Chapter 5 Confessions and Coffins

I didn't sleep that night.

The journal sat beside me on the bed, its leather cover warm from my touch, but inside... cold truths waited to be unraveled. My father's words echoed in my head, twisting everything I thought I knew into knots I couldn't undo.

"If anything happens to me, it wasn't an accident. And it wasn't Dante Romano."

Why would he write that? Why would he protect the man I believed was responsible?

At dawn, I finally flipped to the next page.

"The DeLucas want blood. I've tried to keep Serena out of this, but I fear I won't be able to forever. I trust Dante. He's not perfect, but he's loyal. If something happens to me... he's the only one who can protect her."

I froze.

The DeLucas.

I remembered the name in whispers-dangerous men my father never allowed in the house. And now, they were part of the story.

I closed the journal and walked to the balcony. The morning air was cool and damp, carrying the scent of wet stone and pine. Dante was in the garden below, shirtless, punching a training bag with the kind of fury that looked like it belonged to someone running from his own memories.

For the first time, I saw him differently.

Not just as my father's killer... but as a man haunted by something much deeper.

Later that morning, I stood in the doorway of his home gym, holding the journal.

"I read it," I said softly.

He stopped mid-punch and turned. His chest rose and fell. Sweat dripped from his forehead. "And?"

"My father trusted you."

"Yes."

"But he's dead."

"Yes," he repeated, wiping his hands on a towel. "And I've lived every day since trying to honor what he asked of me."

I stepped closer. "He asked you to protect me."

He looked away. "That's why I married you."

There it was. The raw truth I didn't want to hear but needed to.

"So it was pity?" I asked, swallowing the lump in my throat.

"No," he said quickly. "It wasn't pity. It was purpose. And guilt."

My hands trembled at my sides. "Do you love me?"

He hesitated.

And that silence broke something in me.

"You can't even say it," I whispered.

"It's not that simple," he said, stepping forward. "I wanted to keep you close. Safe. I didn't expect to... care the way I do."

"Care?" I laughed bitterly. "That's all I am to you? Someone to be protected? Watched over like a child?"

"Serena-"

"No," I cut him off. "I thought I was getting close to the enemy. But now I don't even know who I'm fighting anymore."

He stepped even closer. "Neither do I."

Our eyes locked. And for one terrifying moment, I wanted to let go of every reason I hated him. I wanted to feel something other than grief and confusion. I wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, this broken man and my broken heart could find something real.

But not yet.

Not now.

That afternoon, I received a text from an unknown number.

"We know what you found. Meet us. 7PM. Old chapel."

I didn't tell Dante.

I needed answers. Alone.

The chapel was on the edge of the estate grounds, a forgotten place with crumbling walls and stained-glass windows that filtered light in haunting colors.

I waited inside, heart racing.

A shadow appeared in the doorway.

He stepped into the light-tall, dark jacket, scar along his jaw.

Leo DeLuca.

"Long time, little Whitmore," he said with a smirk.

I stepped back instinctively. "Why am I here?"

"To finish what your father started."

My heart pounded. "He said you wanted him dead."

"He was right. Your father was too clean for this world. Too soft. But he knew things... things that could bury our family forever."

"And Dante?"

Leo's smirk dropped. "Romano was supposed to take over after your father stepped down. But your dad changed his mind. Said Dante was getting too close to the fire. So we lit the match."

I felt sick. "You had him killed."

He shrugged. "We gave the order. Someone else pulled the trigger. Doesn't matter now. What matters is what you do with what you know."

"What do you want from me?"

Leo stepped closer. "There's a list. Names your father kept. Judges. Politicians. Dirty cops. That list could destroy everything we built."

"I don't have it."

"But he gave you something, didn't he?" Leo's eyes gleamed. "That journal. It's the key."

I backed away. "You're not getting it."

"You sure about that?" he whispered, pulling a gun from his coat.

My blood turned cold.

"You take it from me," I said, trembling, "and Dante will come for you."

Leo chuckled. "Let him try."

But just then, a shot rang out.

Leo fell to the ground with a cry, blood blooming across his shoulder.

Dante stepped from the shadows, gun raised.

"I told you not to touch her," he growled.

Leo cursed, scrambling away as Dante grabbed my hand.

"Let's go."

I didn't ask how he knew. I didn't question anything. I just ran with him through the rain, back toward the mansion.

Back toward safety.

Back toward a truth more dangerous than either of us had imagined.