Chapter 5 The Truth About Her Father's Killer

Alina never planned to stay overnight again.

But the storm had gotten worse, and Dante insisted she stay.

She told herself it was strategic. That being closer to him made it easier to get the truth.

But now, it was nearly 3 a.m.

And she was in his office... alone.

Dante had stepped out to take a call, leaving the door unlocked. A mistake.

She moved like a ghost, heart thudding as she scanned the shelves. Books. Boxes. Files.

One drawer was locked.

Her hands trembled as she pulled two pins from her hair.

Her father had taught her how to pick locks before she was old enough to drive. "Always know how to open doors," he used to say. "Even the ones they try to keep shut."

Click.

The drawer opened.

Inside: a folder marked "N. Vasiliev - 12/11"

Her father's name.

Her breath caught.

She opened the folder.

There it was - a surveillance photo. Her father leaving a black car in front of a burning warehouse. An explosion behind him.

Another photo: her father meeting with a man she didn't recognize.

And at the bottom... a memo.

"Confirmed: Nikolai Vasiliev was trading weapons through Moretti's port without Dante's permission.

Contact terminated by Leonardo Moretti on orders from senior command.

Dante was unaware until after the fact.

Subject: Deceased."

She stared at the words like they were in another language.

Leonardo Moretti.

Dante's father.

Not Dante.

Her fingers trembled, gripping the paper tighter. Her father had been killed by the Morettis - but not by Dante.

He didn't know.

Or maybe he did. Maybe he just didn't order it.

But everything she believed... every reason she had for hating him... suddenly blurred.

"You were looking for something?"

Alina spun around. Dante stood in the doorway, silent, unreadable.

She dropped the file. "I-I couldn't sleep. I needed-"

"You went through my private drawers."

His voice wasn't angry. It was colder than that. It was restrained.

"I needed answers," she whispered.

"And did you find them?"

She stared at him. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Dante stepped forward, slowly, like approaching a wounded animal.

Or a liar.

"I didn't know your father's name until I saw your face," he said. "And by the time I realized the connection... I didn't want to lose you."

Her voice cracked. "You said you didn't lie."

"I didn't," he said. "But I didn't tell the whole truth either. I didn't want you to disappear."

Silence fell between them.

Then, Alina said, almost choking, "Your father had him killed."

"Yes."

"And you did nothing."

His jaw clenched. "I was twenty. I wasn't in charge yet. If I'd moved against my father then, we'd both be dead. That's how this world works."

She took a shaky step back. "Then why let me stay? Why not kill me, too?"

Dante's voice dropped to a whisper. "Because when you walked into that club, you were the most dangerous thing I'd ever seen. And I didn't want to live in a world without you."

Her chest tightened.

It should have been a lie.

But it didn't feel like one.

Tears stung her eyes. Not because she hated him.

Because she didn't.

And that terrified her more than anything.

"I came here to destroy you," she whispered.

"I know," he said. "But now you have a choice."

She looked up.

"You can run," he said. "Tell the world what you know. Burn everything to the ground. Or..."

"Or?"

"Or stay. And I'll burn the rest of the world for you."

Alina didn't speak. She couldn't.

All she knew was this:

Dante Moretti was not the man who killed her father.

But he was still the man who could kill her heart.

And that night, the war inside her began.