It's Loveless

CATALINA'S PERSPECTIVE

By the time I stepped out of the bath, the air had cooled. I wrapped myself in a silk robe, the ivory fabric brushing against my sore skin with every movement.

I passed the mirror without pausing. I didn’t need to look again. The bruises were still there, fresh, shadowed, pressed into my hips, my neck like fingerprints.

It was late. I could’ve gone to bed.

But instead, I went to the kitchen and brewed his tea. Jasmine, he never asked for it, but I always brought it when he worked late.

A small act of care. Or habit. Or something in between.

Balancing the tray with both hands, I made my way to his office. The door was unlocked. He never locked it from me.

I stepped inside quietly.

Dante stood with his back to me, facing the window, phone in one hand. He didn’t turn when I entered, but I knew he’d heard me. He always did.

I placed the tray on the edge of his desk, no clatter, no disruption. Just soft porcelain on dark wood.

His gaze slid toward me briefly. One second. No more.

It landed on the dark mark above my thigh where the robe had shifted. He said nothing.

He never did.

I let my eyes drift for a moment. The edge of a document beneath his hand. Red markings. A signature I didn’t recognize. And on the floor, his office phone, shattered in pieces near the wall.

Something had happened.

But before I could read another line, Dante stepped in front of me, large and deliberate. He reached past me for the tea, then turned me gently by the shoulder.

“That’s enough. Go.”

I didn’t resist.

But as I reached the door, his voice followed.

“Don’t wait up. I'll be out late.”

I paused. Just for a second.

Then nodded. “Of course.”

And like always… I left.

I walked back to our room in silence, my steps light against the polished floors.

Part of me lingered in that office, back where documents lay open and phones lay broken, but I didn’t let myself turn back.

I could’ve asked.

Could’ve lingered.

But I didn’t.

Whatever it was, whatever storm he was walking into tonight, it wasn’t mine to touch. Not yet.

I slipped off the robe and folded it neatly at the foot of the bed. The bruises along my neck, hips, and thighs pulsed faintly, their warmth dulled now by exhaustion.

I pulled the covers back and lay down in the middle of our large, empty bed. His scent was still on the pillow. His weight still lingered in the sheets.

I closed my eyes and curled into that silence like it was a second skin.

My body ached, but my heart… felt quiet.

Not full. Not empty.

Just… satisfied.

In this house, in this marriage, that was enough.

And with that thought, I let sleep take me,

bruised, still, and smiling.

~~~~~

DANTE'S PERSPECTIVE

By the time I pulled up to the estate, the sun hadn’t yet risen. The world was still dark, still quiet.

But I knew that behind these iron gates, there was nothing but noise.

The front guards opened without question. No search. No delay. Everyone here knew better than to keep me waiting.

Still, the moment I stepped out of the car and into that perfumed air, I felt it.

Disgust.

The scent of sweat, sex, and something too sweet. The kind that clung to velvet curtains and barely-covered skin.

The house hadn’t changed. Neither had he.

I was led through halls lined with marble and sin, straight into the heart of his den.

He sat there, Nico Mareni. A man with power, yes. But no class. No restraint.

Not a don. Not a king. Just a collector of information… and bodies.

He reclined lazily on a crimson couch, legs spread like a bored prince.

One woman was kneeling in between his legs, head buried between his thighs. Tongue swirling on Nico's balls.

Another was straddling on his lap, rolling her hips slowly, while he busied his mouth in her nipples, uncaring of my presence.

A third knelt beside him, kissing the woman riding him. Their tongues are dueling, moaning in between kisses.

He didn’t bother covering them.

He just looked at my way when I arrived.

But he didn't stop them.

Just grinned lazily at me like this was just another day.

“Lucchese,” he drawled, voice thick with smoke and indulgence. “You’re up early.”

I didn’t sit. I didn’t answer.

My gaze swept over the women, not out of interest, but because I needed to know if any of them were armed.

“Still surrounding yourself with distractions, I see,” I said flatly.

“Distractions,” he laughed, flicking ash from his cigar, “are what keep me sane in a world full of men like you.”

I didn't smile.

“I need information.”

“And I need payment,” he said, waving a hand like this was a trade in the middle of a garden market. “Same as always. Non-negotiable.”

I stepped closer, ignoring the moans and gasps from the flesh he draped himself in.

This man might live in filth,

but the things he knew?

They could burn entire empires.