Chapter 6 - THE WOMAN DANTE NEVER FORGAVE
Six months after the gala, Dante took me to a cemetery.
No bodyguards nearby.
At least none I could see.
Two names were carved into gray stone.
ISABELLA MORETTI.
MATTEO MORETTI.
Dante placed white roses between them.
I stayed several steps away.
He looked back.
“You can come closer.”
I did.
“This is Serena,” he said.
To the graves.
My throat tightened.
He didn't introduce me as anything else.
No girlfriend.
No future.
Just Serena.
That was enough.
---
Later we sat beneath an oak tree.
“Do you feel guilty?” I asked.
“Every day.”
“Still?”
“Yes.”
“Does it help?”
“No.”
“Then why keep doing it?”
Dante looked at me.
“Because sometimes punishment becomes familiar enough that you mistake it for loyalty.”
I thought about Nolan.
Different situation.
Same trap.
Pain becoming proof that you cared.
---
Dante told me the full story.
When he was younger, he inherited Moretti interests after his father died.
He expanded them.
Made enemies.
Ignored Isabella when she begged him to step away.
He believed money and security could protect them.
Then the car was sabotaged.
After Isabella and Matteo died, Dante changed.
He moved much of the family's legitimate wealth into real estate, logistics, restaurants and construction.
The darker operations diminished over years, though his reputation remained.
“Why not leave everything?”
“You don't resign from history.”
“That's not an answer.”
“No.”
He smiled faintly.
“It's the answer I have.”
I appreciated that he didn't pretend to be clean.
I also understood I had choices.
And for the first time in my adult life, I intended to use them.
---
“I can't build a life where I'm afraid every time you leave the house,” I told him.
“I know.”
“And I won't be hidden.”
“I know.”
“And if you ever tell me who I can see, what I can wear, where I can work—”
“Leave.”
I stared.
“What?”
“If I become the man you escaped, leave me.”
“Just like that?”
“No.”
His eyes darkened.
“It would destroy me.”
Then:
“But stay because you choose me. Never because you fear me.”
I kissed him.
---
Our relationship became public gradually.
Chicago gossip loved it.
The mysterious woman who kissed Dante Moretti at a gala.
People invented stories.
I was a secret heiress.
Federal agent.
Former dancer.
Politician's daughter.
One blog claimed I had been engaged to a prince.
Rosa printed that one.
She framed it.
“Your Highness.”
“Stop.”
Dante secretly found it hilarious.
---
Nolan remained in legal trouble.
Evan entered treatment for gambling addiction.
I did not immediately reconcile with him.
For nearly a year, we communicated only through occasional messages.
He apologized without asking me to absolve him.
Eventually, I agreed to coffee.
He looked older.
“I'm sorry.”
“I know.”
“I should've protected you.”
“Yes.”
“I didn't.”
“No.”
He swallowed.
“Can I ever fix it?”
“Not all of it.”
He nodded.
“But maybe we can build something different.”
His eyes filled.
“I'd like that.”
It wasn't forgiveness yet.
It was a door unlocked.
Not open.
Just unlocked.
---
Then Dante received an envelope.
No sender.
Inside was a photograph.
Me leaving work.
Taken three days earlier.
On the back:
YOU TOOK MY LIFE. I'LL TAKE YOURS.
Dante's face became stone.
I expected him to say Nolan.
He didn't.
“This isn't Nolan.”
“How do you know?”
“The handwriting.”
“Whose is it?”
May you like
Dante looked toward Isabella's photograph on his desk.
“A man who should have been dead seventeen years ago.”
