Chapter 3: Dante

My hand tightened around the glass tumbler in my grip, my jaw clenching so hard I thought it might crack. God, I wanted to punch something. No—not something. Someone. Him.

The man who had so casually thrown his arm around my Lilliana. The man who had dared to slide that atrocious ring onto her delicate finger, a ring I knew she probably didn’t even like. The man who was now going to marry the only woman I had ever wanted more than I wanted my next breath.

I shouldn’t have come here. I knew that. I shouldn’t have shown up to her engagement party, pretending I could stomach it, pretending I could smile and nod and play civil. But when Jeremy said he was going, I couldn’t hold myself back. Something inside me—a quiet, clawing instinct—told me I had to see her. Just once more. Just to be sure.

Because deep down, I didn’t believe she could really be this happy. Could she?

My eyes scanned the crowd until they found her again, and the moment I saw her, I forgot how to breathe. She looked utterly angelic, as if she didn’t belong in this gritty, ruthless world.

Her long blonde hair cascaded down her back in soft waves, gleaming under the warm lights like strands of silk. It looked rich, healthy, and painfully touchable. She always wore it down around him. I never understood why—maybe because he liked it that way. But my favorite was when she wore it in those tight Dutch braids, braided parallel across her head, framing her heart-shaped face with a strength and grace only she could pull off.

She had started wearing makeup too. I suspected that was his doing—another subtle control. But she never needed it. Her natural beauty outshone anything you could paint on. Her lips were full and perfectly shaped, the lower one just a bit fuller, begging to be kissed. Her nose had that soft button-like slope, the kind you saw on porcelain dolls or old photographs. She got it from her mother, that much I knew. And her eyes—those impossibly clear, sky-blue eyes—could still stop me in my tracks. I used to get lost in them, feeling like I was weightless, like I was flying, like I had somehow stepped into another world where only she and I existed.

Her clothes had changed too. She dressed more elegantly now, more polished. Gone were the wild colors and unpredictable patterns that used to define her. She had once been a riot of sunshine—an explosion of brightness so loud it drowned out my darkness. Now, she wore calm tones and clean lines. Her dress tonight was a soft lavender that looked expensive and understated. It was lovely, but it wasn't her. And that alone told me she didn’t know tonight would be this. That dress wasn’t picked out for an engagement announcement.

She was still amazing. Still everything. And she would never be mine.

Next to me, Jeremy stood chatting with his mother. The conversation had that soft, tired rhythm that comes from years of effort and old wounds. Everything we’d seen in the last fourteen years had left marks on him—deep ones. He’d seen too much, done too much. But none of it had touched the love he had for his family. He still protected them like a wolf guards its den. I had always respected that about him.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, breaking me out of my spiral. When I checked the screen, I found a single, curt message from my father. Nothing personal. Nothing kind. Just business as always:

Leonardo Gallo: Problems at the dock. Handle it.

I sighed, already knowing what I had to do. I had to drag Jeremy away from this rare moment of peace, away from his mother, away from his sister. That was the price he paid when he turned eighteen and chose to brand himself with my family name.

“We need to leave,” I said quietly, my voice low and even, but I knew Jeremy would catch the gravity in it.

Rather than wait for him to finish his conversation or draw out goodbyes, I turned and walked toward her—toward my angel. Because I needed to see her one last time. I needed to say goodbye in my own way. I needed her to know that, no matter what, she had always been in my thoughts.

“Lilliana,” I said as I stepped toward the small group she and her fiancé were speaking with.

Her eyes found mine instantly, her smile faltering for the briefest second. She turned toward me, as if pulled by some invisible string.

“We have to excuse ourselves,” I said, making sure she understood that Jeremy needed to leave with me.

“Okay,” she replied softly, nodding. A few strands of her golden hair tumbled over her shoulder as she did, and for a moment, I just watched her. “Thank you for coming, Dante.”

It had taken her years to start calling me that—to say my first name with any kind of comfort. For the longest time, I had been sir, as if she didn’t quite know what to call me or wanted to keep distance between us. Then came Mr. Gallo, which, somehow, felt even colder. But now... now I was Dante to her. And I held onto that.

If I had my way, I’d be so much more than just Dante. I’d be her protector, her partner, her husband. I’d be the man who held her at night, the one who dried her tears, the one who stood at her side when the world turned dark. I’d be the father of her children, the one who built a life with her and made her feel safe every single day.

But I couldn’t give her that life. I couldn’t drag her down into my world, couldn’t taint her light with my shadow. My mother had paid that price. She had suffered at the hands of violent men because she’d married into power. Because she married him. My father—the most feared and powerful man in the history of this city. And his enemies had made sure she suffered for his sins.

I wouldn’t do that to Lillian. I couldn’t.

“Of course, fiorellino,” I answered smoothly, not sparing even a fraction of a glance for Robert, who was eyeing me like he thought he stood a chance. As if he didn’t already know who he was dealing with. As if a few empty smiles and a shiny ring could ever compete with the years I had loved her in silence.

With one final look at the woman who owned every breath I took, I turned on my heel. Jeremy stepped in behind me to replace the gap I left behind, filling it with small talk and farewells. I didn’t need any of that. I needed out—out of this suffocating, artificial celebration, out of this ridiculous engagement, out of this entire wretched arrangement.

I pressed the elevator button hard, as though I could transfer my frustration into the steel. I didn’t turn back around. I didn’t want to see another man putting his arms around her, didn’t want that image seared into my memory. I just stood there, silent and still, until the elevator dinged and the doors slid open.

Jeremy appeared beside me at that exact moment, slipping into the elevator with me, both of us quiet. The ride down passed in heavy silence, thick with unspoken thoughts. We didn’t exchange a word. Jeremy had long since learned that my father—and by extension, I—had no time for unnecessary conversation. Small talk was a waste of energy. He’d adapted quickly, learning to speak only when it mattered. After facing Lillian’s bright smile and heartbreaking innocence, I appreciated the quiet.

When we stepped out onto the street, it was as busy as ever. Cars honking, lights flashing, the familiar chaos of the city swallowing us up. Still, our car sat there, right where we’d left it, parked illegally and jamming traffic like we owned the place—because we did. Rules didn’t apply when you carried the Gallo name. My father had sewn deep roots into this city’s foundations, built it up like his own personal empire. Over the years, I had only strengthened those ties, maintained the connections, paid off the right people. This city was mine. A playground I walked through like a crowned prince.

Sliding into the back seat, I immediately gave Gabriele a nod. “To the docks.”

I didn’t have to elaborate. Gabriele already knew the score. Likely, some lowlife had tried to tamper with our goods, maybe thought they could slip something past our surveillance. But everything we moved was accounted for. Nothing happened under our nose unless we allowed it. If something was left exposed, it was bait—and only the desperate or foolish took it.

“Situation?” Jeremy asked from beside me, flipping open the hidden compartment in the car. He pulled out our holsters and weapons, beginning the smooth, familiar routine of arming up.

I had made it clear he wasn’t to bring anything to Lillian’s party. She didn’t deserve to have her night tainted by the weight of our world. As always, he obeyed without protest. That kind of loyalty couldn’t be taught—it had to be earned. And I respected the hell out of him for it.

“Nothing serious,” I replied, shrugging off my suit jacket and sliding into the shoulder holster. The leather felt cold and worn against my skin, molded perfectly to the shape of my back from years of use.

If this had been a real threat, if something had gone terribly wrong, my father would’ve said more. He never risked me unnecessarily. I was the only heir, the last Gallo son, and he wasn’t reckless enough to forget it.

Jeremy loaded his sidearm, the soft click of the slide a familiar sound between us. Then he adjusted his suit, smoothing it over the holster. Father had kept his word to Sophie Caraway—Jeremy’s mother. He fed her son, got him through school, taught him how to live like a man of stature. How to speak, how to dress, how to disappear when needed and dominate when necessary.

The Gallo name carried more wealth than we could ever spend in ten lifetimes. It afforded us not just power, but polish. We dressed the part. We were the part. Properties across the country, bank accounts so heavy they bent the system, and a reputation that turned heads and silenced rooms.

As Gabriele turned onto the docks, the evening shadows deepened. Darkness blanketed the shipping yards like a velvet shroud, broken only by the harsh beams of our headlights sweeping over crates and corrugated metal. The gate swung open immediately when they saw us coming.

Inside, several of our men were stationed around a lone figure. The man was on his knees, hands locked behind his head, eyes glued to the pavement beneath him. Others swept the perimeter in tight loops, watching every corner, ensuring no one else had dared trespass.

I stepped out of the car, the air cooler here, salty from the ocean nearby. Buttoning my jacket with practiced ease, I approached the man on the ground. Behind me, the car door slammed as Jeremy joined, his presence a steady shadow to mine.

“Status report,” I said coldly, eyeing the man without a hint of emotion.

The nearest guard straightened at once. “Sir. Found him snooping around our containers. He was taking notes—we’ve confiscated the notepad. He won’t say who he’s working for. No name, no origin. Radio silence.”

“Look at me,” I barked.

The man’s head lifted slowly, defiance etched into every line of his face. He glared at me, bitter and wild, like a wolf caught in a trap. Then he muttered something—low, foreign.

I didn’t need a translation.

Long live the Volkovs.

He clamped his jaw shut and bit down. A crunch—then the frothing started. Cyanide. Classic. Quick, brutal, irreversible.

His body jerked and twisted as the poison did its work, muscles spasming in silent protest. His mouth foamed, the white froth bubbling at the edges, his eyes wide and unseeing. Cyanide worked fast, but not clean. It was an ugly way to go. There were better deaths—bullets, blades, even torture. At least those carried some honor.

“Fucking Russians,” I muttered, turning away. My voice was quiet but cold as steel.

I didn’t spare him a second look. He was already a corpse. Whatever secrets he had died with him.

Jeremy would handle cleanup. That was the unspoken agreement between us. He’d get the scene under control, extract whatever information he could from the notepad, alert the right men.

As for me, I had other battles to fight.

And none of them hurt as much as walking away from her.