Chapter 10: The Price of Truth

Chapter 10: The Price of Truth

The world returned in shattered fragments. The cold, unyielding wood of the door against her back. The ragged, desperate sound of their breathing filling the cavernous room. The dead weight of the diamonds on her bruised throat. The scent of him—sandalwood, fury, and sex—was a thick, suffocating cloud around her. Dante’s forehead rested against hers, his eyes closed, his body still joined with hers in the aftermath of their violent communion.

The savage fire that had consumed them was gone, leaving behind only the smoldering embers of consequence. Jessica’s body was limp, boneless, and aching with a pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. But beneath the physical exhaustion, her mind was terrifyingly clear. The brutal act had not been an answer. It had been a final, desperate evasion.

She felt him pull away, a slow, reluctant withdrawal that left her feeling hollowed out and exposed. The torn halves of her sapphire dress gaped open. He sank back on his heels, his chest heaving, his dark hair disheveled, his eyes a maelstrom of emotions she couldn't begin to decipher. Rage, regret, and a terrifying, bone-deep weariness.

She slid down the wall, her legs refusing to hold her, until she was sitting on the cold marble floor amidst the ruins of her beautiful gown. She didn’t bother to cover herself. Modesty felt like a laughable luxury from another lifetime.

“He knew,” she whispered, her voice raw and torn. “Rossi. He knew where I lived. He called it my ‘quiet little neighborhood.’ He knew I was a graphic designer.” She looked up at Dante, her gaze unwavering. “This isn’t just about a threat, is it? He’s been watching me. For how long, Dante? How long have you known I was a target?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and sharp. This was it. The precipice. He could build his walls again, offer another distraction, another ferocious kiss, another lie.

But something had broken in him tonight. Seeing Rossi’s hands on her, hearing the veiled threats, had shattered his carefully constructed compartments. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of profound exhaustion, and for the first time, Jessica saw not the predator, not the billionaire, but a man burdened by a legacy he never chose.

He finally moved, walking over to the immense window and staring out at the city. But he wasn't shutting her out this time. He was gathering the words.

“My father died six months ago,” he began, his back still to her. His voice was flat, stripped of all emotion. “He was a powerful man. He came from nothing in Sicily and built an empire here. An empire of logistics, import-export, real estate… and other things. More lucrative things.”

He turned around, his face grim, his eyes holding hers with a new, brutal honesty. “It’s not a business, Jessica. It’s a syndicate. The newspapers call it the Moretti family.”

There it was. The name that had haunted her, spoken aloud in this sterile room. The truth was a physical blow, stealing the air from her lungs even though she had already suspected it.

“The article you read… the ‘execution’ in Rome,” he continued, his voice unrelenting. “That was me. Consolidating my inheritance. My father’s old associates needed a reminder of the change in leadership. A message needed to be sent.”

She flinched. The cold, detached way he said it was more chilling than any scream. He was a killer. The man who had confessed to watching her in a museum with a soft smile on his face had ordered a man’s death. The two images warred in her mind, a dizzying, nauseating contradiction.

“Rossi…” she breathed.

“Alessandro Rossi’s family and mine have been rivals for fifty years,” Dante explained, his gaze hardening. “A cold war of territory and influence. When my father died, Rossi saw an opportunity. He saw a young heir he thought he could break. He has been testing me for months. Probing for weaknesses.” He took a step toward her, his eyes dropping to her exposed form on the floor, to the torn silk and glittering diamonds. “And then he found you.”

His words confirmed her deepest fear. She was the chink in his armor, the vulnerability Rossi had been searching for. The rose, the whispered threats, the dance—it was all a prelude. A way of showing Dante that he could get to her. That he could touch what Dante considered his.

He knelt before her, his expression a mask of torment. “What I did tonight… putting you on display… it was a mistake. A desperate, arrogant gamble. I thought I could scare him off by showing you as my strength. Instead, I just painted a brighter target on your back.”

He reached out, his hand gently brushing a stray curl from her cheek. His touch was no longer rough, but filled with a sorrow so profound it made her ache.

“This is the truth of my life, Jessica. It is blood and violence and a constant, unending war fought in the shadows. There is no place in it for someone like you. For someone good and pure.”

He stood up, retreating from her, putting a deliberate distance between them. He was drawing a line in the sand.

“So I am giving you a choice,” he said, his voice resolute, final. “And I want you to listen very carefully. There are two paths. Only two.”

He held up one hand. “Path one. You walk away. Tonight. I have people who can create a new life for you. A new name, a new history. You can go anywhere in the world—Paris, Sydney, a small town in Oregon, it doesn’t matter. You will have more money than you could ever spend. A home. Security. You will be a ghost. Rossi will never find you. No one will. You will be safe.” He paused, his voice cracking almost imperceptibly. “And you will never see me again.”

The offer was staggering. A clean slate. A life free from fear, free from him. It was an act of love so selfless it was agonizing. He was willing to excise her from his life, to cut out the one pure thing he claimed to cherish, just to keep her safe.

“Or,” he continued, his voice hardening again, turning bleak, “path two. You stay. You stay, and you accept all of it. You accept that the man you are with is a killer and a monster to his enemies. You accept the fear, the constant threat. You accept that men like Marco will always see you as a liability, and men like Rossi will always see you as a weapon to be used against me. Your old life, the quiet girl in the museum, is gone. Forever. She died tonight.”

He looked at her, his dark eyes boring into her soul, stripping away every illusion she had ever had about them.

“You will live in this fortress, or another one like it. You will be my wife in all but name, adorned in my power, and bound by my rules. I will protect you with every fiber of my being, I will kill anyone who tries to harm you, but I cannot give you peace. I cannot give you a normal life. I can only give you me. All of me. The darkness included.”

He stood there, a king offering her the world, or his own dark heart. The choice was hers.

Jessica stared at him, the two paths stretching before her like a cruel fork in the road of her life. One led to a quiet, sunlit world of safety and emptiness. The other led into the heart of a storm, a life of terror and passion entwined so tightly they were indistinguishable.

Her desire for him was a fire in her blood. Her instinct for survival was a scream in her soul. And one of them would have to burn.