Chapter 20: recycled trash

Antonio’s POV

I walk in expecting the usual silence and instead find her sitting at the table.

For a second, my brain refuses to cooperate. The room looks wrong, the air feels wrong even the chair she’s in has never been occupied during these breakfasts, not once. My father preferred the space empty, a reminder of authority rather than companionship.

Until now.

Serena Romano.

She sits straight-backed in black silk, hands folded neatly in her lap, posture controlled and deliberate. Not nervous. Not apologetic, not the woman who once stood in my office begging me to answer her calls while I pretended not to hear the phone ring.

This version of her is composed and closed off. She looks sharp around the edges in a way that makes something uncomfortable twist in my chest.

The door closes behind me. I didn’t make any announcement, No greeting whatsoever. My father doesn’t look up from his newspaper and Serena doesn’t turn around.

Good.

I walk past the table without acknowledging her, moving toward the sideboard like she isn’t even there. I pour myself coffee slowly, deliberately, letting the sound of liquid hitting porcelain fill the silence. My hand stays steady even though my pulse doesn’t.

I take a sip, then another, before turning just enough to see her reflection in the polished silver tray.

She hasn’t moved.

That irritates me more than I expect.

“Well! Well!! Well!! I say casually, resting my hip against the counter, “this is unexpected.”

She stiffens slightly, just enough to notice. Still human, then.

I turn fully now, letting my gaze drag over her from head to toe. The dress is expensive, the cut is severe and It doesn’t soften her the way her old clothes did. It turns her into something contained.

“You clean up well,” I continue, “I guess marrying into the Romanos comes with a wardrobe upgrade. New name and packaging.”

Her fingers tighten around the napkin in her lap.

“Though I have to admit, it’s impressive. I left you with nothing, empty accounts…No leverage, no identity worth keeping and I made sure of that.”

My father shifts behind his newspaper but doesn’t intervene.

Serena finally looks up at me.

Her expression isn’t frightened , it looks guarded. That makes me smile.

“So I’m curious,” I go on. “Did you crawl to him, or did my father enjoy finding you already desperate enough to say yes?”

Her fork slips from her fingers and hits the plate with a soft clatter.

I notice.

I enjoy it.

“I didn’t choose this,” she says quietly.

The room stills.

“Dante came to me.”

I laugh, sharp and short. “Of course he did. He always liked broken things. He loves People he could fix and own at the same time.”

I stop beside her chair, close enough to feel the heat of her body.

“Tell me something, Serena … Does his name taste better than mine did? Does it make the humiliation easier to swallow?”

She doesn’t look away.

That’s new.

“I didn’t marry him for power,” she says. “I married him because he saw what you didn’t.”

I feel irritation flare. “And what was that?”

“That I survived you.”

The words hit harder than they should.

Before I can respond, the atmosphere shifts. The room tightens

My father lowers the paper slowly. The movement is subtle but deliberate, like he already knows where this is heading and doesn’t plan to stop it.

He steps toward the table, adjusting his cufflinks as he walks. He doesn’t look at me, His attention is entirely on Serena.

“ I can see you both already have met?”

I scoff. “We’re just talking.”

“No,” Dante replies calmly. “You’re performing.”

Serena looks at him in shock.

“ This is Antonio I told you about.” She said .

His hand rests on the back of Serena’s chair.

The contact is light, but the message isn’t.

“You threw away a valuable asset,” Dante continues, finally turning his gaze on me. “Because you confused cruelty with intelligence. You saw inconvenience. I saw opportunity.”

I straighten, bristling. “You married her to look merciful.”

Dante’s mouth curves slightly. “I married her because I wanted her.”

His hand slides from the chair to Serena’s shoulder, firm and unmistakable. She doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t lean into it either. She simply allows it.

“You are mocking my wife,” Dante says evenly. “And by doing that, you are mocking my name.”

I lean forward, refusing to back down. “She was nothing before you. She was a liability, a problem I already solved.”

Dante turns fully toward me.

“Say it again.”

His voice is quiet, controlled and dangerous.

I shouldn’t.

I do anyway.

“You picked her up from the gutter,” I say. “I just put her there first.”

That’s when he moves.

He steps into my space until there’s barely any distance left, his presence pressing down on me like a weight I can’t shift.

“You don’t get to speak about her past,” Dante says. “Because you failed where I succeeded.”

He gestures toward Serena without looking at her. “She is under my protection, Under my name and under my control.”

His grip tightens on her shoulder.

“Leave us,” he tells her.

She stands immediately.

She doesn’t look at me as she passes. That stings more than any insult could.

Her heels echo across the floor, each step deliberate, final. The door closes behind her with a quiet click.

Dante turns back to me.

“You had her,” he says. “You wasted her and now belongs to me.”

I clench my jaw. “This isn’t over.”

Dante steps aside, dismissing me with a small motion of his hand.

“Get out!” He yells.

He meets my gaze, voice dropping just enough to make the threat unmistakable.

“And if you ever speak to her like that again,” he says calmly, “I’ll remind you exactly how replaceable men like you are.”

Then he adds, almost casually,

“Do you understand?”