Chapter 8: Modulation of the Heart

DANTE

The scent of wood polish and leather wrapped around me as I sat in my office. The dark paneling and refined decor carried the kind of weight that commanded attention. Authority lived in this room.

Across from me, a row of surveillance screens flickered, each one tracking Tori’s restless pacing inside the guest house. My fingers moved absently through Mr. Buttons’ fur, his small body warm against my lap. He had no idea the storm was building inside me.

I scratched behind his ears, the softness grounding. My voice dropped, quieter than usual, oddly tender.

"Why’d your mom give you such a ridiculous name, huh?"

A chuckle stirred in my chest.

"You deserve better."

My gaze shifted to the bag on my desk, the one Tori had clutched like it held her life. What the hell was she hiding in there? What could possibly matter that much?

"Let’s find out."

I set Mr. Buttons on the floor. His eyes stayed on me, wide and trusting, his tail wagging like we were playing some harmless game.

I grabbed the bag and brought it to the table. The zipper rasped open. Clothes. Shoved in fast. Messy. My hand brushed something solid. Then another. Stacks of cash tumbled out, banded and thick.

My brow arched.

"Seriously? What the hell?"

The words slipped out low and sharp. Where had she gotten this kind of money?

A flash of red caught my eye. Christian Louboutins. Expensive. Obsessively cared for. They looked out of place beside the worn jeans and faded tees she usually wore.

I shook my head.

"Guess she really loves these."

Dog food. Poop bags. Treats. I scooped Mr. Buttons back up and set him on the table, offering him one. His tail thumped against the wood like a drumbeat of joy.

My fingers closed around cold metal. Hard. Unyielding. I pulled out a hunting knife, the curve of the blade gleaming beneath the overhead light. My thumb slid along the edge. Sharp. Deadly. One strike could kill.

Bullets. Mace. A taser. Brass knuckles. One by one, I laid them out. The table grew heavier with every weapon.

I crossed the room, grabbed the Glock 26 from the cabinet, the one I’d taken off her in the car, and added it to the collection.

Hands on my hips, I stared at the display. Respect? Maybe. Confusion? Absolutely.

Mr. Buttons blinked up at me, unbothered.

"What the hell are you hiding, Tori?"

The next layer held a journal. The cover was worn, the leather soft beneath my fingertips. A file folder sat beneath it. I placed both on my desk, but my attention was stuck on the journal.

I flipped it open and scanned her handwriting, scattered thoughts, poetry, broken lines full of emotion.

I reached the last page and stopped cold.

Pain bled off the ink. Raw. Desperate. Afraid. It was a letter to her mother. A confession. Abuse. Her plea for safety screamed from the page. At the bottom, a goodbye was scrawled in uneven lines. And at the end, lyrics. A song. Strength, masked by heartbreak.

She wasn’t just running. She was surviving.

____________________________

Mom,

Did you know you were married to a monster? Did you ever suspect what he was capable of? The scars on my back from his whip will never fade. The pain was unbearable.

I’ve had to learn to defend myself. The training has been brutal. But I have no choice. I need to become strong enough to face my hunters. Every ache and bruise shows how far I’ve come, but also how far I still have to go.

I don’t know if I have the stomach to take a life. The thought scares me, but what terrifies me more is what might happen if I can’t.

Before they close in and find me to take me back, I’ll take my life. It’s just a matter of time.

Why couldn’t you take me with you when you left this world? At least then I wouldn’t be so alone and afraid all the time.

I wrote this song for you. I miss you so much, Mom.

____________________________

Shadows

Before the shadows touch my door,

I won’t beg for peace or try to hide.

That time has passed.

I’ll whisper goodnight through the dark,

Hold your name close to my heart.

That time has passed.

So here I stand…

I’m still your daughter, just no longer small.

They shattered the rules. They branded my name.

No need to worry. No need to cry.

You knew their masks. I know their lies.

And while I sing, I’ll keep you near.

So Mama, rest. There’s no more fear.

I’ll be brave.

It’s my turn now

To keep the shadows away.

____________________________

I closed the journal, fingers still resting on the page, like I could hold the weight of her words in place. My chest tightened. Breath caught.

So Mama, rest. There’s no more fear.

The line rang in my head, soft but staggering. She’d written it for her mother. But it could’ve been for mine.

It sounded like peace. Like the kind of ending no one in our world ever got. A daughter rising, fierce and tender, to guard what her mother no longer could.

My mother hadn’t slipped away in comfort. She died screaming, surrounded by blood and betrayal. There were no whispered goodnights. No promises to keep the shadows away. Just torture. Cruelty. And the sound of my father breaking.

Marisol’s song... it was a lullaby for the dead. A mercy I never knew how to give.

I hadn’t been there. I was supposed to go with her. She asked. I said no.

If I’d gone, could I have stopped it? Could I have changed the ending?

They left her outside our gates. Naked. Mutilated. The grass was stained red beneath her. No peace. No dignity. Just silence, and the sound of everything breaking.

Marisol had faced her own shadows. She knew what it meant to hold the weight of survival like a punishment. The girl behind that melody wasn’t naive. She was haunted.

And somehow, still, trying to be brave.

That failure built my walls. No love. No softness. Only steel.

But Tori—her words cracked something in me. She’d been through hell, and she was still standing. My armor didn’t feel as indestructible anymore.

I knew what it meant to carry invisible scars. Mine were buried deep. Hers bled on the page. We were both survivors. Haunted. Hardened.

And for the first time in years, something shifted.

A flicker of empathy.

A grudging respect.

This wasn’t just strategy anymore.

I wanted to protect her.

Needed to.

My hands trembled as I put the journal back onto my desk. I stood, crossed the room, and pulled a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet. The amber liquid sloshed into the glass.

I drank deep. The burn steadied me.

When I sat again, I focused on the folder. Each document laid bare the truth. Criminal records. Financial crimes. Names and connections. All leading to one name.

"Marisol Franco," I muttered.

The daughter of a powerful white-collar crime family. Gone a year. Rumors said she’d been promised to Marcos Montoya. A marriage to merge two empires. But she’d disappeared.

And now she was here. Hiding in plain sight. Victoria Valencia.

I stared at the screen as she paced, unaware that her secrets had been blown wide open.

"Great." I exhaled hard. "Now I’m caught between two damn cartels."

Everyone in my world had heard the whispers. Both families had been searching for her. Ruthlessly.

Having her here was a powder keg. I needed a plan.

Reaching down, I ruffled Mr. Buttons’ head.

"Don’t worry, little guy. I’ve got you. And your mom..."

My voice dipped.

"I need to figure out what to do with her."

I set him down and glanced at the guitar case in the corner. I hadn’t paid it much attention. Until now.

I opened it. Another hidden stash of cash.

"She’s resourceful," I muttered, pulling the bundles out. She’d planned her escape. Down to the last dollar.

My gaze returned to the screens. Marisol, pacing, restless. A force in motion. She didn’t know her secrets were out. Didn’t know I saw her now, not as prey, but as something else.

A survivor. Like me.

And I wasn’t sure where that realization would lead.

But I knew one thing.

She had my attention. And maybe... my protection.

The thought struck hard. I hadn’t saved my mother. But maybe I could save her.