Chapter 4

“Dante, your mother has been moved to an elite hospital in this city. You must obey Mr. Virelli.”

Ethan’s voice echoed clearly in my ear, steady and real, carrying news that I had only ever dared to hope for in silence. For a moment, I could not respond. My entire body froze, as if my mind needed time to translate those words into something I could believe.

My mother had been moved.

To the best hospital.

That meant Leonard had kept his promise.

That meant everything he said was real.

I closed my eyes slowly, letting the truth settle deep inside my chest. Relief came first, sudden and overwhelming, so powerful that it almost hurt. It spread through my body like warmth after a long winter, filling spaces that had been empty for too long. But beneath that relief, there was something else. Something heavier. Something that reminded me nothing came without a price.

“She… is she okay?” I asked quietly, my voice barely stronger than a whisper.

“She’s stable,” Ethan replied gently. “The doctors said they’re starting full procedures today. Dante… this is the best chance she’s ever had.”

The best chance.

I lowered my gaze, tightening my grip on the phone. My fingers trembled slightly, and I hated myself for it. I wanted to be stronger than this. I wanted to be someone who could accept this sacrifice without hesitation, without fear.

But I was still human.

Still someone who understood exactly what this opportunity had cost.

“You have to endure,” Ethan continued. “Whatever happens there… remember why you’re doing this.”

I swallowed.

I knew why.

I had always known why.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

The call ended, leaving behind a silence that felt louder than any sound. I stood in the middle of the room, unmoving, staring at nothing. The air felt different now. Heavier. More real.

There was no uncertainty anymore.

I was no longer waiting for something to happen.

I was already inside it.

I belonged to it.

The door opened softly behind me.

I didn’t need to turn to know who it was. My body recognized his presence before my eyes confirmed it. There was a certain gravity that followed Leonard Virelli, something quiet and absolute that demanded attention without asking for it.

I turned slowly.

He stood there, composed as always. His suit was immaculate, his posture relaxed yet controlled. His dark eyes found mine immediately, sharp and observant, as if he could see every thought I was trying to hide.

He didn’t ask about the call.

He already knew.

He always knew.

In his hand, he held something.

Fabric.

He stepped closer, his movements calm, deliberate. Then he extended it toward me.

“Change into this,” he said softly.

I looked down at the clothing in my hands. It was light, delicate, unmistakably feminine. My chest tightened instantly. My fingers hesitated as I held it, as if the fabric itself carried meaning far heavier than its weight.

This wasn’t just clothing.

This was a reminder.

This was my role.

I didn’t move right away. Not because I intended to refuse, but because some fragile part of me was still grieving the person I used to be. The person who had choices. The person who wasn’t owned by someone else’s mercy.

Leonard watched me quietly.

“Are you hesitating?” he asked.

His voice was calm, almost gentle. But beneath it, there was something firm. Something undeniable.

“I…” My voice faltered.

He stepped closer, closing the distance between us.

“Look at me, Dante.”

I obeyed.

His eyes met mine, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink until only that gaze existed. There was no cruelty there. No open anger. But there was possession. Control. Certainty.

“You’re safe here,” he said quietly. “As long as you stay with me.”

Safe.

That word lingered in my mind, complicated and heavy.

Safe, but not free.

His hand rose slowly, his fingers brushing against my cheek. His touch was warm, gentle, completely at odds with the storm inside my chest.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured.

“I’m trying not to,” I admitted.

His lips curved into a faint smile.

“You don’t have to pretend with me.”

His thumb moved slightly, caressing my skin in a way that felt both comforting and terrifying. He wasn’t forcing me. He wasn’t raising his voice. He didn’t need to.

He already had everything.

“I moved her for you,” he said softly.

My breath caught.

“I kept my promise.”

“I know,” I whispered.

“And you will keep yours,” he added.

It wasn’t a question.

It was reality.

“Yes,” I said.

His expression softened, satisfaction flickering briefly in his eyes.

“That’s my good boy,” he murmured.

The words made my stomach tighten. I didn’t know whether to feel ashamed or comforted by them.

“Change,” he said gently.

I turned away, my hands moving slowly as I obeyed. Each movement felt deliberate, meaningful. I was aware of his presence behind me, aware that he was watching, aware that nothing about this moment was private.

When I finished, I stood still for a few seconds before turning back to face him.

His eyes darkened slightly as they took me in.

He didn’t speak immediately.

He simply looked.

And that silence said more than words ever could.

“Come here,” he said at last.

My feet moved before my mind could argue.

I stopped in front of him, close enough to feel his warmth.

His hand lifted, his fingers tilting my chin upward.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered.

My heart stuttered.

No one had ever called me that before.

Not like this.

Not in a way that sounded like truth instead of mockery.

“I don’t feel beautiful,” I admitted.

He smiled faintly.

“That’s because you don’t see yourself the way I do.”

His fingers traced slowly along my jaw, down to my neck. His touch was unhurried, intentional.

“You are something rare,” he said. “Something worth protecting.”

Protecting.

Owning.

The difference between those words felt dangerously thin.

“Leonard…” I whispered, unsure why I said his name, unsure what I was asking for.

His expression softened further at the sound of it.

“Yes?”

“Why me?”

The question escaped before I could stop it.

He studied my face carefully, as if considering how much truth I was allowed to hear.

“Because you stayed,” he said simply.

I frowned slightly.

“You could have run,” he continued. “You could have fought harder. But you didn’t.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

He leaned closer.

“There is always a choice.”

His voice was quieter now.

“And you chose her.”

My chest tightened.

His hand found mine, his fingers intertwining with mine gently, deliberately.

“I admire that,” he murmured.

His thumb brushed over my knuckles, slow and soothing.

“Touch me,” he whispered.

I hesitated only for a moment before obeying. My hand rested against his chest, and I could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my palm.

Strong.

Certain.

Real.

“You’re still nervous,” he said softly.

“Yes.”

“That’s okay.”

His hand moved to my back, resting there with quiet reassurance.

“I won’t rush you.”

There was patience in his voice. Possessive patience. The kind that didn’t come from kindness alone, but from certainty that time itself belonged to him.

“You belong here,” he said quietly.

I didn’t answer.

Because part of me was afraid that he was right.

And part of me was afraid that someday, I wouldn’t want to leave.

I closed my eyes briefly, allowing myself to exist in that moment, suspended between fear and surrender, between resistance and acceptance.

Leonard Virelli had taken my freedom.

But he had saved my mother.

And somewhere in the fragile space between those two truths, I was beginning to lose myself.