Lucia's POV
The sharp voice of the news anchor startled me awake, pulling me out of my restless sleep. I must have dozed off watching the news, but as my eyes opened, the screen was still filled with the same harsh accusation.
My hands clenched into fists as rage filled my chest.
"This is how they do it," i muttered under her breath. "They don't need facts. They just twist words until people believe the worst."
I suddenly felt sick. The media didn't know my father, they didn't know the man who had worked tirelessly to provide for his family, who had built his reputation through sweat and sacrifice. He wasn't perfect, but he wasn't reckless.. at least, not intentionally.
I grabbed the remote and shut off the TV, breathing heavily. The more they dragged my father's name through the mud, the more certain i became that this wasn't just about the fire. Someone wanted him ruined to cover up their tracks. And I had a pretty good idea who.
No.
I wouldn't let them do this.
Throwing off the blankets, I stormed toward the door, not caring that I was still in my silk nightgown. My bare feet padded against the cold marble floors as I moved with purpose, ignoring the wary glances from the guards stationed in the halls. I knew exactly where I needed to go.
Dante.
The bastard who sat on his throne of power, letting my father's name be dragged through the mud. If anyone had the influence to shut this down, it was him. But I knew he wouldn't—not unless I forced his hand.
When I reached his study, I didn't bother knocking. I shoved the door open, anger giving me the courage to confront the devil himself.
Dante sat behind his desk, effortlessly composed, a whiskey glass in hand. He barely spared me a glance before taking a slow sip, as if my sudden intrusion was nothing more than an inconvenience.
"You need to stop this," I seethed, my voice shaking with suppressed emotion.
His gaze lifted lazily to mine. "Good morning to you too, Lucia."
I slammed my hands onto his desk, making the crystal decanter tremble. "I'm not here for pleasantries. You need to put an end to this slander against my father."
Dante arched a brow, the corner of his lips tilting upward in amusement. "Slander?" he mused. "Are you suggesting the media is lying?"
"You know they are," I shot back. "My father is innocent."
The smirk vanished. His expression hardened, turning into something cold. He placed his glass down with deliberate precision before standing, the room suddenly felt too small.
"Innocent?" he repeated, voice dripping with mockery. "Are you truly that naive, or are you just stupid?"
I stiffened.
"He had nothing to do with that fire," I insisted. "It was Vincenzo. I heard—"
The words barely left my mouth before Dante moved.
I didn't even see him reach for it—just the sudden, deafening click as he cocked the gun and aimed it between my eyes.
My breath hitched. My body froze, every muscle locked in place.
The cold steel of the barrel kissed my skin, a deadly reminder of who he was. A man who didn't tolerate defiance. A man who wouldn't hesitate to end a life.
"You listen to me, and you listen well," Dante said, his voice chillingly calm. "Accusing someone without proof in my world is a death sentence. Do you have proof, Lucia?"
I wanted to say yes. Wanted to throw something back at him with the same force he was using to crush me. But the truth remained. I had nothing.
Silence.
Dante clicked his tongue. "That's what I thought."
For a terrifying moment, I wondered if he would actually pull the trigger. If my stupidity would get me killed right here, in this very room.
Then, just as quickly as he'd drawn the weapon, he lowered it and tucked it back into his holster. As if none of it had happened.
"Get out," he ordered.
I should have argued. Should have demanded that he believe me.
But I didn't.
Not because I was afraid, though fear had wrapped its icy fingers around my spine. But because I knew he wasn't listening. Not yet.
I turned on my heels and walked out, my knees threatening to buckle beneath me.
The moment I reached my room, I collapsed onto the bed, exhaling shakily.
The truth was clear—I needed proof. And until I had it, Dante would never take me seriously.
A soft knock interrupted my thoughts, followed by the creak of the door opening.
"Signorina, Dante wants you ready."
I turned to see a maid standing in the doorway, her expression unreadable.
"Ready for what?"
She didn't answer. Instead, she entered the room, setting a garment bag on the bed. "Please change."
I hesitated. "Where is he taking me?"
"The boss will explain," she said simply.
I studied her for a moment, searching for any hint of what awaited me. But she was well-trained, giving nothing away.
With a resigned sigh, I took the garment bag and disappeared into the bathroom. When I unzipped it, I found a black, floor-length dress. Elegant. Restrained. A symbol of power in Dante's world.
After changing, I allowed the maid to do my hair and makeup. When she was finished, I barely recognized myself in the mirror. I looked… untouchable. But I knew better.
I was still a prisoner.
Once I was ready, the maid led me through the halls, past doors I had never been allowed to enter. We walked in silence until we reached a large open space with a long dining table in the center. The golden light from the crystal chandeliers reflected off the polished wood, making everything look even more expensive.
But it wasn't the luxurious setting that caught my attention, it was the food.
Plates of fresh pasta, coated in rich sauces that smelled of garlic and herbs. A golden-brown lasagna, its layers of cheese and meat oozing at the edges. Thin-crust pizza topped with fresh basil and melted mozzarella, begging to be devoured.
Then there were the meats—juicy, perfectly grilled steak, roasted lamb, and sausages cooked with peppers and onions. Large bowls of seafood, from buttery lobster to delicate shrimp, sat beside them. And then there were the desserts. Tiramisu dusted with cocoa, creamy panna cotta, and delicate cannoli filled with sweet ricotta. The kind only the best restaurants could serve.
It was overwhelming. I had never seen so much food in one place, so carefully prepared and beautifully arranged.
And Dante was nowhere to be found.
I sat down, waiting. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Still no sign of him.
My stomach growled, the tempting smells making my mouth water. Maybe just one bite. Just to taste.
I hesitated for a moment, eyeing the feast before me. It felt wrong to eat, like I was playing into Dante's game. But the rich aroma was too tempting. Slowly, I reached for a small piece of lasagna, letting the layers of melted cheese and seasoned meat coat my tongue.
One bite turned into another as I sampled from every plate on the table. I had never eaten food like this, never known something so simple could taste so luxurious.
I wasn't supposed to enjoy this. I was supposed to be angry. But with every bite, frustration faded into something dangerously close to satisfaction.
Dante wasn't coming. Good. I hoped he never showed up. Let him think I was still waiting, still obeying. In reality, i was taking whatever I wanted. And for now, that meant this food.
By the time I finally pushed the plate away, I had eaten more than i intended and way more than I should have. But I didn't care. Without waiting another second, i stood, wiped my mouth, and turned to leave.
I made my way through the corridors, lost in my thoughts. Dante wasn't in my future. That much was certain.
But what was?
As I wandered, a sharp cry rang out, making me freeze.
Another scream followed, raw and pained.
I turned a corner and saw a partially open door leading into a dark room. My breath caught as I realized what was happening.
Someone was being tortured.
I moved closer, careful to stay hidden. Through the gap in the door, I saw a man tied to a chair. His face was barely recognizable, bruised and battered beyond mercy. Dante's men surrounded him, their voices sharp as they demanded answers.
Then I heard a name.
"Vincenzo."
My blood ran cold.
I leaned in, desperate to hear more. But before I could process anything further, a hand clamped over my mouth.
I gasped, my body going rigid.
"You shouldn't be here, this is a restricted area." a voice whispered against my ear.
Panic surged through me, but when the hand released me, I turned to see a familiar face—one of Dante's guards.
"Go," he murmured. "Before someone else sees you."
I didn't need to be told twice.
As I hurried away, a single gunshot echoed behind me. I swallowed hard, knowing the man had just lost his life.
And yet, my mind spun with a single thought.
If they were questioning someone about Vincenzo, then I wasn't wrong.
I just needed proof before Dante decided I wasn't worth keeping alive. I had to find a way to sneak out.