it. "Politics is the art of compromise, Alessia. And in our world, politics is always written in blood."

Hearing her real name on his lips sent a jolt through her. Seven years of hiding, of becoming someone else, stripped away in an instant.

"Why are you telling me this now?" she demanded. "Why bring me here, keep me close, if you knew who I was and why I came?"

Dante's expression softened slightly. "Because we need each other."

"I need nothing from you except your destruction," she spat.

"And how's that working out for you?" he countered. "Seven years of planning, and here you are-compromised, outmaneuvered, and at my mercy. Meanwhile, your father remains in Blackgate, his health failing, while the man truly responsible for his imprisonment lives in luxury in Switzerland."

Alessia frowned. "Your father is really in Switzerland?"

"Very much so. Receiving the finest medical care money can buy for his terminal cancer," Dante confirmed. "And running certain aspects of the business remotely, despite my... discouragement."

The pieces began to fall into place. "You want him gone."

"I want him to step aside completely," Dante corrected. "To let me run the organization my way. The old methods-the violence, the vendettas-they're bad for business in the long term. We need legitimacy, structure, and political protection."

"What does any of this have to do with me?" Alessia asked though she was beginning to see the outlines of his plan.

"Your father was respected by the old guard," Dante said. "Many of them never approved of what happened to the Riccis. If Antonio were to return-pardoned, reinstated, and allied with me-it would solidify my position and isolate my father."

Alessia stared at him, incredulous. "You want to use my father as a political pawn in your power struggle?"

"I want to offer him his freedom and a place at the table," Dante countered. "And I'm offering you the same."

"In exchange for what?"

"Your help in eliminating a common enemy." Dante's expression hardened. "Salvatore Castello deserves to pay for what he did to your family. And for what he's still doing to mine."

Alessia shook her head, trying to process everything. "Why should I trust a word you're saying? This could all be an elaborate trap."

"It could be," Dante agreed. "But consider the facts. I've known who you are for weeks. I could have had you killed at any time. Instead, I've given you access to my home, my business, even this room." He gestured around them. "Why would I do that if I didn't want an alliance?"

It was a valid point. If he had simply wanted her dead, she would have been dead already.

"My father would never agree to work with a Castello," she said, but there was less conviction in her voice.

"Are you sure?" Dante touched the table again, bringing up another image-this one of Antonio Ricci, sitting across from a visitor in the prison meeting room. The visitor's face was obscured, but Alessia could make out an expensive suit and a distinctive ring on one hand.

Her blood ran cold. "You've spoken to him."

"Twice," Dante confirmed. "He's considering my offer."

"Why didn't he tell me? Through Marco-" She stopped, realizing she had just confirmed Marco's involvement.

"Your father doesn't know you're here," Dante said. "He believes you're safe in Europe somewhere. I didn't tell him otherwise."

"Why?"

"Because he would never agree to my plan if he knew it put you at risk." Dante's expression softened slightly. "He loves you, Alessia. Everything he's done-including staying alive in that hellhole for seven years-has been to protect you."

Alessia felt tears threaten and fought them back fiercely. "I don't believe you."

"Then believe this." Dante reached into his pocket and withdrew a small object, holding it out to her.

Alessia stared at it, her heart constricting. It was her father's silver pocket watch-the one she thought had been lost the night of the massacre. She would recognize it anywhere, with its distinctive engraving and the small dent on the cover from when she had dropped it as a child.

"He asked me to give this to you, if I ever found you," Dante said quietly. "As proof that he trusts me."

With trembling fingers, Alessia took the watch. It felt heavier than she remembered, weighed down by years of absence and grief. She opened it, and inside, where there had once been a photo of her mother, was a tiny folded piece of paper.

She extracted it carefully and unfolded it. The handwriting was unmistakably her father's-the strong, decisive strokes she would recognize anywhere.

"La piccola regina sa quando piegare il ginocchio per salvare la corona."

(The little queen knows when to bend the knee to save the crown).

It was one of her father's favorite sayings, a chess metaphor he had taught her when she was learning the game. Sometimes, to win, you had to sacrifice a piece-even your queen. Sometimes, you had to appear to submit in order to ultimately triumph.

He wrote this recently?" she asked, her voice barely audible.

Two weeks ago," Dante confirmed. "When I told him I suspected you were in the city."

Alessia closed the watch, clutching it tightly. "If what you're saying is true-that you saved my father, and that you oppose what happened to my family-then why wait seven years to reach out?"

"Politics," Dante replied simply. "I needed to consolidate my position first. To build enough support within the organization that I could challenge my father's decisions without being eliminated myself."

"And now?"

"Now the balance is shifting. My father's illness has weakened his position. Many of the captains recognize that his old-school approach is becoming a liability in today's world. But he still has loyal supporters-Rossi among them."

Alessia's lip curled at the mention of Rossi. "The traitor."

"Yes," Dante agreed. "Rossi betrayed your father because my father promised him territory and autonomy. Promises that, as I understand it, haven't been fully kept."

"You're suggesting that Rossi might be... persuadable?"

"I'm suggesting that Rossi, like many men, follows whoever offers the most advantage," Dante said. "Currently, that's my father. But if the situation were to change..."

Alessia studied him, trying to see past the calculated charm to the truth beneath. "What exactly are you proposing?"

"An alliance," Dante said simply. "You help me remove my father from power-permanently-and in return, I secure your father's release and restore the Ricci family's position within the organization."

"As your subordinates," Alessia noted.

A hint of a smile touched Dante's lips. "As my partners. Equals at the table."

"And if I refuse?"

His expression hardened slightly. "Then you leave this house tonight and never return. You and your father continue as you are-you in hiding, him in prison. Nothing gained, nothing lost."

"Except that now you know who I am and what I was planning," Alessia pointed out.

"True," Dante acknowledged. "But I've known since before you arrived, and I haven't moved against you. I won't start now, unless you force my hand."

It was an impossible choice. Trust the son of the man who had destroyed her family? Or walk away, leaving her father to rot in prison while she continued a vendetta that now seemed futile?

"I need to speak to my father," she said finally.

"Impossible," Dante replied immediately. "The risk is too great. If my father or Rossi discovered that Antonio Ricci is alive, they would move to silence him immediately."

"Then how am I supposed to trust that anything you've told me is true?" Alessia demanded.

Dante considered her for a moment, then nodded as if coming to a decision. "There is a way. But it would be dangerous-for both of us."

"I'm listening."

"Three days from now, I'm scheduled to visit Blackgate on foundation business-reviewing a rehabilitation program we fund there. I could arrange for you to accompany me, disguised as a foundation employee. You would have five minutes with your father-no more."

It was a risk, but the chance to see her father after seven years was too powerful to resist. Still, Alessia hesitated.

"How do I know this isn't a setup?" she asked. "That you won't have me arrested the moment we reach the prison?"

"You don't," Dante replied honestly. "Just as I don't know that you won't try to kill me the moment my back is turned. At some point, Alessia, one of us has to take a leap of faith."

She looked down at the watch in her hand, running her thumb over the familiar engraving. Her father had sent her a message-a directive, even. Bend the knee to save the crown. Play along. Appear to submit.

"If I agree to this alliance," she said slowly, "what would be required of me?"

"For now, continue as you are," Dante said. "Keep planning the gala. Maintain your cover as Sofia Bianchi. But start feeding information back to me about Marco's operations and contacts."

"You want me to betray Marco?" The idea was abhorrent. Marco had protected her, trained her, been like a second father to her for seven years.

"I want you to help me understand the full landscape," Dante corrected. "Marco is your father's consigliere. He must have maintained connections with former Ricci allies. Those connections could be valuable in building a coalition against my father."

It made sense, in a cold, strategic way. But it still felt like a betrayal.

"And after the prison visit?" she asked.

"If you're convinced of my sincerity, we move to phase two," Dante replied. "Planning my father's removal."

"You mean his murder."

Dante didn't flinch. "I mean his permanent removal from power, by whatever means necessary. He's a dying man, Alessia. One way or another, his time is limited. The question is how much damage he does before he goes."

Alessia took a deep breath, weighing her options. Working with Dante Castello went against everything she had believed for seven years. But if it meant saving her father, restoring her family...

I'll go to the prison," she decided. "I'll hear what my father has to say. After that, I'll decide whether to ally with you or not."

Dante nodded, apparently satisfied. "Fair enough." He extended his hand to her. "Until then, a truce?"

Alessia looked at his offered hand, remembering all the blood it had likely spilled. Then she thought of her father, alive but imprisoned, waiting for salvation that had never come.

She took Dante's hand. His grip was warm and firm, his palm slightly callused-not the soft hands of a man who had never worked, but those of someone who didn't shy away from necessary action.

"A truce," she agreed. "For now."

As their hands clasped, something electric passed between them-a recognition, perhaps, of how similar they truly were. Both fighting against the legacies of their fathers. Both willing to do whatever it took to achieve their goals.

Both dangerously drawn to each other in ways neither had anticipated.

Dante held her gaze for a moment longer than necessary before releasing her hand. "You should go," he said, his voice slightly rougher than before. "The guards change rotation at one. It will be safer for you to leave before then."

Alessia nodded, tucking her father's watch securely into her pocket. "How will we communicate about the prison visit?"

"I'll have details delivered to your apartment tomorrow." He moved to the door, unlocking it with a code. "Use the north staircase to exit. It's less monitored."

She paused at the doorway, looking back at him. "One more thing. Those security cameras in my building, watching my apartment-"

"Will be removed by morning," Dante promised.

"And the ones in my apartment?"

A hint of a smile touched his lips. "There are none. Contrary to what you might think of me, I do have some boundaries."

Alessia wasn't sure whether to believe him, but she nodded anyway. "Goodnight, Dante."

"Goodnight, Alessia Ricci."

Hearing her real name spoken aloud after so long felt strangely intimate, like he had touched something private and precious. She turned without another word and slipped into the hallway, her mind racing with everything she had learned.

As she navigated the darkened corridors of the Castello mansion, Alessia tried to make sense of her conflicting emotions. Relief that her father was alive. Anger at having been manipulated by Dante. Confusion about his true motives. And beneath it all, a dangerous undercurrent of attraction that she couldn't entirely suppress.

She had come to the Castello mansion seeking vengeance. Now she found herself contemplating alliance with the very family she had sworn to destroy.

The irony wasn't lost on her. The crown she had meant to steal might instead be offered freely-but at what cost?

---

In his security center, Dante watched Alessia leave through the surveillance cameras. She moved with the grace and caution of someone well-trained, avoiding the main corridors and keeping to the shadows. Impressive.

"Sir?" Giovanni's voice came through the intercom. "Should we follow her?"

"No," Dante replied. "Let her go."

He sat down heavily in his chair, rubbing his temples. The meeting had gone more or less as he had planned, but Alessia Ricci was proving more unpredictable-and more disarming-than he had anticipated.

He had expected hatred from her, and he had found it. But there was something else there too, something that resonated with his own experience. They were both children shaped by the sins of their fathers, forced to navigate a world where trust was a luxury neither could afford.

His phone rang, displaying a Swiss number he recognized all too well.

"Father," he answered, keeping his voice neutral.

"Is it done?" Salvatore Castello's once-powerful voice was now raspy from illness, but the authority remained.

"We're proceeding as planned," Dante replied carefully. "She's beginning to trust me."

"Good. The Ricci girl will lead us to all of Antonio's hidden assets. And then..."

"And then we eliminate the final traces of the Ricci family," Dante finished, the words bitter on his tongue. "As you wish, Father."

"Do not forget where your loyalty lies, my son," Salvatore warned. "The future of our family depends on it."

"I know exactly where my loyalty lies," Dante replied truthfully. "You taught me well."

After ending the call, Dante stared at the now-empty corridor on the security monitor. He had just lied to his father-something he had been doing with increasing frequency over the past three years.

What he hadn't lied about was his loyalty. It lay with the future of the Castello family-a future Dante envisioned as something very different from his father's bloody legacy. A future that, increasingly, he believed might involve Alessia Ricci.

His father wanted him to use her and then destroy her. A simple plan, brutal and effective. The old way.

But Dante had a different vision. The question was whether Alessia would ever trust him enough to share it.

He opened a drawer in his desk and withdrew a photograph he had kept hidden for years. Two women in their twenties, arms around each other, laughing at the camera. One was his mother, Elena Castello, beautiful and vibrant before illness took her. The other was Maria Ricci, Alessia's mother, equally stunning with the same dark eyes her daughter had inherited.

Best friends since childhood, until the feud had torn them apart. Until Salvatore had ordered Maria's death alongside her husband's.

It was a piece of the puzzle Alessia didn't yet know-that their mothers had once been as close as sisters. That the bad blood between their families was a recent wound, not an ancient one.

Dante returned the photo to its hiding place. That revelation would come later, if Alessia chose to ally with him. If not... he would do what was necessary to secure his position, regardless of his growing fascination with Antonio Ricci's daughter.

In their world, sentiment was a luxury. And crowns, once stolen, exacted a heavy price from those who wore them.