Dante Finds His Missing Piece

Cassandra woke to the sharp, bitter smell of whiskey.

It hit her nostrils before her eyes even opened, strong and acrid, cutting through the morning air. She groaned, rolling over, her hand reaching for the warm body that should have been beside her.

Empty.

Her eyes fluttered open. Dante was sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to her, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. The bottle sat on the nightstand, half-empty.

Cassandra sat up slowly, the sheet pooling around her waist. Her brow furrowed.

"Baby," she said softly, her voice thick with sleep. "You're drinking. It's barely morning."

Dante didn't turn around. "It's just a little, dear."

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, crawling toward him. Her arms wrapped around his waist from behind, her chin resting on his shoulder.

"It's not 'just a little,'" she murmured. "You've been drinking for days. You're drowning yourself, Dante."

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine." She reached around, gently taking the glass from his hand. "And that's okay. You don't have to be fine. But you don't have to drown either."

He finally turned to look at her. His eyes were red-rimmed, hollow. The pain of the letters, the revelation of what he should have known since, was still raw.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked quietly. "Pretend I'm okay? Pretend everything is fine?"

"No. I want you to let me help you." She reached up, her fingers brushing his lips seductively. "I think I have some things that will make you feel better."

His lips twitched. "A gun I could use to kill that man called Vincent?"

She laughed softly, shaking her head. "No. Something better."

She took his hand, pulling him to his feet. "Come. I want to show you something."

He didn't move. He wasn't excited. He was still too pained, too lost in the betrayal. Cassandra understood. She knew she'd need to work hard to reach him.

"Please," she said softly. "Just trust me. Come and see for yourself."

---

Cassandra dragged him to the bed, pushing him gently onto the mattress. He lay back, his eyes watching her, guarded and wary.

She climbed on top of him, straddling his hips. Her fingers found the buttons of his shirt, working them open slowly.

"You always wear too many shirts," she complained, her lips curving into a teasing smile. "You make me work too hard."

He almost smiled. Almost.

She pulled his shirt open, revealing his chest. Her hands roamed his skin, warm and gentle. Then she reached for his pants, tugging them down his hips.

"You're making me work even harder," she murmured.

He almost laughed. "You're the one who wants this, you want to make happy right?"

She leaned down, her lips brushing his ear. "I know. But it's worth it."

The moment she held him, he stirred. His breath caught.

"Bad girl," he whispered.

She smiled, her eyes glinting with mischief. "You love it."

Dante gave in. He pulled her to him, his hands gripping her hips. But Cassandra didn't let him take control. She took the lead, moving slowly, deliberately.

They enjoyed themselves, lost in each other. The morning stretched on, the world outside forgotten.

---

Afterward, they lay tangled together, their breathing slow and steady. Cassandra reached into the drawer beside the bed, her fingers searching.

"What are you doing?" Dante asked, his voice lazy, content.

"Just wait," she murmured.

She pulled something out—an object wrapped in soft cloth. She handed it to him, watching his face with eager anticipation.

Dante unwrapped it slowly. His breath caught.

It was a wristwatch—silver, elegant, engraved with words he'd memorized years ago.

DANTE MORETTI—THE UNDEFEATED—20XX

Dante stared at it, his hands trembling.

"Where... where did you get this?"

"Remember the package?" Cassandra said softly. "I saw it in there. After you stopped searching because of the letter, I thought... I thought you might want it back."

He held the watch, his fingers tracing the engraving. He'd won this in a competition at twenty years old. A competition he'd entered on his own, without his father's influence, without the family name.

He'd kept it as a reminder that his success didn't come from his family's wealth. That he'd earned something himself.

But over the years, he'd lost touch with his younger self. He'd become the man his father wanted him to be. And somewhere along the way, he'd lost this piece of himself.

Now it was back.

"I can't believe you found this," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I thought... I thought I'd lost it forever."

Cassandra smiled, her eyes soft. "I know it's important to you. I could tell by the way you look at it."

Dante stared at the watch, his eyes glistening. "You don't understand. This isn't just a watch. I can't count how many contracts, how many connections I made because of what this."  He said raising It up.

"It was really a part of me somehow... and now it's back."

He looked at her, his voice raw with emotion. "Cassandra, you don't know how happy I am."

Her heart swelled. "I think I do."

He embraced her, holding her tight for a long time. When he finally pulled back, his eyes searched hers.

"How did you find it?"

"You're asking again. I was looking through the package," she admitted. "I saw it tucked in the corner. I thought you might want to see it again."

He kissed her forehead, her nose, her lips. "You're actually what has been missing in my life," he said. "Just a few months into my life, and I'm really this happy."

She took his lips in a kiss. Then she pulled back, her expression softening.

"Maybe you should forgive Vincent," she said quietly. "Because he's still your father. And it could even be false that he killed Alessandro."

Dante's jaw tightened. He didn't respond.

A maid knocked on the door, her voice muffled. "Mr. Moretti, Miss Cassandra? Breakfast is ready."

Dante didn't look away from Cassandra. "I don't want breakfast. I want only you this morning."

"And forgiving your dad?" Cassandra asked softly.

He still didn't respond. He only pulled her in.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, guiding him into her. They became lost in themselves, with Cassandra taking every inch of him.