6: Caught in between.

Ethan’s POV

The knock at the door had been a lifeline. My chest had been tightening under the weight of Dante’s words, the casual way he had described killing his own father. Every second afterwards, silence had filled the room like smoke, suffocating, and I had no idea how to respond to him without stumbling into danger. Relief spread through me when the door creaked open and someone stepped in. Whoever it was, whatever reason they had for coming, it meant I didn’t have to answer him. Not yet.

I stood rooted near the edge of the room, caught between my thoughts and the tension pressing down on me, until Dante’s voice slammed against my ears, dragging me back to reality.

"I told you to stay there. I kept you there to look after the business, who is there now?" His tone was thunderous, charged with a fury that didn’t need explanation. Rage coiled in his words, and the sight of him limping, wounded but still dangerous, only heightened the intimidation.

The woman who had just walked in didn’t cower. Her presence filled the room, her voice rolling out in a thick Italian accent that carried sharp edges. "That’s not how you welcome your lover. I came all the way from the East Coast to check on you and take care of you. You thought I would hear about your accident and remain calm over there?"

The word lover struck me immediately. My stomach knotted. I studied her carefully, trying not to stare too obviously, but everything about the way she spoke, the way she carried herself, told me she wasn’t just anyone. She wasn’t a guest. She was part of this world. Important. Not as vital as Dante himself, maybe not even as crucial as Luca had seemed in the short time I’d observed him, but her confidence was undeniable. She wasn’t afraid.

And that fact alone told me she was dangerous. I glanced at Dante, searching for how he’d react. His jaw was tight, his eyes narrowing. Frustration simmered beneath his features, and though his body was weakened, the force of his presence hadn’t dimmed.

She stepped closer, eyes flicking briefly in my direction, then back to him. "Besides, I am supposed to see Elias here, taking care of you. Where is he, and who is this… man standing in your bedroom?" She gestured vaguely toward me, dismissive yet probing, like my existence there was a question mark that shouldn’t have been written.

Fear twisted inside me. My throat dried instantly, and for a second I thought my knees might betray me. My instincts screamed to avoid her gaze, to lower my head, to show nothing that might spark suspicion. Slowly, carefully, I turned my eyes away, letting them fall to the floor. My posture remained collected, at least I hoped it did, but inside every nerve rattled.

Dante, visibly irritated, exhaled sharply. He dragged his body back toward the bed, a limp in his steps, every movement rough. When he collapsed into the mattress, he pressed a hand against his face, as though the very presence of both of us had become too much to calculate.

"This is Ethan. He is my new physician. He is taking care of me, and I am fine. I didn’t need you to come over here to take care of me." His voice snapped, sharp and cutting, more annoyance than explanation.

Her scoff filled the room. A short, mocking sound that seemed to stab at the silence. And it was then I noticed something strange. Since I had arrived in this mansion, since I had watched men step lightly around Dante, I had never seen anyone talk back, never seen anyone brush off his words. But she did. She didn’t shrink. She didn’t flinch. She scoffed at him.

That meant one thing, her bond with him, whatever it was, ran deep enough to allow her the freedom no one else had.

My mind circled back to that single word she had used. Lover. The puzzle fit suddenly. Her boldness, her tone, the way Dante didn’t snap her neck right then and there. She had been his, maybe still was in some way. But the set of his jaw, the strain in his eyes, told me he wasn’t happy she was here.

"You are limping, mi amor." Her voice softened slightly, then hardened again, tilting into curiosity laced with accusation. "And wait, what do you mean Elias is gone? You killed him?"

Shock flickered across her features, but almost instantly it curved into a smile, wide, knowing, cruel. Not a smile of horror. Not grief. Satisfaction.

She tilted her head, amused. "I should have placed the bet with Luca. I told him Elias wouldn’t last and that the next time I came, he would be gone."

Her eyes locked on me then. Cold, deliberate, the way one might examine prey before the hunt. A slow smile touched her lips, strange and unsettling, and I felt it pierce into me. Fear spread through my chest like fire, but I forced myself to remain calm. No shaking hands. No twitch in my jaw. Just control.

"I will bet that you will last," she said, her tone teasing but edged. "Don’t make me lose to Luca."

The words pressed against me, testing me, daring me to falter. I forced my lips into a small smile, though it didn’t reach my eyes. A shallow sound escaped my throat, half a laugh, half a cough, and I cleared it with a quick motion. "May I give you two space?"

The words hung in the air. Silence.

Dante turned his head toward me, and the look he gave froze me to the spot. His eyes bore into mine with a cold fury that made my chest seize. I felt as though he could hear every thought running through my head, every hidden truth buried beneath my cover. My pulse hammered, hard enough I thought the sound would echo in the room.

"Give me my medication," he said, his voice low but seething. "I need to finish an inconclusive business."

I swallowed hard. His order was simple, clear. Do as he said, hand him the drugs, keep my mouth shut. But something pushed back inside me. A small flame of defiance, or maybe fear taking a different shape. Slowly, I shook my head. Just enough to make it clear.

"You need rest," I said carefully, trying to keep my tone even. My voice didn’t tremble, though my insides did. "Your body isn’t ready for more strain."

The words felt insane even as I said them. Denying him. Standing in front of him, telling him no. It went against every warning that had drilled itself into my skull since I stepped into this mansion.

And then she spoke again, almost surprising me. "He’s right," she said. "You should rest, Dante."

Her agreement should have given me relief, but instead it thickened the tension. If she supported me, would that anger him more? Would he see it as the two of us aligning against him?

Dante’s head turned slowly toward me, and his expression hardened into something I could barely look at. His voice came low, deep, and dangerous.

"I tell you what to do, not the other way around. Now give me my medications and if you don't want to, you can get the hell out." I stood there, unsure whether to tell him again to rest. He was already angry and I knew better not to get him angrier. I took a step back and silence filled my mind with so many thoughts until she began to talk again, slicing the quiet atmosphere like a hot knife cutting through butter.

"Non hai cambiato i tuoi modi maliziosi, Dante? (You haven't changed your mischievous ways, Dante?)" I could not deny how pleasant her Italian sounded in my ears. I almost asked her to continue speaking in Italy even if I didn't have a clue what they were saying.

"How dare you talk to me in that manner?" He asked in a thunderous tone, and I immediately had a glimpse that she had upset her with her talks.

"My apologies, but you know I Didi mean it that way." She pleaded but he said nothing in return. I stood there like a piece of furniture almost as if I was not functional at all. His eyes turned slowly towards me and repeated what he said.

"Give me any medication if there is any and if there is none, I will see you later." The order dropped like a blade. My feet should have carried me toward the door immediately. My hands should have reached for my bag, excused myself, and left the room before his anger transformed into something irreversible. But I didn’t move. My body resisted, my mind racing through consequences. Leave, and I might be seen as weak, replaceable, disposable. Stay, and I risk triggering him further.

The silence between us thickened, pressing against my chest until I struggled to breathe. His eyes pinned me where I stood, daring me to disobey or comply.

And in that moment, I hesitated, caught between survival and duty, between fear and the small, reckless instinct that told me walking out now could be a mistake far greater than staying.