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CHAPTER 52
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2025-10-13 00:05:36Dahlia’s POV
The words hung in the air like ice.
My head jerked up, my heart instantly pounding. “What do you mean followed?” I asked, my voice trembling as I turned around in my seat. Through the back window, I saw headlights—bright and far too close. At first, it looked like just another car on the road. But then I noticed how it didn’t change lanes, didn’t slow down, didn’t drift even a little. It was followi
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Dante’s POVBecause I'd told myself, all this time, that I was doing the brave thing. The hard, selfless, loving thing—cutting her loose so she could be free of me and my blood and my ghosts. I'd worn that story like armor. It was the only thing that had let me get through a single one of these gray endless days.But sitting there with her words in my hand—I love you, I'm tired of it being a secret, you were loved all the way—I finally understood the truth of what I'd done.She'd been braver than me the whole time. Every second of it. She'd loved me out loud and I'd hidden. She'd said the words and I'd run. She hadn't been afraid of loving me. I'd been afraid of loving her, and I'd dressed my cowardice up as protection and called it noble, and now she was thirty thousand feet in the air, saying goodbye, and I was sitting alone in the wreckage I'd made of my own life with her eyes tattooed over my heart.I looked down at my chest. At the healing ink there. At her eyes, looking back up
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Dante’s POVI woke up in my bed with the sun coming through the window.It was too bright. Slanting in high and hard, the kind of light that means the morning's long gone. Almost midday, I figured, from the angle of it. My mouth was dry as sand and my head was splitting, a deep ugly pounding behind my eyes that made me squint against the light and immediately regret being awake at all.For a moment I just lay there, trying to figure out how I'd gotten here.Then the flashes started coming.The shower. I remembered the shower. Standing under the water with my clothes still on, letting it run and run because I couldn't make myself do anything else. The whisky before that. The mirror—I closed my eyes. The mirror.I lifted my hands and looked at them, and they were bandaged. Both of them. Clean white gauze wrapped careful and neat around my knuckles, the kind of job you can't do drunk and one-handed. I stared at them, trying to make sense of it, and I couldn't remember doing it.And then
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Andrea's POVI was in the plane the next afternoon.I'd made it through the whole morning somehow. Packed the last of my things. Said goodbye to Mrs. Cruz, who'd hugged me tight and pressed a foil-wrapped package of food into my hands "for the flight." Signed out through the mansion gates one final time. And now I was here, buckled into a window seat with the engines humming beneath me, watching the ground crew move around on the tarmac far below.I was finally leaving. So I didn't understand why I felt so nervous.Maybe it was just the strangeness of an ending. Maybe leaving always feels like this, even when it's the right thing—this hollow flutter under the ribs, this sense of standing at the edge of something and not being able to see the bottom.Or maybe it was because I still didn't know if I was doing the right thing. Whether going home was moving forward or just running away. Whether I'd wake up in my old bedroom in a week and feel free, or feel exactly the same amount of broke
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Andrea's POVI stripped the rest of his wet clothes off him, moving fast and impersonal, refusing to let myself feel any of it. His skin was flushed hot from the shower and he swayed against me constantly and his breath was sour and thick with whisky. I found a towel and got it around his waist and knotted it.Then I got my shoulder under his arm again and walked him out.Out of that steam-filled bathroom with its shattered mirror. Through the wreckage of his bedroom, past the hole in the wall and the emptied drawer and the clothes strewn across the carpet. To the bed—our bed, the bed where he had held me all night and made me breakfast in the morning and called me baby into my hair while the sun came up over the city—and I pushed the tangled sheets back and I sat him down on the edge of it.He went straight over backward, sprawling onto the mattress, all his strength finally gone.I lifted his legs up onto the bed and pulled the blanket over him.And then I stood there and looked at
SUBSTITUTE BRIDE FOR THE MAFIA DON Chapter 156
Andrea's POVI reached past him and shut the water off.The silence that dropped down after all that noise was almost violent. Just the drip and trickle of water off the tiles. His ragged wet breathing. The heavy sound of his soaked clothes.He let me take his arm.That was the worst part, maybe. He came without any resistance at all. This man made of iron and hard edges and absolute control, and he came when I pulled at him, heavy and stumbling, all his weight sagging against me. He caught his foot on the lip of the shower and nearly went down and nearly took me with him, and I got my shoulder up under his arm and hauled him out and across the wet floor to the sink.And that was when I saw it.The mirror.The whole mirror over the basin was shattered. Destroyed. A great violent starburst of cracks radiating out from one central point, silver fractures running all the way to the frame, whole pieces of it hanging loose or gone entirely. Glass lay scattered across the counter and glitte
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Andrea's POVThe whole place smelled of whisky. Sharp and sweet and heavy, like it had been spilled and left there to soak down into the rug and the wood and the walls.I stepped inside. Something crunched under my shoe. My hands had gone completely cold and my heart was slamming so hard against my ribs I could feel it in my throat, my ears, the roots of my hair. Every instinct I owned was screaming at me and I couldn't have told you what it was screaming, only that it was screaming one word over and over.Wrong. Wrong. Wrong."Dante!" I was almost shouting now, moving further in, past the wreckage, past the overturned chair. "Dante, answer me!"Nothing answered.The bedroom door stood ajar.I pushed it open and went in, and it was the same. It was worse. The sheets had been dragged half off the bed and left trailing on the floor. A drawer had been yanked clean out of the dresser and upended, clothes flung everywhere. There was a hole in the wall beside the closet, about fist height,
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Dahlia’s POVI spent the afternoon in my painting room, alone with my thoughts. The sunlight coming through the big window made everything warm and soft, but my mind wasn’t focused on my brushes or the half-finished painting. It kept drifting back to last night—Luca’s hands on my skin, the way he w
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Dahlia’s POVThe man’s knees gave out. He fell forward, trembling. “Please! Please don’t— I didn’t know, I swear! I didn’t mean—”Luca’s voice was cold and steady. “You saw her ring. You saw her guards. And you still touched her.”He took one slow step closer, his arm never wavering. The crowd arou
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Dahlia’s POVWhen we got back to the mansion, it was quiet. Most of the lights were already off, and the guards nodded as Luca led me inside. My heart was still racing from everything that had happened that night—the club, the stars, the kiss, all of it felt like a dream I didn’t want to end.Luca
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Dahlia’s POVThe kiss was soft, unhurried — not demanding like the first ones we’d shared. This one felt different. It was gentle and warm, like a promise he wasn’t ready to put into words yet. His hand moved up to my cheek, his thumb brushing my sk
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