FAZER LOGINLater in the afternoon, a soft knock echoed through the bedroom door.
Cassandra stirred in Dante's arms, her body warm and content. She called out, her voice still carrying the lazy satisfaction of their earlier passion. "Come in."
The door creaked open. A young maid stepped inside, her eyes immediately dropping to the floor when she saw them tangled together on the bed. She held a tray laden with food, the smell of fried plantain filling the room.
"Miss Cassandra, Mr. Moretti," the maid said, her voice soft and nervous. "Martha asked me to bring your lunch. Since you didn't come down for breakfast, she thought you might be hungry."
Cassandra smiled warmly, sitting up slightly. The sheet fell away from her shoulders, and she didn't bother to pull it back up. "Thank you. Just give it to me."
The maid hesitated, glancing at the table near the window. "I can set it down for you—"
"It's fine." Cassandra reached out, taking the tray from her hands. "I'll take it. Thank you, and please thank Martha for us."
The maid nodded quickly, relief flooding her face. "Yes, Miss Cassandra. I'll tell her."
She retreated, closing the door softly behind her.
Cassandra set the tray on the bed, the golden brown plantain glistening with oil. She turned to Dante, who was still lying on his side, his eyes closed.
"Baby," she called softly. "Time to eat."
He groaned, rolling onto his back. "I'm not hungry."
"Liar."
She picked up a piece of fried plantain, the sweetness filling her senses. She placed it between her lips and leaned over him, her hair falling around them like a curtain.
Dante opened his eyes. He watched her for a moment, a slow smile spreading across his face. Then he leaned up, taking the plantain from her mouth with his own.
"Got me," he murmured against her lips.
She laughed, pulling back. "So you are hungry."
He sat up slowly, his body protesting. "I didn't say I wasn't. I just said I didn't want to get up."
Cassandra handed him the tray, settling beside him. "Why didn't you just say that?"
"Because I wanted to see if you'd feed me."
She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. She picked up another piece of plantain, holding it to his lips. He took it, his eyes never leaving hers.
"You know," she said, "I think this is the longest conversation we've had in days."
Dante's smile faded slightly. He looked down at the tray. "I know. I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize. I just want you to be okay."
He looked at her, his eyes soft. "I'm getting there. Because of you."
---
After they finished eating, Dante retreated into his phone. His fingers moved quickly, typing something Cassandra couldn't see. His brow was furrowed, focused.
Cassandra slipped out of bed, heading to the bathroom. The water was warm, the steam rising around her. She let it wash away the last traces of sleep, feeling more alive than she had in days.
When she returned, a towel wrapped loosely around her body, she found Dante still on his phone. She frowned, crossing the room toward him.
"What are you doing with your phone?" she asked. "Don't tell me you're working."
Dante didn't look up. He just motioned her over with his hand, his eyes still on the screen.
Cassandra went to him, a curious smile on her face. She sat beside him, her damp hair clinging to her shoulders.
He handed her the phone. "See. I've forgiven him."
She took it, reading the message he'd typed.
I saw a letter about Alessandro. I now know the truth. Cassandra said I should give you a chance. I have forgiven you, Mr. Vincent.
Cassandra's heart swelled. She scrolled down, seeing the attached picture. A photograph of the watch. The watch she'd found.
"You sent him a picture of the watch," she said, laughing softly.
"He should know. He should see that I still have pieces of my past that he can't take away."
She looked at him, her eyes soft. "You couldn't even call him Dad."
He shrugged, but there was no malice in it. "He hasn't earned that. Not yet. Maybe not ever."
She bent down, wrapping her arms around him. "Thank you. For forgiving him."
He held her, his face buried in her neck. "Thank you. For making me see it."
---
Martha arrived not long after, her arms laden with a tray of beans and more plantain. Cassandra was standing by the window, still in the towel, laughing about something Dante had said.
"Martha, you didn't have to—"
"Nonsense." Martha set the tray down, her hands on her hips. "You didn't come down for breakfast, so you eat now. Both of you."
Dante looked up from where he was sitting on the bed. "Martha, you don't—"
"I do." She smiled, her eyes warm. "You've both been through enough. Now eat."
She left before they could argue.
Cassandra looked at Dante, her eyes bright with laughter. "We have to eat. I'm already hungry again."
Dante shook his head, watching her. He had his phone in his hand, waiting for a video call to connect. His assistant was supposed to call him, but she was late.
Then the call connected. Dante brought the phone to his face, his expression shifting to one of ease.
"Auntie," he said, a smile in his voice.
Cassandra climbed onto the bed beside him, her body pressing against his. She watched as he showed his aunt the watch, explaining how Cassandra had found it. They talked about work, about the office, about nothing in particular.
But he didn't mention Alessandro. He couldn't. Not yet.
Cassandra said hi when he turned the phone toward her, waving at his aunt. The woman smiled warmly, her eyes crinkling.
After the call ended, Cassandra laughed. "You're showing everyone the watch."
Dante grinned, pulling her close. "What do you want me to do? It's a special watch."
"Uh-huh."
He smirked, his eyes raking over her towel. "And speaking of special... you're still wearing that."
She laughed, hugging him. "I'm going to change. Eventually."
"Eventually," he repeated, pulling her closer. "Good. That means I have time."
The Moretti mansion loomed before them, cold and unwelcoming.Cassandra stepped through the front doors, Dante's hand warm in hers. They were here for resources—weapons, allies, a base of operations for the final confrontation with Marcus Kane. The safe house was no longer secure. They needed somewhere with more protection.But the moment they crossed the threshold, a familiar voice sliced through the air."Well, well. Look who finally decided to come home."Big Aunty stood at the top of the staircase, her arms crossed, her smile sharp as a blade. She was dressed in a silk robe, her hair perfectly coiffed, her eyes cold and calculating.Cassandra's stomach tightened. She'd hoped never to see this woman again."Aunt," Dante said flatly. "I thought I told you to leave.""I came back." Big Aunty descended the stairs, her heels clicking against the marble. "This is my home. My family. You can't just banish me.""I can. And I did."---Big Aunty's smile faltered. Then it returned, sharper
Cassandra stared at the words written in blood.You're too late. She's already mine.Her blood ran cold. Her mind raced through a list of names—her grandmother, Samantha, Isabella, even Elena. Who had Marcus Kane taken? Who was he holding over her head now?Dante's jaw was tight. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides. He didn't know either. But he wasn't going to wait to find out."Search the building," he ordered his men. "Every room. Every closet. Every inch. Find something."They scattered, their footsteps echoing through the empty safe house.---They found nothing.The building was stripped clean. No documents. No weapons. No sign that anyone had ever been there. Just the message on the wall, written in blood that was already drying.Then Marco called from the basement.Dante and Cassandra went down together. Marco was standing by a small table, a single photograph in his gloved hand.It was old, faded. A picture of Grace Hayes holding a baby. Cassandra.On the back, in
Daniel's text hung in the air like a death sentence.Marcus Kane is planning something. Something big. He's going to strike soon. Be ready.Cassandra stared at the screen, her hands trembling. She showed it to Dante, watching as his expression shifted from concern to cold, hard fury."We need to be ready," he said quietly. "For anything."---Dante went into overdrive.He called Marco, doubling security at the safe house. He arranged for Evelyn to be moved to a secure location—not because he forgave her, but because Cassandra needed her alive. He didn't trust anyone. Not after everything. Every person was a potential threat. Every shadow could hide an enemy.Cassandra watched him work, her heart aching. She knew he was scared. He was scared of losing her.---The next morning, Cassandra insisted on going to the flower shop.She needed to see it—to say goodbye, maybe. To remind herself of who she was before all of this. Before the necklace, before the conspiracy, before Dante.Dante re
Cassandra barely slept.Every time she closed her eyes, she saw her grandmother's face—tear-streaked, broken, begging for forgiveness. She heard the words over and over. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.But sorry didn't bring her mother back. Sorry didn't undo twenty years of lies.Dante stayed close. He didn't push her to talk. He didn't try to fix it. He just held her when she cried and sat with her when she was silent. His presence was a quiet anchor in the storm.---The invitation arrived the next morning.A charity gala hosted by Marcus Kane. Black tie. High profile. The kind of event where powerful people gathered to see and be seen.Cassandra stared at the embossed card, her jaw tight. "It's a trap.""Obviously." Dante poured himself a cup of coffee. "But it's also an opportunity. Marcus will be there. His associates will be there. If we play our cards right, we might find something we can use.""You want to go?""I want to fight." He looked at her. "But only if you're ready."Cassand
Daniel's words hung in the air like a death sentence.Someone else killed Grace Hayes. Someone Cassandra knew. Her mind raced through a list of names—Vincent, Elena, Marcus Kane—but none of them felt right. None of them fit."I need to see you," Daniel said, his voice urgent. "In person. I'll explain everything. But you need to be careful. Someone is watching."The line went dead.---Cassandra found Dante in the study, poring over documents. He looked up when she entered, his eyes sharp, alert."What happened?"She told him. About Daniel's call. About the warning. About the truth she was still trying to process.Dante's jaw tightened. "I don't trust him.""I know." Cassandra sat beside him. "But I need to hear what he has to say. If there's even a chance he's telling the truth—""Then we'll listen." Dante took her hand. "Together."---Daniel arrived at the safe house under cover of darkness.He was nervous, his eyes darting around the room, his hands clasped tightly in front of him.
Cassandra stood frozen in the doorway of the café.The man sitting beside Adrian had her eyes. Her nose. Her chin. He was older—gray streaked through his dark hair, lines etched around his eyes—but the resemblance was unmistakable. It was like looking into a mirror that showed her future."Cassandra," Adrian said softly, rising from his chair. "This is Daniel. Your father."Her father.The word felt foreign. Wrong. She'd spent her whole life believing her father was dead—a man she'd never known, a loss she'd mourned without ever understanding. And now here he was. Alive. Real. Sitting across from her like a ghost made flesh.She didn't move.Daniel stood slowly, his hands clasped in front of him. His eyes—her eyes—were filled with something she couldn't name. Regret. Longing. Love. It was too much. It was everything."I know this is a shock," he said, his voice quiet, careful. "I know you have questions. I'll answer all of them. But first—" He paused. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."---Ca







