A House Full of Enemies

Their bedroom was bathed in pale morning light.

Cassandra stirred, her body warm and tangled in the sheets. She felt the weight of Dante's arm draped across her waist, his breath warm against her neck. She smiled, her body still humming from the night before.

She tried to slip out of bed, but his arm tightened around her.

"Where do you think you're going?" His voice was rough with sleep.

She turned to face him. His eyes were still closed, his face relaxed. She reached up, her fingers tracing his jaw, his cheek, his lips.

"Nowhere," she whispered. "Just looking at you."

His lips curved into a small smile. He still didn't open his eyes. Then he pulled her closer until there was no space left between them.

The world narrowed to just them. To the way his name fell from her lips and the way he answered it like a promise.

**_

minutes later, the sheets were tangled and the morning light had turned gold. 

"Look at me," she whispered.

He opened his eyes. His gaze was dark, hungry, and completely hers.

Cassandra pressed her forehead to his. "I love you."

His arms tightened. "I love you too."

---

His phone rang, loud and ugly against the quiet.

Cassandra reached for it, glancing at the screen. "Home."

Dante groaned, pulling her closer. "Ignore it."

She laughed, soft. "You can't ignore your family forever."

"I can try."

He answered at the last ring, his voice clipped. "What?"

A brief pause. His jaw ticked. Then he sighed.

"We'll be there in an hour."

He hung up, pulling Cassandra against him like he could hold back time.

"We have to go back," he said.

"I know." She kissed his neck, tasting salt and him. "But first, shower."

He picked her up without a word and carried her to the bathroom. Steam rose around them, warm and blurring the edges of everything. His hands roamed her body like he was memorizing her.

"One more time," he murmured against her mouth. "Before reality catches up."

She kissed him, pressing him back against the tile. The water cascaded over them, washing away everything except the way they fit together.

_*_

When it was over, silence filled the room. They dressed slowly, the weight of reality settling over them like a coat that was too heavy.

---

As they walked to the car, Dante's hand found hers. His grip was tight.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "For everything. For dragging you into this."

She squeezed his hand. "You didn't drag me. I chose this. I chose you."

He stopped, turning to face her. He cupped her face, his thumb brushing her cheek. His eyes were raw.

"I don't deserve you."

"You don't get to decide that."

She kissed him, soft and sure. A promise, right there in the parking lot.

---

The mansion loomed before them, cold and unwelcoming.

Cassandra's hand tightened around Dante's as they walked through the front door. The warmth of the lake house was gone, replaced by the familiar chill of the Moretti estate.

Dante's aunt was waiting in the foyer. Her smile was cold, calculating. Behind her, Vincent stood with his arms crossed, his eyes hard. Elena hovered in the background, her face unreadable.

"Welcome back," the aunt said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "We were beginning to think you'd forgotten you have a family."

Dante's jaw tightened. "We were only gone for a day."

"A day you couldn't afford." The aunt stepped closer, her heels clicking against the marble. "Business deals are falling through. Enemies are circling. And everyone is talking about your little fiancée."

Dante's eyes narrowed. "What are you trying to say?"

"I'm saying you're letting her distract you. You're losing control."

Vincent stepped forward. "Your aunt is right. You've been reckless. You're putting the family at risk."

Dante's eyes narrowed. "The family? Or you?"

Vincent's face hardened. "Watch your tone."

Cassandra stepped forward, her voice calm and steady. She didn't challenge—she tried to explain.

"Dante isn't distracted," she said softly. "He's been protecting me. Protecting the truth. He's been doing what he's always done—fighting for what's right."

Vincent's eyes flicked to her, cold and dismissive. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Maybe not." Cassandra's voice didn't waver. "But I know your son. And he's not the reckless one."

Dante's hand found hers, squeezing gently. He didn't say anything, but she felt his gratitude.

The aunt stepped between them, her voice sweet but venomous. "So protective of each other. How touching." She pulled out a folded piece of paper, holding it out to Dante. "I found this in the east wing. It's a letter from your mother, Elena. To Grace Hayes."

Dante's blood ran cold. He took the paper, his hands trembling slightly. His eyes scanned the words quickly.

It was dated twenty years ago. His mother's handwriting. Begging forgiveness. Admitting she knew about Vincent's plan to kill Grace Hayes. She'd kept the key safe, as Grace had asked. She'd kept it for her daughter.

His face paled. His hands trembled. He knew Cassandra couldn't see this. Not now. Not like this.

He folded the letter quickly, slipping it into his pocket. His face hardened.

"I need to speak with my mother. Alone."

The room fell silent. Cassandra face went pale. Her hands trembled at her sides.

"Wait—" Vincent started.

"No." Dante's voice was sharp. "You don't get a say in this."

He turned to his father, his voice cold and controlled. "Did you kill Grace Hayes?" He asked into his ears.

Vincent didn't flinch. His eyes were hard, unreadable. A long pause stretched between them.

"If you want to label your father a murderer," Vincent said slowly, "then find the evidence yourself. Prove it. If you're so sure." He responded back into his ear.

Dante's hands curled into fists. His jaw tightened. "I will."

He turned to Cassandra, taking her hand. "Come. We're leaving."

---

Dante led Cassandra toward the door. His aunt's laughter followed them.

"You'll be back," she called. "You always come back."

Dante didn't respond. He just pulled Cassandra out of the house, his grip tight.

---

The car was silent.

Dante's hands gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. His jaw was tight, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

Cassandra reached for him, her hand covering his. "What did the letter say?"

"Not now." His voice was tight. "I need to speak with my mother first."

Cassandra hesitated. She wanted to push. Wanted to know what was in that letter that had made him so pale. But she saw the pain in his eyes—the raw, open wound—and she couldn't bring herself to press.

"Okay," she said softly. "I'm here. Whenever you're ready."

Dante looked at her. Something in his gaze softened. His hand turned under hers, his fingers intertwining with hers.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "For defending me. In there."

"I meant every word."

He pulled her close, his lips brushing her forehead. "I love you."

"I love you too."

---

They drove in silence for a while, the city lights blurring past them. Cassandra watched his profile, her heart aching. He looked exhausted. Broken.

She wanted to make it better. Wanted to find a way to fix everything.

But she didn't know how.

His phone buzzed. Dante glanced at the screen. His jaw tightened.

"Who is it?" Cassandra asked.

He didn't answer. He just read the message, his face going even paler.

"Pull over," she said.

He did, parking the car on a quiet side street. He showed her the phone.

Your mother knows more than she's telling. Ask her about the night Grace died. - Isabella

Cassandra's heart sank. "Isabella?"

"She always seems to know everything." Dante's voice was flat. "I don't trust her. But she's right about one thing—my mother is hiding something."

"Then we ask her."

"I will." He looked at Cassandra, his eyes raw. "But not tonight. Tonight, I just want to be with you."

Cassandra nodded. She didn't need to say anything more. She just took his hand, holding it tight.

---

They didn't go back to the mansion. They checked into a hotel, a small, private place where no one would find them.

Cassandra held Dante in the darkness, her arms wrapped around him.

"You're not alone," she whispered. "I'm here."

"I know." His voice was muffled against her hair. "That's the only thing keeping me sane."

She kissed his forehead, his cheeks, the tip of his nose. He smiled, a small, tired smile.

"Stay with me," he said. "Don't leave."

"Never."