5. The traitor

Matteo sat chained to a chair in the centre of Dante’s wine cellar.

He had not been tortured.

That surprised Alessia more than it should have.

His lip was split, and bruises marked his throat where Dante had struck him during the rescue, but he was otherwise unharmed.

Dante remained beside the door.

Alessia approached alone.

Matteo looked up, and relief flooded his face. “You’re alive.”

“No thanks to you.”

“I never meant for them to hurt you.”

“You handed me to Viktor Sokolov.”

“I was trying to stop the marriage.”

“By putting a knife against my throat?”

“That wasn’t part of the plan.”

“Tell me about Gabriel.”

Matteo became still.

Alessia placed a copy of Gabriel’s note in front of him.

If anything happens to me, Luca knows.

Matteo read it before looking towards Dante.

“This came from Moretti?”

“It came from my brother. Dante kept it.”

“And you believe him?”

“I believe evidence.”

“Evidence can be manufactured.”

Alessia drew the knife Dante had returned to her and placed its tip beneath Matteo’s chin.

Dante did not interfere.

“Did my father order Gabriel’s death?”

“Alessia—”

“Answer me.”

Matteo’s breathing changed.

“Yes.”

The word hollowed her out.

She kept the blade steady.

“Did you kill him?”

Matteo closed his eyes. “Yes.”

For four years, Alessia had imagined confronting her brother’s murderer. In every fantasy, her hand remained steady and vengeance felt clean.

Reality was quieter.

She remembered Matteo holding her after Gabriel’s funeral. He had listened while she described every way she wanted Dante to suffer.

He had known the truth.

“How could you?”

“Luca said Gabriel was going to destroy the family.”

“He was the family.”

“He had records that could imprison hundreds of people.”

“So you shot him?”

“I followed orders.”

Alessia pushed the blade hard enough to draw blood.

“Is that what you’ll say when I kill you? That none of it was your fault?”

“I loved you.”

“Don’t.”

“I still love you.”

“You watched me grieve for him.”

“I couldn’t leave you alone.”

“You stayed to ensure I never discovered what you’d done.”

Matteo’s eyes filled with tears.

Once, that sight would have broken her.

Now she felt only grief for the man she had believed him to be.

“Why did my father agree to the marriage?” she asked. “If Dante knows what happened, why place me inside this house?”

“He plans to kill Moretti at the wedding.”

Dante’s voice came from behind her. “Details.”

Matteo looked away.

Dante approached slowly.

The threat surrounding him required no raised voice.

“Twenty armed men will be disguised as catering staff,” Matteo said. “Explosives will be placed beneath the eastern terrace. Luca intends to blame Viktor.”

“Names?” Dante asked.

“I don’t know all of them.”

“You have forty-eight hours to remember.”

Alessia lowered the knife.

Matteo released a shaking breath.

“I don’t want him killed,” she told Dante.

Relief softened Matteo’s body.

“Yet,” she added.

Dante placed his hand against her lower back and guided her towards the stairs.

Outside the cellar, Alessia stopped.

“What happens after forty-eight hours?”

“If he gives us the names, he lives until you decide otherwise.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“He’ll wish you had used the knife.”

She should have objected.

Instead, Alessia walked through the glass doors and into the garden. Dawn stained the horizon crimson.

Her father had ordered Gabriel’s murder.

He had arranged to kill Dante.

In ten days, Luca expected his daughter to walk unsuspectingly into the centre of a massacre.

An idea formed.

Cold. Dangerous. Perfect.

“We won’t cancel the wedding,” she said.

Dante watched her. “No?”

“My father believes his plan remains secret. Let him believe it.”

“You want to use the ceremony as a trap.”

“I want Luca to watch everything he built become mine.”

“And after that?”

Alessia faced him.

“After that, I’ll decide whether I still want to kill you.”

Dante’s gaze dropped to her mouth.

“Then I’ll make certain our marriage is worth surviving.”

“This changes nothing between us.”

“It changes one thing.”

“What?”

He moved close enough for his breath to warm her lips.

“You just agreed to become my wife.”

Before Alessia could answer, Dante kissed her.

His hand slid into her hair while his mouth claimed hers with four years of restraint breaking at once. She pressed her palms against his chest, intending to push him away.

Instead, her fingers closed around his shirt.

Dante tasted of whisky, danger and every terrible decision she was about to make.

Then he stopped.

His forehead rested against hers.

“Tell me to release you.”

The choice was hers.

Alessia should have stepped away.

Instead, she whispered, “Not yet.”