Chapter 5 The Devil’s Truth

The photo Alessandro gave her refused to leave her mind.

Amara had stared at it for hours after the masquerade. The image of the bruised girl, the shadow of Dante behind her—gun in hand, expression unreadable—burned into her thoughts like acid.

Is this the man I’m living with?

She wasn’t naïve. She’d known from the beginning that Dante Moretti wasn’t just a mafia king—he was a killer, a man who ruled through fear, power, and precision.

But there was a difference between knowing and seeing.

Between rumors and proof.

And now, a seed of doubt had been planted so deep it tangled around her bones.

Who was the girl?

What happened to her?

Was she like me? Another pawn? Another woman he claimed—and destroyed?

Amara needed answers.

Even if they shattered everything.

---

It was just after dawn when she stormed through the west corridor of the Moretti estate. The guards didn’t stop her anymore. They’d learned—either let her pass, or deal with Dante’s wrath later.

She found him in his private study, as she always did at this hour.

He was at his desk, jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled up, dark hair slightly disheveled. A half-empty glass of whiskey sat near his hand, untouched. He hadn’t slept either.

Good.

“Who is she?” Amara demanded, throwing the photo onto his desk.

Dante didn’t flinch.

He simply stared at it.

Then looked up.

His expression unreadable.

“Where did you get this?”

“Don’t answer my question with a question.”

“Alessandro gave it to you,” he said, calm as ice.

She said nothing.

He stood slowly, took the photo in his hand, and stared at it for a long moment.

Then he dropped it into the fireplace.

Flames swallowed the truth in seconds.

Amara lunged forward. “What are you doing?”

“Destroying poison,” he said. “Before it spreads.”

“I wanted to know who she was!”

“And I’m telling you it doesn’t matter.”

“She matters to me,” Amara snapped. “Because she could’ve been me.”

His eyes darkened. “No. No one could ever be you.”

“Stop playing word games, Dante. Stop twisting the truth. Was she someone you—used? Someone you hurt?”

He crossed the room and poured himself another glass of whiskey.

“Her name was Sofia.”

The name hit Amara like a slap. “Tell me.”

“She was Alessandro’s mistress. A spy. Sent by one of the other families. She seduced my brother to get access to our operations.”

“And what did you do to her?”

“I interrogated her.”

“Is that what you call it now?” Her voice broke. “She looked like she’d been beaten to death.”

“She wasn’t. I never laid a hand on her. My men handled the extraction. I asked the questions.”

“And then what?”

“She was turned over to the council. They voted for execution.”

Amara recoiled.

“So you let her die?”

“She would’ve let you die. You don’t survive this world by sparing the wolves, Amara. You survive by becoming one.”

She shook her head.

“I don’t want to survive like you.”

Dante stepped closer, whiskey untouched in his hand.

“And yet you do. Every day. You stay. You watch. You listen. You’re learning.”

“I’m not learning. I’m watching you rot.”

His jaw clenched.

“You don’t see it yet,” he said quietly. “But you’re already one of us.”

“No,” she whispered. “I’m not. And I never will be.”

His voice turned low. Dangerous.

“Then why haven’t you run?”

The question froze her.

“I—”

“You’ve had chances. Bianca leaves your door unlocked. I keep guards at a distance. You’ve wandered the estate for days. Yet you stay.”

Amara looked away.

“I stay because my father—”

“No,” Dante said, voice sharp now. “Don’t lie to me. Not when your eyes say something else.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I should.”

“But you don’t.”

He stepped even closer.

And her back hit the wall.

His breath was warm. Whiskey-laced. Hands still at his sides. But the heat between them was electric. Crackling.

“You want to hate me,” he whispered, “because it’s safer than wanting me.”

She trembled.

“I don’t want you.”

“Liar.”

He leaned in.

But didn’t touch her.

Didn’t kiss her.

He just breathed her in.

Then stepped back.

“Truth hurts, doesn’t it?”

---

That night, she found herself standing in front of a locked door.

The west wing.

The one room Dante had forbidden her from entering.

But she needed answers.

She needed something to prove that she hadn’t lost control completely.

Bianca’s words rang in her head.

“Even lies can be survival.”

She picked the lock with a pin from her hair.

It clicked.

And the door creaked open.

Dust floated in the air like ghosts.

The room was cold.

Dark.

A single light bulb hung from the ceiling, swaying slightly.

Inside were shelves.

Hundreds of them.

Files. Documents. Photos. Evidence.

The Moretti archive.

She ran her fingers over the labeled boxes.

Surveillance

Political Bribes

Family Bloodlines

She paused at one marked:

> L. VOSS – COLLATERAL CLAIM

Her chest tightened.

Inside were letters.

Photos.

One was a scan of her birth certificate—blank father name.

Another was a note from Lorenzo Voss:

> “Dante—take her. She’s more valuable than anything I own. Just clear my debt. I’m begging you. She won’t know. She doesn’t even like me.”

Amara sat down.

Tears burned her eyes.

Her father hadn’t just sold her.

He’d discarded her.

Traded her life like it meant less than poker chips.

She was never going to get him back.

Because he’d never wanted her to begin with.

---

Dante found her there hours later.

He didn’t yell.

He didn’t threaten.

He just stood in the doorway.

And waited.

Amara didn’t look up.

“You knew,” she said.

“Yes.”

“You let me believe he was worth saving.”

“He was your father. That was enough.”

She finally looked at him.

“I hate you,” she whispered.

Dante nodded once.

“I can live with that.”

Then he turned to leave.

But paused.

“You may hate me now, Amara,” he said, voice a whisper. “But one day, you’ll understand me better than you want to. And when that day comes—your hatred won’t protect you.”

---

That night, she curled into her bed, heart broken, rage boiling.

Her father had betrayed her.

Dante had owned her.

Her mother had lied to her.

Everything she believed in was a lie.

But if they thought she’d break…

They were wrong.

She wasn’t a lamb anymore.

She was a lion.

And when the time came—

She would choose who to burn.