A Real Smile

Cassandra stared at the photograph.

Her and Dante at the summit. They were standing together, their hands intertwined, their heads bent close. She was smiling at something he'd said. He was looking at her like she was the only person in the room.

It was a beautiful photograph. A happy photograph.

But the note that came with it made her blood run cold.

You think you're safe. But the game is just beginning.

She didn't show Dante. Not yet. He'd been through so much—his father's death, the guilt, the sleepless nights. She didn't want to add more weight to his shoulders.

She tucked the letter into a drawer, buried it under a pile of old papers. Then she took a breath and went to find him.

---

Dante was in the bedroom, still half-asleep.

He looked peaceful—more peaceful than he'd been in weeks. The lines around his eyes had softened. The tension in his jaw had eased. He looked like the man she'd fallen in love with, not the broken shell he'd become.

She climbed back into bed, curling against his side. He stirred, his arm wrapping around her waist, pulling her closer.

"Good morning," he murmured.

"Good morning."

He kissed her forehead. "You're up early."

"Couldn't sleep."

He opened his eyes, studying her face. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She forced a smile. "Just tired."

He didn't believe her. She could see it in his eyes. But he didn't push.

---

Dante decided they needed a break.

No business. No danger. Just them.

He drove her to the lake—the same lake where they'd spent their first night together. The same lake where everything had changed. The water sparkled in the afternoon sun, calm and inviting. The trees swayed in the gentle breeze.

Cassandra stepped out of the car, breathing in the fresh air. For the first time in weeks, she felt like she could breathe.

"It's beautiful," she said.

"Not as beautiful as you."

She laughed. "That was cheesy."

"I know. But it's true."

---

They walked along the shore, their hands intertwined.

The sun was warm on their faces. The water lapped gently against the sand. Birds sang in the trees. It was peaceful—perfect.

Dante told her stories about his childhood. The good parts. The parts he'd buried under years of pain and responsibility. He told her about his grandfather—the only person in his family who'd ever made him feel like he was enough.

"He used to bring me here every summer," Dante said. "We'd fish. We'd swim. We'd just... be."

Cassandra listened, her heart full. She'd never seen him like this—open, vulnerable, happy.

"He sounds wonderful," she said.

"He was." Dante's voice was soft. "I miss him."

---

They sat on a blanket by the water.

Dante leaned back, his eyes closed, his face turned toward the sun. Cassandra watched him—the way the light caught the angles of his face, the way his lips curved into a small, peaceful smile.

"You should do that more often," she said.

"Do what?"

"Smile. Really smile."

He opened his eyes, looking at her. "I haven't had much to smile about."

"You do now."

He reached for her, pulling her close. She rested her head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too."

---

They stayed at the lake until sunset.

The sky turned shades of gold and pink, the water reflecting the colors like a mirror. Dante pulled her close, his arms wrapped around her.

"I want to build a life with you," he whispered. "A real life. Away from all of this."

Cassandra's heart swelled. "I want that too."

"We'll find a way. I promise."

She looked up at him. "How?"

"I don't know yet. But we will."

---

They returned to the mansion that night.

Cassandra felt lighter than she had in weeks. The letter was still in the drawer, still a threat. But for the first time, it didn't feel like it was consuming her.

She was learning to live with the fear.

That night, Cassandra received a text from an unknown number.

You're running out of time.