The afternoon had passed like a silent battle, and ever since Svetlana had run from him, Dante had tried to distract himself by throwing all his focus into work—into the construction of the theater, into reviewing every detail, into making sure everything was in order.But his mind refused to stay still.No matter how hard he tried to concentrate, she was everywhere.In the brush of cold wind against his skin, reminding him of the softness of her body.In the sound of tools echoing through the site, like a reflection of his own bottled-up anxiety.In the burn of his blood, demanding something he knew he shouldn’t want.And Svetlana was no better off.She had tried to lose herself in the pages of her books, seeking refuge in the love stories she adored.But every sentence, every scene, every kiss described in those romantic novels dragged her right back to him.To the intensity of his gaze.To the feeling of his breath on her skin when he was close.To that kiss that still burned in he

The commotion on the estate could’ve come straight out of an action movie. Dante’s men moved in tactical formation, weapons drawn, sweeping every corner of the villa with military precision. The thud of doors banging open, short, sharp orders, the barking of tracking dogs, and the pounding of heavy boots against the ground created a symphony of organized chaos.Helicopters hovered overhead, kicking up dust with each descent, while the afternoon sun cast long shadows across the mansion grounds. And yet, despite the intensity of the search—they found nothing.No body.No blood.Dante closed his eyes for a moment, his jaw tight as he ran a hand over the back of his neck. He believed Svetlana. She had no reason to lie about something like this.Which meant that if the body had vanished… someone inside his own house had made it disappear.A traitor. Or more than one.The search dragged on into the late afternoon. The air was thick with tension, suspicion, the creeping certainty that someon

The night wrapped the Bellandi estate in a deceptive silence, broken only by the occasional creak of wood and the distant whisper of wind slipping through the trees. The old cellar, hidden behind a row of cypress trees, was the perfect refuge for those who wanted to speak without being overheard. The air inside was thick with smoke and distrust, making the atmosphere heavy like a storm about to break.While Dante still struggled to regain his composure, to stop thinking about her, in another corner of his domain, betrayals were simmering slowly.“This whole thing is bullshit,” a man said in a rough, sharp voice, pounding his fist on the table.His gaze locked onto another present, a veteran with scarred hands, who frowned and straightened in his chair.“In my fifteen years working for the Bellandi, no one had ever doubted my loyalty,” he growled, clenching his jaw.“They’re not just doubting yours,” a second man interjected, his tone dry and cutting like a knife.“He doubts everyone,”

The silence in the room was thick, like the haze of an impending storm. Dante’s men stood firm, some with arms crossed over their chests, others with a hand resting near the weapon on their belt. The polygraph still blinked on the monitor, recording the final echoes of the interrogation, while the conspirators at the end of the line shifted with growing unease.One of them—the tallest and most heavily built—clenched his jaw and slowly pulled his hand from inside his jacket. His gaze darkened, and before anyone could react, he drew his gun and aimed it straight at Dante.“Nobody move!” he barked, his voice rough, taut with adrenaline.Time froze. The metal of the gun caught the light from the lamp on the table, and in the blink of an eye, three more followed suit, drawing their pistols in swift, precise motions.The traitors exchanged looks—fury mixed with grim resolve. But then, the tide turned in an instant.“Drop your weapons.”Fabrizzio’s voice cut through the air with chilling cal

The clinic door closed behind her with a hollow thud, and the cold night air slapped her face. Fiorella stopped for a moment, inhaling deeply, as if trying to contain the whirlwind of emotions storming inside her. But it was useless. A low, guttural growl escaped her clenched lips."Hope that bitch dies," she muttered through her teeth, feeling the rage burn her from the inside out.She hated her. With every fiber of her being.Dante was supposed to be hers. Not that intruder’s. Not that cheap woman who had appeared out of nowhere to steal what rightfully belonged to her. She’d watched him grow—from a scrawny boy into a powerful, commanding man. She had loved him in silence for years, dreaming of the day he would finally see her as something more than just the little girl who had always been by his side.She clenched her fists so tightly her nails dug into her palms. No. She wasn’t going to let that Russian whore ruin what she had waited her whole life for.Her mind drifted, involunta