Chapter 5 ♡

I didn't sleep.

I couldn't.

My mind played loops - his voice, his eyes, the words he didn't say louder than the ones he did.

Protected.

Watched.

Debts.

When morning light finally crept in through the lace curtains of my room, it felt like a lie. Like the sun shouldn't be allowed to shine after that kind of night.

I showered in silence. Got dressed in silence. Ate half a croissant in silence.

And then the bell rang again.

I froze.

Same slow chime. Same eerie calm.

I stood in the center of the hallway, heartbeat thudding in my chest.

I didn't go to the door.

This time, I waited.

Footsteps echoed from the east corridor - Luca, our head of security, opened the door without a word.And there he was.The man in the dark suit.Only this time, I saw his face.

He wasn't what I expected.

Tall. Elegant. Built like a soldier but dressed like sin. Sharp cheekbones. Jet-black hair slicked back with effortless precision. And those eyes - mercyless steel-gray, like winter storms and dangerous promises.

He didn't smile. He didn't flinch.He just looked at me.As if he already knew me.As if he'd always known me.

"Miss Fiorelli," he said smoothly, with an accent that curled the edges of every syllable. Italian. Old world. Dark velvet.

I swallowed. "Who are you?"

He tilted his head slightly, like he found the question amusing.

"I am someone who honors his promises."

I blinked. "That's not an answer."

"No," he agreed. "It's not."

Luca shifted uncomfortably but said nothing."I didn't invite you," I said, squaring my shoulders.

"I was sent."

"By who?"

He stepped past the threshold. No permission. No hesitation.

I backed up instinctively.

But not out of fear.

No - something else.Heat. Confusion.Recognition?

What the hell was wrong with me?

Before I could demand answers again, my father's voice rang out.

"Dante."

I turned.

My father stood at the top of the stairs, pale, grim. Resigned.So he knew this man.He'd expected him.

Dante looked up. "It's time."

My father's jaw clenched. "Not here. Come to my study."

They locked eyes. Something passed between them - old history, thick and unspoken.Then my father turned and walked away.Dante followed.But not before looking back at me.

His gaze swept over me once - deliberate, slow, like a final warning.

You don't know what you are yet.

You don't know what I've come for.

And then he was gone.Luca shut the door behind him.But nothing felt closed.Everything felt like it was just beginning.

I didn't go back upstairs.

I stood in the hallway, just outside the study, heart pounding like it had something to prove.The door closed behind them with a soft click. But that sound echoed like thunder in my chest.

Dante.That was his name.

Spoken like history. Like a warning.

Whoever he was... my father knew him. Not the way you know an old friend. No - it was heavier. Tighter. Like chains.I moved closer, bare feet silent against the marble floor. The door wasn't thick. It was old, heavy wood - enough to muffle sound but not silence it completely.

I shouldn't listen.

But I did.Of course I did.Inside, I heard my father's voice, low and tight.

"You didn't need to see her yet."

"She was always going to see me," Dante replied, calm as stone. "Better now than later."

"She's not ready."

"You don't get to say that anymore." A pause. "You signed the contract."

My stomach twisted.

Contract?

My nails dug into my palms.

"I was desperate," my father said. "I didn't think-"

"That she'd grow up?" Dante's tone didn't rise. But it cut. "That the debt would come due?"

There was a beat of silence.

Then: "She's innocent."

"She won't stay that way." Dante's voice dropped. "Not in this world."

Something in me snapped.I backed away from the door, too fast. My heel hit the edge of a small table and knocked a vase off balance - I caught it just before it shattered, but the movement made a soft thud against the door.

Silence inside.I held my breath.

And then-

The door opened.

Dante stood there, framed by low light and old shadows. His jacket was off now, sleeves rolled to his forearms. He looked more dangerous this way - less polished, more real.

More... mine?

I shoved that thought out of my head.

"What are you doing?" he asked, voice low."I could ask you the same," I shot back, chin raised.

His eyes didn't leave mine. "Eavesdropping is dangerous, Ava."

"You keep saying my name like I'm supposed to remember you."Something flickered across his face - not surprise. Something softer. Sadder.

"You don't," he said quietly.

"Should I?"

He studied me for a moment. "You will."

I looked past him, to my father - who was sitting behind his desk, hands clenched, eyes closed.He looked...broken.And I hated that.But I hated the silence more.

"What contract?" I demanded. "What did you do, Papà?"

My father opened his eyes. "It was a long time ago."

"Then explain it now."

He didn't answer.

Dante did.

"Your father made a deal to save his family," he said. "To protect what little honor he had left."

"And that somehow involves me?"

"You were the cost."

I froze.

My blood felt like ice.

"I was...what?"

Dante stepped closer. Not menacing - measured. Like he knew he could destroy me but didn't want to.

Not yet.

"Your hand was promised to me," he said, evenly. "The night you turned twenty-three."

My head shook before I could stop it. "No."

"Yes."

"No, I didn't agree to anything-"

"You didn't have to," he said, voice softening. "Your father did. Years ago. And now... it's time."

I backed away like I could undo the words.

Promised?

To him?

I looked at my father, voice breaking. "You sold me."

"No!" he snapped, finally standing. "I... I saved you. You don't understand the world I owed. The danger I was in. You were a child-"

"I'm not anymore."

Silence.

Then Dante said, "Which is why the debt is now collectible."

I turned to him. "So what? You show up, claim me like property, and think I'll just-what-marry you?"

He didn't blink."I don't think," he said. "I know."The room spun.I couldn't breathe.

"You're insane," I whispered.

But the worst part?

A part of me... wasn't entirely afraid.A part of me had seen something in his eyes - something unspoken, bruised and burning.

And that terrified me more than anything.

Because if I let myself look too long, I might stop hating him.